Reckoning (11 page)

D'Oncetta raised his eyes. "Dead?"

"Yes," Stern said, a faint trace of dejection in the tone. "After we finally located the priest we took him to secure quarters and began the interrogation. Sometime after the medication wore off, the priest attempted to grab a weapon ..." He drew a hand across his own throat. "Sato ..."

D'Oncetta smiled serenely, leaning back. "A most masterful interrogation, Stern. Sato is a most useful operative. Does he, by chance, have access to a nuclear device? I should like to know." He
motioned majestically toward the glass wall, sweeping along the expanse of ocean. "There are many, distant lands of the world that I have not yet visited."

Stern stepped closer to the priest, tall and imposing.

"You're a fool, D'Oncetta!" he said. "Don't attempt to blame me for this failure! Yes, Santacroce is dead! Sato is too easily capable of that! But I warned you of this man Gage. I warned you that he would cause complications. But you refused to recognize the threat that he posed. And now, not only have you allowed him into the Westchester mansion, but you allowed him to reach, to rescue, Halder and his daughter."

D'Oncetta laughed. "I did not allow anything, my friend. As you say, Gage is a most capable man. And, in all honesty, we took every possible security measure."

"Your people are amateurs, priest." Stern shook his head. "Gage would go through them like chaff."

"He did." D'Oncetta surrendered the argument.
“Perhaps you would pleasure an opportunity to meet with this man?"

Stern was unfazed. "Yes, D'Oncetta, I would pleasure that opportunity. And I would eliminate him because I would not under-estimate him. I would respect him as he must be respected. As wisdom demands that he be respected. I would not allow arrogance to blind me, as it does you."

Augustus raised a hand for silence, focused on D'Oncetta, who had ceased smiling at Stern.

"And the containment plan has been initiated?" he asked the priest.

"Yes," replied D'Oncetta carefully. "Extensive arrangements are underway to insure that investigations are directed and controlled. Our resources are comprehensive. I do not foresee any impediments that might circumvent the prearranged decisions."

Augustus nodded, looked at Stern. "Charles, what did you receive from the priest before his unavoidable death?"

Stern's control appeared complete. "We know that he has buried it somewhere. He telephoned Father Simon the day after he removed it from the Archives and told the old man where he had re-hidden it. We obtained that much during the interrogation. Apparently Santacroce was asking for absolution, a confession. Before he died he told us that Simon requested permission to put the information in a letter, in case something untoward happened to him. If Gage reached the old man, and we have every reason to believe he did ..." He cast D'Oncetta a sullen glance, "... then Simon surely told him of the letter."

Stern took a casual, relaxed step towards Augustus.

"Simon was under surveillance from the beginning, Augustus, so we are certain that he never left the Cathedral of Saint Thomas until we removed him ourselves. Especially not after Santacroce was taken. Therefore we are certain that if Simon did, indeed, leave Gage a letter, it is hidden somewhere in the cathedral. And that is where Gage must come to retrieve it." He paused. "As of this point, our staff, who have penetrated the basilica, have informed me that Gage has not entered the grounds. Of that they are certain. They are watching for him."

Augustus's glacier-blue eyes glinted. "And can we locate this letter, discover where it is hidden within Saint Thomas, before the American arrives?"

Stern continued, "Saint Thomas is exceedingly large, Augustus. It would take months, perhaps even years of random searching to uncover it. Such an action would immediately attract the attention of Rome. And, as you know, that is something we must avoid. Clement is already angry."

"So what do you suggest?"

Stern walked closer to speak face-to-face with the elegantly robed figure. "Gage will come for the letter, Augustus. He would come for the letter if hell itself stood in his path. My plan is to allow him inside the church. Allow him to retrieve the letter for us. Then we capture him to obtain the letter and interrogate him to discover the location of Halder, his daughter, and the translator."

D'Oncetta interrupted, smiling. "A wild plan, Stern. A method of the truly desperate. It seems that you have gained nothing but desperation from all your exacting labor and toil."

"We have deception and confusion serving us." Augustus descended upon D'Oncetta. "And those are always our greatest weapons. Together they have sustained us since the beginning, and they are sufficient to protect our purpose until its consummation."

A gigantic ocean wave smashed into the cliff, reaching halfway up the wall to slash the air with a foaming, thunderous roar.

