The Hand of Christ (10 page)

Chapter Eight

Papal Apartment

The Vatican

Geoffrey knew he had little time, the Pope would soon return. He picked up his pace as he walked by the uniformed and saluting Swiss Guard and headed toward the Pope’s front door.

At this moment, Leo was taking his daily walk through Piazza San Pietro – St. Peter’s Square – strolling casually around the trapezoidal shaped Baroque piazza, but would be away only for a short time. Leo enjoyed immensely his bantering with the populace under the shadows of the numerous Tuscan colonnades. Often, when blessing the occasional and lucky passerby, Leo would bow his head as if uttering a prayer, but instead would secretly admire the radiating lines of travertine on the grand square as they intermingled with the shadows of the columns.

In front of, behind, and all around Leo – and very much to their disdain – would be the ever present and no less than two dozen very nervous uniformed Swiss Guards who carefully watched over him whilst diligently scanning the crowd for threats and ensuring his safety. Another two-dozen plain clothed guards would be scattered in the crowds acting as tourists, but silently looking for anyone that appeared hostile toward the Holy Father.

The guards disliked it more than just intensely when the Pope strolled through the square, smiling and shaking hands with the people; their frustration was growing. Word had been spreading throughout the press that his Holiness could always be found in the square right after his noon meal and on most days. Soon, the Piazza was full of those seeking to receive a blessing from the Pope, a photo, a handshake, or just to touch him.

It was too predictable, too dangerous; it was a security and logistics nightmare for the Swiss Guard and the Vatican Police.

The protective forces of the Pope were always on edge, especially Colonel Camini, the head of the elite unit, until the Pope made his way back into the safe confines of those parts of the Vatican off limits to the public.

But the Pope insisted.

“
God will protect me should he so choose,” Leo always said to the nervous Colonel of the Swiss Guard. Colonel Camini had nodded in submission, but silently cursed an approach so void of pragmatism. The world is full of lunatics and extremists; it would be a matter of time before one of them used the Pope’s repetitious schedule to his advantage.

Geoffrey stood in front of the Pope’s living quarters.

Out of habit, Geoffrey knocked on the door of the Papal Apartment knowing full well that there would be no reply.
Better to be safe
, he thought.

Entering the living quarters, he moved swiftly to the Pope’s writing table and opened the small rectangular wooden box that was perched on the table’s edge. From the red-velvet lined wooden container – the writing utensil’s resting place – he picked up the Visconti pen.

Made of two-toned, 18k white gold, the Ripple H.R.H. limited edition Visconti was encrusted with tiny diamonds in the shape of the Papal Seal. It had a double reservoir filling system that was initially designed for a fountain pen.

Geoffrey had convinced the makers of the handcrafted, ornate writing utensil to customize its tip for use as a ballpoint pen, contrary to tradition. He had argued with the artisans at Visconti that his Holiness – the Pope – had wanted it this way. The total cost of the pen, which included the painstaking customization, was over $72,000, one of the most expensive writing devices in the world, and had been quietly paid through Catholic Action. Thought to have been dissolved, the group was once the loud arm of the Vatican that helped Mussolini to power, a calculated move that gave the Church more power and more wealth.

It still exists.

Geoffrey had presented privately the custom pen to Leo. He told Leo that each Pope had been presented with a gift from his personal assistant and that he would be honored in knowing that his Holiness used it whenever writing; that it was a tradition.

Leo had been thrilled. Never one to offend tradition, Leo faithfully used the ornate gift whenever he wrote in his private diary. He would have no doubt raised his objections had he known how much the gift had cost or its hidden purpose.

Geoffrey set down the box and removed a tiny piece of metal from his pocket. There had been one additional custom request made of an artisan, but not to one of Visconti’s. The diminutive piece of metal was really a small key. Geoffrey inserted the key underneath one of the diamonds that surrounded the top of the pen. Once inside of the pen, the key triggered a tiny system of tumblers that would work to unlock the pen’s top.

Struggling with the key surprised Geoffrey; it didn’t seem to fit properly. He removed the key and placed the pen under the low wattage of the lamp that sat near the edge of the Pope’s writing table and inspected the pen’s top.

Strange,
he thought,
what is this?

Geoffrey could clearly make out a number of rough scratches; the shape of the pen’s top was slightly distorted.

Unsure what to make of the damage, Geoffrey carefully reinserted the key and willed it into position. The key fully plunged into the pen; again he started to turn it, but was met with the same difficulty as before. Praying that he wouldn’t snap the miniature key in half, he forced the turn harder.

With a muted click, the top of the pen blossomed much like the petals of an opening fleur-de-lis.

Geoffrey let out a breath of relief and removed the unlocked piece from the top of the pen. Inside of the top was a small digital chip. From the side pocket of his purple-trimmed, black cassock, he pulled out a set of tweezers. Pinching the chip with just the right amount of force, he carefully extracted it and placed the tiny piece of micro-technology into a small felt padded box. Slipping it into his pocket, he pulled another small container from his pocket that contained a new chip. With a bit of focus and precision he was soon finished.

Geoffrey quickly snapped closed the pen’s top and carefully returned the utensil back to its resting place.

The digital chip that Geoffrey removed and replaced was an effort of remarkable genius. Through a series of finely threaded copper and silicone wiring that ran the length of the pen, movements of the ballpoint would be recorded by the digital chip. When uploaded, the digital recordings that were saved into the memory of the chip would be able to reproduce the exact movements of the ball. Put another way, Geoffrey would now be able to see exactly what the Pope had been writing in his private diary.

Before leaving the Papal Apartment, Geoffrey moved the ornate Tiffany table lamp closer to the wooden box that held the pen, a necessary act for the device to work.

