Obadiah came across in a series of upper cuts and horizontal slashes, while Kimball countered with deflections and straight jabs, his maneuvers also deflected. In Kimball’s mind he was amazed how good this man was with double-edge weapons. He had never actually been tested before, until now.
As their arms moved with blinding speed, Obadiah came across and slashed Kimball’s vest, the razor sharpness of the knife cutting easily through the Kevlar. Vests, after all, were made to stop bullets, not knives.
Backing off for the moment, Kimball reexamined his position while Obadiah paced from left to right like a caged animal.
“You’re good,” he told Kimball. “But not good enough.”
“I’m just getting warmed up.”
“Then let’s get this over with,” he said. “I’ve things to do and people to kill.”
They converged on each other for the last time.
Those who had seen the perforated floor were amazed it was still strong enough to support weight. The aged and decimated wood protested beneath Leviticus and Isaiah as they carefully removed the pope and placed him in the care of the Metro Unit, who quickly ushered the man away under the cloaking of their shields. The Descending Angels examined and secured every room on the third floor, while the ground troops maintained their post on the first floor entryway and stairwell.
Leviticus drew close to Shari.
“The pope is in good hands,” he told her in hushed tones. “So we must go.” He turned toward Micah’s body. “We’ll be taking him with us. There can be no questions.”
“I understand.”
Isaiah stood beside them. “Kimball will meet us on his own terms,” he said. “But we’re thankful for all you’ve done.”
Isaiah and Leviticus dropped to a bended knee and placed a closed fist over their hearts. “Loyalty above all else,” they whispered, “except Honor.”
Shari felt absolutely flattered at this display of gratitude to the point of feeling the sting of tears. Then, placing a closed fist over her heart, said, “Loyalty above all else, except Honor.”
For her, this was closure.
Milling with the Descending Angels and ground troops, Isaiah unobtrusively lifted the body of Micah and draped it over the shoulders of Leviticus, trying to give the impression of a ‘man down’ requiring immediate medical attention. Shari watched the two Knights merge into the crowd and within moments they were gone.
Only when Kimball didn’t answer his mike did she become concerned.
The blades moved faster, beyond the comprehension of human sight, their arms moving in blurs and blinding rotations as each man’s brow drew the sweat of his efforts. Neither man rescinded his space, maintaining his territory. And neither man by the plateau of his pride was willing to concede to defeat by the fatigue beginning to weigh on both of them.
Breathless, both men reached into their inner selves and mustered whatever reserve power they had left before being entirely sapped.
When Obadiah finally went in for a stabbing motion, Kimball came down and slashed his blade across Obadiah’s forearm, a score that severed the muscle that incapacitated him.
With a savage cry Obadiah dropped his knife and looked skyward, the veins in his neck sticking out in cords. When Kimball went for the kill, Obadiah rotated on his feet like a matador dodging the course of a charging bull, and came around with a solid kick that sent Kimball across the floor and over the edge of the collapsed stairwell. Dropping his knives, Kimball reached for the exposed rebar and grabbed it before plunging to the debris below. When he tried to pull himself up, Obadiah was standing at the edge of the concrete holding a hand over his wounded arm, the blood flowing freely between his fingers as he looked down on Kimball.
“You’re indeed a truly magnificent warrior,” he said. “But tell me, that crest and shield on your vest. Is it a symbol of your squad? Or is it the marking’s of something else?”
Kimball tried to pull himself up, but Obadiah placed a foot upon the rebar, his weight bending the bar downward.
“Your style is different,” added Obadiah.
When Kimball’s hands slid downward along the bar, he reaffirmed his grip.
“Who are you?” asked Obadiah. “You’re not with the FBI, that much is for certain. Your style is too unique, and I thought I had seen them all.” When Obadiah bent down, the blood of his forearm dripped on Kimball. In the background the opposing forces were moving in, but Obadiah didn’t seem too concerned by their apparent approach in Kimball’s view. “You’re not the Swiss Guard, either. As good as they are, you fight like no other. So again, who are—”
Obadiah turned to check the progress of the troops. Given this window of opportunity, Kimball lunged up, grabbed Obadiah by the front of his shirt, and pulled him over the edge.
Too surprised to utter in protest, Obadiah traversed the open space to the debris below.
When the troops finally reached the precipice, a commando reached down and aided a tired Kimball Hayden to the landing.
“Are you all right?” asked the assault team leader.
“I’ll live,” said Kimball. He pointed to the rubble below. “You’ll need to contact Special Agent Cohen of the FBI regarding the man down there,” he said. “She’s in the building somewhere.”
The assault team leader looked over the debris. “What man?”
Kimball immediately sat up and looked over the edge.
Obadiah was gone.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
The day had been a sweeping success for the FBI. And like a deprived addict the media consumed the details. The pope was taken to Massachusetts General Hospital to recuperate from a bronchial infection. His overall prospects for recovery were rated as excellent by his doctors. Once able to travel, he would then check into Gemelli Polyclinic in Rome for a follow-up. Beyond the lead story of the pope’s health were accounts of battles that procured the pontiff and the remaining bishops of the Holy See, all unharmed.
The Soldiers of Islam, however, weren’t as lucky as Shari Cohen of the FBI conducted a superior assault mission, in which the Incident Command System was well established and performed with military precision. The Command’s Ops Supervisor and Liaison Officer informed a special group of media members, discreetly predetermined by the president of the United States, that the Soldiers of Islam were eradicated. This, the media members were told, demonstrates to the world that terrorism will never gain a true foothold on American soil. The media went wild and unknowingly served propaganda as the main course of public news. This in turn served the government’s purpose of burying the real conspiracy involving the pope’s kidnapping and the true identities of the players involved.
On the surface Shari had picked up various snippets regarding Misters Paxton, Murdock and Pappandopolous — it all depended upon the source at the time. Mr. Paxton apparently took a post in the field office in the state of Oregon. But Shari knew the dark truth. This same dark truth applied with respect to the sudden retirement of George Pappandopolous, and of course, the unreported imprisonment to solitary confinement of Punch Murdock. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that these players shared the same feared fate as Murdock, ending up in a grave in potter’s field.
The man known as Obadiah was never found. What was found, however, were several false walls and panels allowing for his escape, a contingency well thought out by the members of the Force Elite. One such panel on the first floor by the rubble led to the network of sewer lines beneath Boston’s numerous streets. Obadiah’s name was never mentioned to the media, but only within the smallest Washington circles. Leaks could prove deadly, so whoever spoke of him did so with caution.