“Which is why he sent the Force Elite after the CD,” said Kimball.
“Exactly. It also means that Obadiah is somehow connected with his administration.”
Kimball stepped away from the computer, the lines on his face registering deep thought. “Not only Obadiah but Mossad, the White House, Russia, Venezuela, Israel — they’re all connected. But how? And why?”
“Good question. What I can’t figure out, though, is how they tie in with the Soldiers of Islam and the kidnapping of the pope. Or why the White House administration would even be supporting this act.”
Kimball ran his hands across his face as if to wipe away the frustration.” All right,” he finally said, “so what do we have here?”
Shari raised her hand and began to tick off events on her fingers, starting with the thumb. “The men who tried to kill me last night were from an indigenous force. Obadiah, who happens to be from the Israeli attaché, wanted that CD. That ties him to the White House since they sent in Dark Lord. Then there are the photographs of political and big business dignitaries mixed in with the dossiers of terrorists.” She lowered her hand. “That CD, Kimball, holds more than just the profiles of terrorists.”
He nodded in agreement. “It’s also a schematic.”
“But of what? There are pieces still missing and we’re running out of time.” Shari nervously paced the room. “And in one hour I have to go see the man who’s trying to kill me. How ironic is that?”
“He’s not going to hurt you.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one he’s gunning for.”
“Shari, it’s unlikely you’re going to go missing at the White House door. If anything, they’ll wait for an opportune time, like last night — when it’s unexpected.”
“Then I’ll draw them out,” she said. “I’ll copy these photos and dangle the carrot before the mule. So if there’s anyone in that room who is part of this, and if these photos are worth killing me over to keep me from finding out the truth, then they’ll send a second attachment to finish the job. You agree?”
Kimball gave a nod. “If they think you can expose them, then they’ll come after you like the Hounds of Hell.”
“If the president and his administration are somehow involved in this, we need to know now. We’re running out of time. Just be ready to take prisoners when they come for me.”
Shari could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t too keen about her proposal.
“Look, Shari, this isn’t child’s play. These people are dangerous. And this time they’ll be waiting for me.”
“Right now I don’t see any other option.”
Kimball hesitated, his cerulean blue eyes connecting with hers. “Just be careful.”
Shari drew closer to him. “Just don’t fail me when I draw them out.”
He didn’t move. He could smell the hint of her perfume. “We’ll be there.”
“Then let’s draw the flies to the honey.”
The time was exactly 11:30 a.m.
Boa was manning the camera when Kodiak carried the bishop into the room with a gloved hand across the man’s mouth. The bishop, barely cognizant, put up feeble resistance swinging a clawed hand errantly through the air.
The stage was comprised of a canvas backdrop and a splintered wooden floor. Kodiak forced the bishop to his knees on the chalk drawn X in front of the camera.
Whining and whimpering like a dog, the pain of knowing he was about to die so fundamental, the sounds issuing from his throat so primal, the members of Omega Team felt nothing but cold detachment for Bishop Angelo.
“We ready to rock?” asked Kodiak.
Boa shot a thumbs-up. “We are as soon as the main man gets here.”
Kodiak took a piece of duct tape and strapped it across the bishop’s mouth. “You won’t feel a thing,” he assured him, and added cruelly. “But then again, I’ve never been shot in the head with my brains spilling out all over the floor, either.” This brought malicious laughter from Boa, who panicked the condemned man into exposing hugely white eyes filled with terror-stricken madness.
When Team Leader entered the room with the feeble-looking pope by his side, the laughter quickly subsided. The old man looked as if his legs were about to buckle, his knees shaking and unsteady. With hardly any effort at all, and with the pope unable to provide any resistance, Team Leader forced the man to his knees. “For the man of the hour,” said Team Leader, “the best seat in the house.”
He then removed his holstered weapon and held it by his side, the Sig hardly perceptible in the shadows due to its black brushed steel. Then, without any sense of remorse or guilt or conscience, or anything that would brand him as remotely human but rather cold, said, “Let’s get this show on the road.”
The bishop began to sob uncontrollably as Team Leader approached him.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Shari sat in the chair located atop the Presidential Seal in the Oval Office, as Attorney General Dean Hamilton and Chief Advisor Alan Thornton quietly sat on either side of her, watching President Burroughs, who sat at the presidential desk, preparing his first address to the international community. In that moment an awkward silence fell over the room as the president quietly read from the script. Sitting on a couch against the curve of the wall were Vice President Bohlmer and two of the president’s senior advisors, each man carefully pouring over the data received from Shari’s team. The only sound was the turning of pages.
The president pitched a sigh, and then looked about as if he was the only one present in the room, until he laid the pages on the desk and rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers. “All right, people,” he started. “In about an hour I have to address the world on the status of the pope. What I want from you is a plan as to how I’m supposed to address the international community without causing our alliances to find fault with the United States. In other words, I need to base my decisions on fact rather than speculation. What I need is something positive. And from this drafted garbage in front of me, I’m getting the feeling that we’re making little progress, if any at all.”
Shari took the initiative. “Mr. President, I have something, but how it relates to the Soldiers of Islam isn’t quite clear.”
“And what would that be, Special Agent?”
“I’m talking about these,” she said, producing photos from a leather briefcase. “Yesterday I was able to burn and decipher the encryptions of a CD given to me by Mossad — a CD holding the dossiers of the Soldiers of Islam and other information that I believe ties in with what’s going on. Right now the connection is thin at best, but given time, I’ll be able to figure it out. I just need a few more pieces of the puzzle.” While she spoke she looked around the room and examined the faces for micro-expressions, such as the perceptively surprised look, a nervous tic or wandering eyes, anything that would betray their sentiments. All she saw were poker faces.
“May I see those?” asked the president, extending a hand.
Shari proffered the bait. “They’re photos of high-ranking business officials, all from oil conglomerates, and politicians from Russia, Venezuela and Israel, which I assume to be clandestine meetings since they’re surveillance photos. The second and third batches are surveillance photos of the known members from the Soldiers of Islam, and photos of tracts of oil beneath these countries and the Palestinian territories. These were all tied in with pertinent information regarding the terrorists.”