"Only one step remains between sea and land, my friends." Augustus glanced solemnly upon each of them before centering his gaze into the distant darkness. "And to hasten that end we must find the manuscript. It will consolidate our forces, revealing the master plan hidden from us for these many years. It will illuminate the secrets of our ancestors, teach us the methods of their power." His voice fell quieter. "Then Israel will fall, and the world will be purified."

Reaching, Augustus slowly removed a large, glossy
photograph from the file on the table. It was a photograph of a man, aged into his late twenties, taken at some point of heavy training in the desert. Eyes cold and focused stared off the page.

"No one can prevent our victory," he continued. "We have gained too much ground. But you are correct, Charles. This man, this Jonathan Gage, has already complicated matters. And if old Father Simon sensed that his life was finally forfeit, he might well have left something for his 'adopted son.' We know, by our unknown communion with Simon in his private prayers, that he believes Gage is destined to serve some divine purpose in all this. The old priest has prayed for Gage often enough to annoy even me with his ceaseless requests for grace. But Simon's mystical vision for Gage will be their undoing. Because Gage will indeed come for the letter, even as Simon asked. He will feel compelled to fulfill his loyalty to the old man. And then we shall have Gage, the letter, and the location of the manuscript."

Augustus turned with superior benevolence to D'Oncetta.

"Return to Rome, my friend. Smooth over our peculiar
activities with those at the Palace. Do what you can to placate Clement's wrath. Simon was his friend. If he wishes to speak with me, advise him that I shall be pleased to obey his desire. Then rest. You have done well. Charles and The Order will deal with Gage."

D'Oncetta rose, bowing respectfully, and with only a slight, condescending glance at Stern, turned away.

* * *

THIRTEEN

Kertzman frowned.

He was in a foul mood. An Army 201, the standard military record of training, assignment, commendation, and distinctive service was open on his desk... the file of ‘Gage, Jonathan M.’

Kertzman's ugly, gray concrete office in the Pentagon's E Wing was
Spartan and, after seven years, still largely unfurnished; a working man's office.

Two photographs decorated the room. One was a Vietnam-era picture of him carrying a badly wounded soldier to a medical chop-per. The other, displayed prominently on his regulation-issue green metal desk, was an actual posed photograph of him and his wife. Taken three years back, it revealed a smiling Kertzman embracing his wife with the relaxed happiness of their thirty-third wedding anniversary. Kertzman stared at the photo a moment,
remembering.

He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes.

Ten minutes before Radford and this new guy, Milburn, would arrive. He didn't have much time. But he was almost a bona fide expert at reading, writing, and even, when the rare occasion had compelled him, falsifying files.

Kertzman's conscience had never been troubled by the rare and successful deceptions he had committed since he became a law enforcement officer over 34 years ago. He reasoned that when you're dealing with snakes you sometimes have to think like a fox. And he had never really crossed the line of what he thought was right. Oh, he had come close a few times, had maybe even danced across it for a second to snatch someone who really needed
snatching. But these were isolated instances, not a way of life.

Kertzman remembered "Wild Jack" Stormcloud, the full-blooded Navaho who ran heavy crack traffic through the Dakotas from Texas for five years. As a South Dakota trooper, Kertzman worked for two years to build a case against Wild Jack, and had constantly failed. Not enough evidence. The Indian was crafty. But
it had all come down in flames when Kertzman planted enough cocaine in Stormcloud's vehicle to justify an arrest, and then a search of his property. After that, enough legitimate evidence was eventually uncovered to buy Wild Jack a long prison term. Good enough. Kertzman had never regretted the act. He wasn't above stooping down to pick anyone up. But, he told himself, he had never hurt someone who was truly innocent.

Kertzman grunted; there weren't too many of the truly
innocent left.

Frowning, Kertzman concentrated on the information before him. He skipped the preliminaries, initial assignments, inprocessing, and immediate basic courses. His sleepy, lionlike gaze swept down the page to find something more interesting, searching...

‘Gage, Jonathan M.’

-
Graduated Northern Warfare School in January, 1979, Fort G, Greely, Alaska.

-
Received Master Parachutist Badge in February, 1979.

-
Graduated Special Forces, Pathfinder, in March, 1979. Earned Master Parachutist Badge.

Kertzman shifted, unimpressed. He hadn't found anything yet that would make this guy so special, but he knew there was a lot more to come. He flipped the page, scanned past stations and basic language schools until he found a more interesting section.

