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regalia sat the cardinals of the Curia.
    The hall was grand, ancient—an
underground haven in which past popes and their secret alliances had met time
and again. The walls were made of lime, the ceiling vaulted and supported by
massive Romanesque columns. The chamber’s acoustics were poor, words often
traveling across the room in echoes. And the light came from gas-lit lamps
moored along the walls, giving the room a dire medieval cast.
    As the Society of Seven waited, an
echoing cadence of footfalls sounded from beyond the chamber door, their pace
quick with urgency. At the opposite end of the chamber a door of solid oak
labored on its hinges as it swung inward. From the shadows, a man of incredible
height and stature walked toward the platform with a gait and bearing that
spoke of power and confidence. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his chest
and arms stretching the fabric of his cleric’s shirt to its limit. His upper
body mass, V-shaped, tapered to a trim waist and chiseled legs. When he reached
the base of the stage, he removed his beret, dropped to a knee, and placed a
closed fist over his heart.
    “Loyalty above all else,” he said,
“except Honor.”  This was the salute of the Vatican Knights.
    The Vatican’s aged Secretary of
State, Cardinal Bonasero Vessucci, rose with difficulty and walked the three
stairs to the marble floor where the large man remained kneeling. “Stand, my
friend. We’ve much to talk about.”
    Kimball Hayden got to his feet,
towering over Cardinal Vessucci, whose stooped height barely reached Kimball’s
chest. When the cardinal placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, he had to reach
high above his head to do so.
    “You know why we’ve called you.”
The cardinal spoke in fluent English.
    “I do.”  
    Vessucci kept his hand on
Kimball’s shoulder using the larger man as a crutch. “Then assemble your team
and return our pope and the members of the Holy See to us. Do whatever is
necessary to achieve this goal. Is that understood?”
    Kimball nodded.
    “If these terrorists wish to pick
a fight with the Roman Catholic Church, then a fight they’ll get.” Vessucci
lowered his hand and stopped in his tracks, the short walk too taxing for the
old man. “We may be a small state, but we also have the right to protect the
sovereignty of the Church, its interests, and the welfare of its citizenry.  I
understand that the act of engagement is complicated by its lack of rules, but
you have to be discreet in such matters, if possible. Should something tragic
occur, Kimball, the Church may have no choice but to disavow any knowledge of
the Vatican Knights. We cannot afford your methods to draw any unwanted
attention to the Church.”
    Kimball placed a gentle hand on
his old friend, as much to stabilize the man as to express his good will. He
hated to see the cardinal in this condition—a man of greatness deteriorating
inch by inch, the victim of a degenerative bone disease. “When do we leave?”
    “Immediately. You’ll be flying
from Rome into Dulles via private jet. Once on American soil, you’ll need to
contact Cardinal Juan Medeiros at the Sacred Hearts Church, one mile east of
the Washington Archdiocese. He’ll be your intel source—a good man.”
    Kimball gave a light squeeze to
the cardinal’s shoulder before getting to a knee and placing a closed fist over
his heart. “Loyalty above all else,” he repeated, “except Honor.”
    The cardinal reciprocated
Kimball‘s gesture with one of his own, placing a hand on top of Kimball’s
head—an act of anointing, an act of honor. “Be safe, my friend. The Church has
faith in those who believe in righteousness. May God be with you.”
    Kimball stood, turned, and walked
away from the Society of Seven, his footsteps echoing off the ancient stone
walls.

 
     
     
    CHAPTER TWELVE
    The White House
    September 23, Mid-Afternoon
     
    The total
area of the White House is 65,000 square feet, including the basement