The Iscariot Agenda Read Online Free Page A

with clerics waiting to see the monsignor.
     

 
     
     
    CHAPTER THREE
     
    Kimball’s personal chamber was located next to the Tower of San Giovanni at the west end of Vatican City, approximately 200 meters west of St. Peter’s Basilica. The room itself was small, the ceiling high, the walls made of slump stone the color of desert sand and bore nothing else but a cross hanging above a small window that overlooked the magnificent Lourdes Gardens.  Against the far wall lay a single-sized bed with night stand, light, and shelves lined with military texts and journals. Closer to the door was a kneeling rail and votive rack for prayer, the candles having gone unlit and the kneeling rail unused. Although exclusive of luxury comforts, it was still home to the Master of the Vatican Knights.
    Closing the door behind him, Kimball crossed the floor with myriad thoughts swimming in his head after meeting with the monsignor, and sat on the edge of the bed, the frame bowing slightly beneath his weight. For the first time he had taken the session to heart, the monsignor’s insight bearing the frank truthfulness that the Light was not going to come to him, but he must make a viable effort to go to the Light.
    Closing his eyes and raising his chin, the muscles of his jaw working, Kimball made a decision: He would pray. He rose from the bed and went to the kneeling pad before the votive rack and got on his knees. After striking a match, he lit two votive candles in homage for the two Knights who lost their lives during an earlier mission. He lit the candles for Hosea and Malachi, lost friends and comrades. 
    Closing his eyes and clasping his hands in an attitude of prayer, he tried to recite the ‘Lord’s Prayer,’ only to forget the words after the preamble of the first six words of the prayer were spoken. So he tried his hand with the ‘Hail Mary.’ But after forgetting the words beyond the first sentence he subsequently gave up, considering himself to be the worst Catholic in the world since he couldn’t recall a simple prayer.
    And then he opened his eyes and noted the serene curl of black smoke rising from the candles’ wicks. Their motion was gentle and fluid, like the composites that once made up his friends—yet the flames could be caustic when need be. And then he wondered if the former Knights made it to the ethereal Light, then questioned if there was a Light at all. What Kimball needed to believe in was to see something far more wonderful beyond the pain and madness of killing, something well beyond the darkness in which he had spent his entire life.
    What he wanted was peace. 
    Closing his eyes he once again prayed. Not in idle words written on the pages of text to be recited without feeling or emotion, but words from his heart and soul. He spoke in whispers and hushed tones, wondering if He was listening, and asked for forgiveness for the lives he had stolen without remorse.
    However, in the aftermath of prayer came the passage of silence.
    No feathers floated down from the ceiling, thunder did not sound off in the clear blue sky, nor did he receive any sign that God was even listening. Believing his fate had been determined, he surrendered his attempt of good faith by blowing out the candles.
    “Well, so much for praying, Monsignor. At least I tried.”
    Getting to his feet, Kimball crossed the short space to his bed and fell onto the mattress, the bed whining in protest beneath his weight.
    With a strong light coming in through the window, he lay on the bed with his hands behind his head and stared at the pieces of leaden glass that formed the colorful figure of the Virgin Mother, who reached out to him with outstretched arms that glowed in the mid-day light.
      With silence filling the room, Kimball Hayden turned away from the image and fell into a much needed sleep.
     

 
     
     
    CHAPTER FOUR
    Manila , Philippines
     
    Twelve years ago his legs had been taken above the knees. 
    Twelve years later