-July, 1979, trained in Special Warfare Tactics with British SAS, earned British SAS Badge.

“
Uh-huh,” said Kertzman softly to himself, “here we go.”

-
Graduated from three-week Sniper course at classified site in Nevada, September, 1979.

-
Entered Advanced Demolition School at Fort Devons, Massachusetts, in January, 1980. Graduated top of class.

-
Completed HALO (High Altitude Low Opening) School in April, 1981, at Fort Benning.

The HALO listing reminded Kertzman of the startling and mesmerizing moment he had watched a Navy SEAL practicing a low altitude opening after falling 11,500 feet from a 12,000 foot jump. The poor guy's main chute had flagged and there was no time to deploy the backup—a primary danger with high altitude
, low opening jumps. Kertzman could mentally replay the ten-year-old moment like it was yesterday, the body striking the ground at over 100 miles an hour, rebounding limply from the impact to soar over 30 feet into the air, falling again. A sickening and hypnotic sight.

Kertzman grunted sympathetically with the memory, went on.

-Entered Basic Special Forces Scuba School, January, 1982. Graduated top of class.

-
Entered Covert Warfare School, February, 1982, under joint U.S.-Israeli Command Center. Course taught by agents of Israeli Secret Service, United States Army Delta Force. Graduated third in class.

There it was. Kertzman's gaze centered on the listing.

That explained the seminary.

-
Entered Advanced Tactical Warfare School, March, 1982, at the National War College. Graduated second in class.

-
Entered Underwater Demolitions at Norfolk, May, 1982. Eight-week course taught by Department of Navy Special Warfare Unit designated as SEALs.

-
Recruited for Delta Force in August, 1982, and began eight-week qualification course. Graduated top of class and assigned to Delta Command, Fort Bragg, North Carolina, in October, 1982.

Grimly, Kertzman turned the page, read over a list of combat missions. Finally, he scanned the list of badges, service awards: Master Parachutist, British Parachutist, Ranger TAB, Pathfinder, Sniper, Jungle Expert, Demolition Expert, Special Warfare
Expert, Scuba, Air Assault, Silver Star, two Purple Hearts, a Bronze Star...

-
Resigned at rank of Staff Sergeant in July of 1986.

Sighing, feeling a vague depression, Kertzman read the list of commendations over and over again, puzzled. Then, tiredly, he laid down the file. For a long time he stared at nothing, wondering. Then he leaned back, gorilla arms hanging limp at his sides, and gazed sullenly at the steaming coffeepot across from the desk.

A still small voice told him; this is as wrong as it gets.

This guy wouldn't betray his country. Sure, Sims and Myrick would. Even high-ups like Kim Philby of Britain or Edward Lee Howell of the CIA would. But Sims and Myrick were just
under qualified spooks playing high-tech spy. And Philby and Howell were only soft-gut rich boys who liked easy lives and overcomplicated beliefs, who had never had to bloody their hands for what they believed, guys who never had to put it all in the wind, hoping against hope they would survive the storm.

This guy, Gage, he was different. He'd been there and then some
; twenty combat missions, 36 confirmed kills in Delta, eight from Sniper and the rest on fast-entry assaults in classified missions. Kertzman knew that the actual number of non-confirmed kills was probably three times that much.

A soft whistle escaped Kertzman's lips. Gage had paid for what he believed. It didn't make sense that he would turn.

Still, if anyone could be the man, Gage could. But it didn't feel right. Didn't even look right by the statistics.

Gage would have passed psychological tests out the kazoo
, so he was wrapped tight. Had to be. Kertzman didn't know what Delta Force was using now, but they had begun using night vision, laser-optic surveillance, and satellite location of individual troops long before any other branch of the military had even heard of the technology. And that was 15 years ago. No telling what they possessed today. It was all classified, top secret or above. There were discreet rumors of cyborg-type armor that enhanced strength and endurance, lightweight clothing made of ballistic materials that changed colors automatically to match surroundings, like a chameleon, and other rumors of Star Wars-type weapons. But, whatever, Gage was part of it, and that meant he had received the highest clearance, the highest trust.

An old jungle instinct, 20 years gone but strangely alive of late, alerted Kertzman to the approach at his door. He was on his feet before the two men entered without knocking.

