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not take into consideration that a tripwire mechanism could be activated once the unit was in countdown mode, which the False Prophet was, in countdown mode.

After a bomb-squad member—who was heavily clad in padded gear which was something Isaiah and Nehemiah couldn’t wrap their heads around since it was a nuclear device—undid the clasps and carefully lifted the lid to expose digital numbers that were in full display as red numerals counting down.

. . . 00:43:58 . . .

. . . 00:43:57 . . .

. . . 00:43:56 . . .

“Less than forty-five minutes,” Isaiah commented to everyone standing by the vehicle. Then into his lip mic, he said: “Comm Center, this is Isaiah. Do you read?”

“Go.” It was Father Auciello.

“We’ve confirmed the unit to be active,” he told him. “The timer is showing less than forty-five minutes. As of this moment, it’s unclear whether the device possesses tripwire capabilities while in this method of operation. Any clarification from the Mossad or the CIA regarding such possibilities?”

“That’s negative,” the priest responded. “The agencies have not completed their product examinations of Satan and the Antichrist. There are still some apparent ‘safeguards’ that are not fully understood by the investigative teams, as they try to navigate through the systems.”

Isaiah closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. This was not what he wanted to hear. It was unclear if the unit had a built-in triggering system that might be enabled as soon as the system powered up—maybe as something as simple as closing the lid to press hidden springs.

. . . 00:43:13 . . .

. . . 00:43:12 . . .

. . . 00:43:11 . . .

And then from Isaiah: “Father, you may want to remove the pontiff from the city. It’s best to be careful at this point.”

“Copy that, Isaiah. But the pontiff has already stated that he’s not about to go anywhere, since he fully believes that divine intervention will prevail.”

“Let’s hope that he’s right,” he returned. And then: “Out.”

Looking at the surrounding faces that appeared to lack confidence but were also mired in hope, Isaiah then regarded the towering wall that separated the Piazza del Risorgimento from Vatican City. A weapon of mass destruction was ticking down to zero hour and to the moment that would render the city to a kingdom of flames. The blast would be super-heated, and death would be instant and painless. But Isaiah worried about Catholicism in the aftermath. Would it cease to exist? Or would it resurrect itself from the ashes like the Phoenix to become a leading and healing faith once again?

He, along with Nehemiah, the Polizia di Stato, and members from the bomb squad, realized that the ‘necessary caution’ taken was also time consuming, and time was not a luxury.

Looking at the timer and wondering if it did have a hair-trigger temper once the suitcase was moved or toyed with, Isaiah noted the countdown.

. . . 00:42:43 . . .

. . . 00:42:42 . . .

. . . 00:42:41 . . .

Visibly, the Vatican Knight delivered a deep and deflated sigh.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Monte Soratte Range

30 Miles North of Rome

When Kimball Hayden arrived near the programmed location with his headlights cutting a wide swath through the darkness, he came to a full stop about 600 yards short from the GPS coordinates, and stared through the windshield as the car idled. As the twin beams penetrated deep, Kimball sat as though he was mesmerized by something only he could see, when, in fact, he was merely deliberating his next move. He sat as still as a corpse, though his mind actively wandered. To simply walk into the lion’s den was not an option, since the act itself would be like walking to the gallows. Up until this moment after giving the hexagon-shaped tracker a sidelong glance, he had been cooperative by not possessing any weapons or communicating his circumstances to the Vatican Knights or to law enforcement. But he did this for one reason: someone had to place the hexagon device on his cot at the direction of another—perhaps by a bishop or a cardinal or a member of the Swiss Guard—those who were the eyes of the church and had keen ears to listen. Kimball had been restricted to believing that his every move was being surveyed and his every word monitored. Here, however, under the cover of darkness, he was entirely within his element.

Here, Kimball Hayden was king.

Slowly reaching for the key in the ignition, the Vatican Knight cut off the engine and killed the lights.

And once again, he became one with the shadows.

* * *

Antle was watching the screen of her laptop and the red dot that was Kimball Hayden as he neared their position. Looking at her watch, she made note that the Vatican Knight had made it to the bunker within the timeframe given and with moments to spare.

When the dot on the screen stopped moving, the woman hit the button to her earbud and lip mic, then gruffly stated, “Our guest of honor has arrived. Please see to it that he’s escorted with the utmost caution, since he’s a consummate threat.”

“He’s been given his instructions,” Stallworth returned over her earbud. “He knows the consequences.”

“Take nothing for granted,” she responded. “If you still think he’ll get on bended knees to plead for his life and the life of the woman, think again.”

“He’d be a fool if he doesn’t comply.”

“Two things: Kimball Hayden moves to his own thinking. And secondly, remember our primary goal. Hayden is the key target here, not the woman. If she dies prematurely, then we may miss our opportunity of dispatching Hayden, should he realize that there’s nothing more he can do to salvage the situation if the woman is removed. Her living to the last moment means everything to the operation. She is both the means of his approach and the vessel of his doom. This has to be done in accordance with him believing that he has a

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