Reginald Cook - The Hammer of God

One of Cardinal Maximilian’s people jumped out and disappeared inside the condemned, windowless tomb. A few moments later, a signal from the front door said it was safe for everyone to come inside.

The warehouse reminded Robert of several he’d held similar meetings in around the world. Most notably, a haunting structure in Frankfurt, Germany, where he and Thorne ended up shooting it out with a group of pissed-off Nazis dealing black market munitions to the Middle East. They barely made it out alive.

Robert followed Cardinal Maximilian in silence. Thorne brought up the rear behind the five others, whose faces remained hidden behind ski masks. The warehouse, cold, rank and wet, held nothing more than a few rows of rusted shelving and stacks of rotted wooden pallets. Even in the shadows, Robert spied several rats the size of big cats scurrying overhead along the steel beamed rafters. They reached a far corner and stopped.

One of the cardinal’s people turned on a fluorescent lantern and sat it on a stack of wooden crates. Thorne moved to the right side of the group, expressionless, both hands on the pistol grip, her eyes coolly scanning back and forth.

“So, Mr. Veil, tell us how much you know so far?” asked Cardinal Maximilian.

“Let’s see, my godson’s been kidnapped. One of my oldest friends doesn’t want me involved, and somehow the Church has a hand in it,” he responded.

Cardinal Maximilian took a deep breath. “I was hoping to hear more about what you’ve learned so far.”

Robert stared hard at the cardinal. “Forgive me, but I still don’t know who you are. You say you’re a priest?”

Cardinal Maximilian looked over at his compatriots, then back at Robert and Thorne. “Yes, I’m a cardinal in the Roman Catholic Church.”

“Since when do clerics run around in ski masks carrying guns?”

“Since 1853,” said Cardinal Maximilian. “Of course, the weapons of choice have changed, but our mandate remains the same.” Thorne took a step forward. “Mandate?”

The cardinal placed his hands behind his back and paced, deep in thought. After a moment, he lifted his head. “Before I explain, allow me to introduce you to my people.” The four men and one woman stood erect at Cardinal Maximilian’s words. “First, there’s Sister Isabella Cacciavillian.”

One of the five, carrying a shoulder strapped Uzi, stepped forward and removed her ski mask. A dark haired, no nonsense woman with cat-like gray eyes, smiled and shook out her hair. “Ciao! It’s a blessing to meet you. Please call me Sister Isabella.” The nun bowed her head, smiled at Thorne, then stepped back in line with the others. Her posture, head high, standing tall, reminded Robert of his partner. He sensed a power behind Sister Isabella’s gentile manner and mesmerizing Italian accent.

The next in the group slowly walked over to Robert, one hand extended, the other removing his mask. The gentle, smiling face of a handsome Chinese man with shoulder length jet-black hair lit up the warehouse.

“I am Father Shan Rui Kong,” he said, head bowing slightly, eyes never leaving Robert’s. The priest’s smile widened. He grasped Robert’s hand gently with both of his, bowed again, this time his eyes to the ground, then turned to Thorne and did the same.

The next in line rushed forward and snatched off his mask so fast, Robert thought Thorne might shoot him. But one look at the toothy grin of Father Nicholas O’Conner and Robert knew they were in no danger at all. The priest introduced himself, and gave Robert a strong hug. Father O’Conner’s salt and pepper hair and beard beamed an almost grandfatherly look, but the rock hard muscles Robert noticed during the hug told a much different story.

Next, the smallest of the group, Monsignor Fernandes Falco removed his mask and stepped forward, his hard, chiseled face and pronounced features more monster than man. He shook Robert’s hand without a word, glared at Thorne then resumed his place.

Finally, Bishop Nicholas Lantern, young, handsome and obviously athletic, greeted both Robert and Thorne with a hint of disdain. He barely made eye contact, and abruptly rejoined his comrades, jaws clinched, eyes narrow.

Cardinal Maximilian cleared his throat, as though trying to sway attention away from the young cleric. “And of course, I’ve already introduced myself.”

“Cardinal James Francis Maximilian,” repeated Thorne, sarcastically and smiling. “We remember.”

“Feel free to call me Cardinal Max, except in public,” the cardinal said jokingly. “And you are Miss Nikki Thorne.” He walked over to Thorne, hands behind his back. “Your mother was murdered when you were fourteen. Your father raised you and your brother, and you had a twin brother who died at birth. You and Mr. Veil have been friends since thirteen, served in the Marines and CIA together. No kids or pets.” Thorne’s eyes never left the cardinal’s. “Nice,” she said, through a slight admiring smile. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” added the cardinal, looking around at the others. “We understand what happened to you years ago, and want you to know you stay in our prayers. God has forgiven you and Mr. Veil.” The hair on Robert’s head bristled. Thorne, visibly shaken, let the pistol grip swing from her shoulder.

The cardinal gave a reassuring smile. “I understand why you two are so close. It’s nice to have good friends.” Up until that point, Robert was sure nobody knew about the situation Cardinal Maximilian spoke of, a secret that bound Robert and Thorne together, forever.

Thorne gathered herself and held her head high. She continued to gaze hard at Cardinal Maximilian in silence.

“But that’s a matter for a different time,” the cardinal continued, turning toward Robert. “Now, let me tell you about Il Martello di Dio, and The Order of Asmodeus.”

“I n 1853, Pope Pius IX had a vision,” said Cardinal Maximilian.

“A band of demons, lead by Satan’s chief, Asmodeus, set out to destroy the Church from within. Pope Pius’ written account, sealed in a safe inside the Pontiff’s office to this very day, details the satanic treachery planned against the Church, and the Lord’s mandate that a group of God’s willing servants be assembled to battle The Order.”

“That’s what they’re called?” asked Robert.

“Officially, they refer to themselves as The Order of Asmodeus,” said the cardinal. “We call them The Order.” Robert walked closer to the cardinal. “You say they’re trying to destroy the Church from the inside?”

“Yes,” said Cardinal Maximilian. “They have an extensive network of priests and nuns throughout the Church worldwide. That’s their mandate. They corrode from within, like a cancer.”

“If you know this, then why not kick them out?” asked Thorne.

Cardinal Maximilian walked over to Thorne. “They’re very good at staying hidden. It’s hard to know who’s who, so rooting them out hasn’t been easy.”

The cardinal took a deep breath, rubbed his eyes, and lost his balance. Immediately, Bishop Lantern and Monsignor Falco assembled crates so he could sit down.

“Forgive me, it’s been quite a long week,” gasped the cardinal.

Thorne leaned her shotgun up against some boxes, produced an unopened bottle of water from her coat pocket and handed it to the cardinal.

“Thank you, my child,” said Cardinal Maximilian.

Thorne nodded, retrieved the shotgun and resumed her position.

“The Order’s biggest campaign over the years has recently resulted in its most penetrating damage here in the States,” Cardinal Maximilian continued.

“You mean the child molestation?” asked Robert.

“Yes.”

“Forgive me, Cardinal, but are you trying to get me to believe The Order is responsible for all the pedophiles in the Church?”