The Crimson Dagger - Vatican Knights Series 23 (2020) by Rick Jones (romantic novels to read txt) 📕

walked to the Bible which sat upon the podium and traced his fingers over the gold-embossed letters on the cover. Then he went to the votive rack and noted the candles whose wicks had never been lit. And then: “I miss this,” he admitted. “I miss you. I miss my team. And I miss the assignments. Everything gave me purpose and meaning. I felt as though I was doing the right thing here. Maybe not always . . . but mostly.”

“You’re not happy in the States with Shari?”

“That’s not it at all,” he said. “I love her with all my heart. Never been happier. My problem is that I want the best of both worlds. And she’s good with that. She understands my journey.”

“She’s a good woman, Kimball.”

“I know.”

“So, are you here for good?”

“I’m here when I have to be.”

“The pontiff isn’t going to be happy when he hears that you’re back.”

“Yeah, well, that’s his problem. He knows what he’s done, and he knows that I know what he’s done.”

“You really believe he murdered Pope Gregory?”

“I do and so did Bonasero. In fact, I was there the night he entered Bonasero’s chamber during the early morning hours holding a pillow ready to snuff out Bonasero’s life. You should have seen his face when he saw that it was me lying in bed instead of Bonasero. It was beautiful.”

“I heard you nearly put him through the wall.”

“I wanted to, if not for Bonasero coming out of the nearby shadows to calm me down.”

“And the reason why the then-cardinal claimed he was there?”

“He said he was there to check up on Bonasero to see if he was well, after Bonasero had fallen ill.”

“You do realize that Pope Clement was exonerated of all wrongdoing.”

“Of course. Did you really expect the authorities to rock the foundation of the church by pointing an accusing finger at a man who was a preferiti candidate of becoming the next pope?” Kimball paused as he looked at the stained-glass window of the Virgin Mother high upon the wall. “Perhaps,” he began, “Mother Mary can forgive him for what he did but I can’t. And neither could Bonasero.” Kimball went to the opposite side of the room where his cot lay. He couldn’t remember when the room appeared so large, so empty.

Then from Isaiah: “There’s been changes since you’ve been gone,” he said.

“No doubt.”

“The pontiff has been sending the Vatican Knights on missions that often don’t follow the rules of engagement. He’s all but disbanded the Society of Seven, who no longer have any say in our military assignments.”

“And you’re surprised by this?”

“He makes the sole decision on everything we do,” Isaiah answered. “I’m afraid that we might be witnessing the beginning of the end of the Vatican Knights, as we know it.”

“You might be right, Isaiah. Pope Clement, at least in my eyes, is corrupt and makes his own boundaries, and then he steps across them at will. I don’t think he believes that laws of any kind are for him to follow, since he rules from the most sacred seat in the land. At least there were checks and balances when Bonasero ruled as pope, like listening to the Society of Seven.”

Isaiah appeared forlorn in the room’s dim lighting, something Kimball intuited.

“Are you all right?” he asked Isaiah.

“This is the only life I’ve ever known. All of a sudden, there doesn’t seem to be any direction.”

“And now you’re scared?”

“Let’s say I’m confused.”

“Hopefully,” Kimball said, “I’ll be able to right a listing ship.”

“His rule is supreme, Kimball. There’s little you can do.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” The commander of the Vatican Knights once again peered at the stained-glass image of the Virgin Mother. “Perhaps there is a design that’s mightier than his,” he said. “I can only hope.”

Isaiah looked at the image of Mother Mary, as well, and caught the gist of Kimball’s reference: There were powers mightier than that of a man who sees himself as king.

Over the next hour, Isaiah helped Kimball remove his gear from storage. In the hour thereafter, Kimball made his bed. He also tossed his military magazines about to give the room a lived-in look. And he stored his footlocker at the end of his cot. Now, his room was as he had left it. Smaller, cluttered, lived in.

After Isaiah left, Kimball sat on the edge of the cot and tested it. It held, as always, beneath his weight. Then he looked across the room and at the votive rack, the kneeling rail and podium with the unopened Bible. His side of the room was his sanctuary, a place where he felt most comfortable. The other side almost seemed to be a place of taboo; a place not fit for the likes of a man who often operated in the Dark to serve the Light. But he was most comfortable in the Divide between the two, inside the Gray.

Checking his watch, he realized that it was late afternoon in Washington, D.C. And he wondered about Shari, how she was doing. Then he realized how lucky he was to have her in his life. Would he be able to serve the church and cater to Shari’s needs? He hoped so. But he also knew it would be a difficult desire to achieve; to survive happily in both worlds.

Removing his cellphone from his shirt pocket, he dialed a quick-call number. Shari did not pick up, so he left a message saying that he was thinking about her. But more importantly, he said that he loved her.

Returning the phone, he looked at the colorful image of the Virgin Mary who was looking down at him from a point high on the wall. Her smile was becoming and gentle and divinely expressive. It was the kind of smile his mother used to show him often when he was younger. It was the smile of unconditional love.

Do you love me? he thought. Have I done enough to see the Light?

The Virgin Mary was neutral in her stillness.

Hmm. Yeah. I