Chapter Nine

Cheyenne Mountain, CO

NORAD

“
CPT Scott, sir!” The HUMINT Officer, nearly running from the secured terminal with the TOP SECRET printout in hand, shouted from across the room, “HUMINT received, assets confirmed on the ground!”

Scott turned abruptly to the fast moving 1
^st
Lieutenant. He reached out with his hand to take the document and simultaneously asked, “What? We have US assets in place, in Syria?”

“
Yes, sir,” came the Lieutenant’s reply, “There is a US Ambassador in Syria. Sir, there’s another US asset, too. There is also a CIA Officer – code named Professor – on the ground in Damascus. Last known coordinates of his position place him and the Ambassador in the center of the attack!”

“
Jesus Christ, we’ve got a spook and an Ambassador in the middle of an attack, and together in Damascus? This day just gets better. I wonder what the hell they did!”

“
Sir, there’s more… We have to call them.”

With this new information, Captain Scott gave the Lieutenant a quizzical look and said, “Excuse me, we have to what?”

“
Call them, sir, we have to call them. The Professor’s secure cell phone number is in the document.” The Lieutenant was pointing at the piece of paper in CPT Scott’s hand.

Captain Scott eyed the Lieutenant in disbelief then looked at the TOP SECRET paper in his hand and scanned it; he found what the Lieutenant was referring to. On the document was Michael’s phone number, and was listed amongst a number of other personal details. Next to the phone number was a photo of Michael and another of his retinal scan.

Captain Scott’s entire demeanor seemed to shift. With a calm but authoritative voice, he raised his head from the document and barked out orders to his team, “PFC York, get the NRO images on the main screens.” Handing the TOP SECRET document to Master Sergeant (MSGT) Bryan, Captain Scott ordered, “Give me black communication to the following number, use line Delta; we have some phone calls to make.”

MSGT Bryan was a big man, the result of good genetics, too many protein shakes, steaks, and a lot of weightlifting. He had closely cropped extremely blond hair and look like the real life version of Captain America. On his shoulder, like Captain Scott, he wore the tabs of Special Forces and Ranger.

Complementing the hard earned elite forces tabs was a Combat Infantryman Badge (CIB) affixed to the left breast of his uniform; the badge was adorned with a wreath and star. MSGT Bryan had seen live combat and more than once. He was not the kind of soldier one typically found staring at computer screens for a living.

MSGT Bryan was Captain Scott’s ex-team leader before CPT Scott had become an officer. They always worked together, unusual for the military.

“
MSGT Bryan, confirm line Delta is open. When confirmed, open line Omega.”

That would explain why CPT Scott had said ‘we have phone calls to make,’
thought MSGT Bryan.

CPT Scott’s recent order caused every head in the CORe Center to turn in his direction, every head except for one. MSGT Bryan was not accustomed to belaying an order from his commanding officer, or any officer. Without removing his attention from the communication terminal, he pushed a series of numbers on his keypad with his extraordinarily thick fingers, and responded, “Sir, line Delta open and ready for use, line Omega online in ten-seconds; awaiting your next order, sir.”

MSGT Bryan was nearly as smart as he was huge; this was his passive aggressive way of saying,
what the hell, sir, line Omega?

Line Delta is a “black” communications line, used for the 1024 bit digital encryption of conversations meant only to be heard by the people on either end of the line. Using a non-repeating algorithm that cycled new digital encryption every one-tenth of one second of a never to be released classified computer language, line Delta was rarely used. In fact, this would be the first time NORAD would turn it on outside of a test environment.

It could not be tapped nor intercepted.

As unbelievable as it seemed that line Delta was about to be used to place a phone call, it was even more unbelievable that line Omega was to be used in the next few seconds. This line had one use only, an exact technological replica of the Delta version with one exception: there was only one button to press, and no phone numbers to dial. When the single button was pushed, line Omega connected directly to the Oval Office, to the President of the United States.

PFC York said out loud what MSGT Bryan and everyone else on the CORe team was thinking: “We are going to call the President?”

No sooner than the words had come out of York’s mouth, Captain Scott ordered MSGT Bryan to press the sole illuminated red light for line Omega.

It only rang once.

Omnipotent and omniscient all at once, the voice boomed, “This is the President, with whom am I speaking?”

CPT Scott cleared his throat and said, “Sir, this is Captain Scott, Duty Officer and XO of the CORe Center at NORAD.”

“
CPT Scott, I am standing here with my Director of Central Intelligence (DCI), Director Fundamen of the Central Intelligence Agency. We are aware of the disturbance in Syria.”

How did he know that, I thought his intelligence came from us?
CPT Scott silently wondered.

In the Oval Office, the President looked over to the Director and with a nod unseen by the CORe team the Director stood and walked closer to the speakerphone.

“
CPT Scott, this is Director Fundamen. I presume by now you have received and reviewed our classified transmittal to your HUMINT Officer?”

“
Yes, sir, I have, sir. Line Delta is open and ready for use.”

“
Good. Patch line Omega to Delta. Call the Professor, get him out of there.”

“
Sir, get him to where, sir?”

At the same moment that CPT Scott finished his sentence the secured printer jumped to life once more. The HUMINT Officer grabbed the document and raced to the Captain. “Sir, here are the coordinates. There is a Delta Force Team securing a perimeter just south of the Professor’s position. Two Blackhawks will be waiting to extract him.”

Both the Director and the President heard this; the President commanded, “Make the call, Captain.”

MSGT Bryan didn’t need to hear the order from CPT Scott. He dialed the Professor’s number.

Chapter Ten

Umayyad Mosque