Radford entered first, his charcoal gray, wide-lapeled Seville-Row suit announcing him. And Kertzman took a second to size up Milburn; just under six feet, light-medium build with a military haircut gone long and shaggy. Kertzman shifted to the face, saw the bland, ubiquitous, carefully cultivated expression of a professional federal agent. He saw the customary, slight smile, wide-open eyes, and knew there was a whole world of lies behind those eyes. Milburn extended a hand.

He shook the hand. "Mr. Milburn."

"Call me Bob." A beaming smile.

"OK," said Kertzman curtly. "Have a seat. Let's get on with it."

Radford appeared comfortable in the green, plastic-covered metal chair. Milburn settled in, shifting his coat, loosening his tie with a slight twist of his head.

Nervous
?

Kertzman logged it like he logged everything. Just another incidental nothing he would keep back there in case he might need it later.

"So," Radford began, "I guess you know, Kertzman, after our little meeting the other day I did some checking." He gestured to the file. "I would never have thought of it if you hadn't led me to it. But there it is. Plain as day."

Kertzman muttered an indescribable sound, not a grunt, but more of half-word grunt something that intimated what his brutish decorum prevented him from actually saying.

"Maybe," Kertzman added slowly.

"If anybody could cause problems, it'd be him. Bob, here, knows Gage better than anybody in the world." Radford placed a hand on Milburn's shoulder. "I think we can use him, Kertzman. He was in Gage's unit in Delta, all of them fast-entry types. Cowboys. He knows how Gage thinks, how he moves, what he's trained to do. He knows what Gage prefers, his weaknesses, his friends. And with any luck, he might even be able to second-guess him."

Kertzman stared at Milburn. "Fast entry, huh?"

Kertzman had never reserved any profound respect for these elite, specialized units. In Vietnam he learned that most of the time they parachuted themselves into white-hot zones they couldn't EVAC out of and were forced to radio for the regular grunts, like he'd been, to rescue their specialized little teams from
annihilation.

"Is there any other way?" Milburn replied, a truculent gesture of his chin.

Kertzman almost smiled, resisted the impulse.

"I don't know. Tell me about it."

Milburn had obvious pride in what he had been. "Fast entry means no warning, Kertzman. Delta doesn't believe in warnings. We never have. That stuff is for the FBI or ATE. When we move on an objective, we do it without warning and it's explosive. It's maximum force from the first step, finished in thirty seconds. That's the only way to stay alive. That's the only way to keep the objective alive. All of that 'throw down your gun' stuff is for the movies. Warnings defeat your entire purpose, just like hesitation. If we go in, we hit everything armed or unarmed. No hesitation. No prisoners. No mercy. It's maximum force from the first step. No exceptions. We neutralize everyone and then we secure the objective."

"Like Gage did, if it was Gage, in the professor's house," said Kertzman. "Or at the seminary."

Milburn nodded. "That's what he's trained to do. And I can promise you that he'll react like he's trained to react. He can't stop himself." He leaned forward, gesturing. "Would you like for me to explain to you specifically what Gage did in Delta?"

"I'd like to know why you two are so certain that it's Gage," said Kertzman. "From the way I see it, it could be anybody with this kind of training."

Radford was quick. "We've done some additional investigation, Kertzman. We have some ... people ... who have informed us that Gage is somehow involved in this. And the physical description that police and bystanders provided at the campus fits him." Radford lifted his hands expressively. "We have some depositions. I haven't had a chance to show them to you."

Kertzman fixed him with a dead gaze, a wisp of anger faintly visible. "Well
, I need to see those depositions," he said flatly, adding a slight growl to the sentence.

Radford had already removed them from his briefcase.

"They don't say much," he said, apologetic. "But it's enough. I think it would be prudent to pursue the investigation."

Kertzman was aware that his gaze had settled, unfocused, on the depositions, realized his mind was trying to put together what he had heard with what he had learned from Gage's file. No need to read them now. He could get to them later. He looked at Milburn and leaned back, studying the CIA man.

"Alright, Mr. Milburn," Kertzman said slowly, folding massive arms over a bull-of-the-field chest, "why don't you tell me what you know?"

* * *

Concealed in somber light, Augustus gazed upon the open military file of Jonathan Gage. A single lamp, subdued and soft, illuminated the room while Stern, arms folded, waited patiently to the side.

"How many men did Gage dispatch, Charles?" Augustus asked.

"Six," replied Stern rigidly. "He wounded a seventh."

Augustus looked up sharply from the file, his face
concentrated.

"Wounded, you say?"