Reginald Cook - The Hammer of God

A few seconds later, gunshots rang out and he was tossed back and forth against the walls of the trunk. The engine growled louder and Samuel bounced up and down, hitting his head. There was more gunfire, then silence. Samuel thought he heard screaming in the distance, as the wind whistled his name. Samuel!

I n pitch-black darkness, Robert and Thorne silently maneuvered the rubber watercraft across the lake toward Astura Torre castle with ease.

The lightly clouded sky profiled a blanket of bright stars and bright moon, unimpeded by dull city lights as in Chicago or New York. Earlier, Thorne had asked to be dropped in the city to talk to one of her sources, so she could secure everything they needed. Father Kong and the others were less suspicious than they would’ve been if it had been Robert stepping out instead of her. She had secured all the equipment they needed to rescue Samuel. Two fifty foot sets of strong rope with grappling hooks, mountain climbing hooks and spikes, Mac-10 machine guns fitted with silencers, (they were out of 9mm’s and. 45’s), and night-vision goggles.

Their plan, deceptively simple on paper, required a strong bit of luck.

They had launched the raft a little more than a mile down the coastline from the castle, out in the lake about a mile and a half, where they wouldn’t be seen. Thorne guided the boat slowly, and a half-mile away, Robert saw the shadowy, barely-lit castle. Although the engine was near silent, Robert signaled for Thorne to cut the motor and they rowed the last quarter mile. As they dug their oars into the lake, Robert wondered what Sister Isabella and the others would think when they discovered that they were gone.

Robert activated his night-vision goggles and scanned the coastline as they inched closer. Nothing. They reached the wall under the window where Robert had spotted what he was sure was Samuel’s flaming signal.

He turned off the goggles and grabbed the rope and grappling hook.

Thorne followed his lead. Robert threw his first, caught the top of the wall, tested the rope, and started to climb, the machine gun swinging from his shoulder. A few seconds later, Thorne’s hook found its mark and she pulled herself up right behind him. The closer they got to the top, the harder Robert’s heart pounded. One peek down by one of The Order’s people and they’d be finished before they got started.

They reached the top of the wall simultaneously and unhooked themselves. Robert checked around the corner to the left, Thorne, the right, and gave each other the all clear. Up above about fifteen feet, the window emitted a dim light, but no sounds or voices. The wall, a maze of stony cracks and crevices, reminded Robert of the mountains he and Thorne climbed back in the States, only a bit more slippery.

“We’ll go up together,” Robert whispered. “When we reach the window, I’ll head inside first.”

Thorne nodded in agreement, then readied her weapons, the Mac-10, and her favorite, a Mosberg pistol grip pump shotgun.

They spread out to give each other room and started to climb. A few feet from the window, Robert heard faint voices and stopped, Thorne following suit. If Samuel’s inside, he’s not alone. They waited. Robert heard bumping and knocking, minutes later, silence fell, and they continued up the wall.

At the window, Robert pulled himself up on the ledge and peeked inside. The bedroom was empty, the door wide open, and the voices and stomping feet were headed downstairs. Robert climbed inside and stepped to the left, giving Thorne room to make it inside, his machine gun pointed at the open door.

They searched the room, but found nothing. Robert signaled his partner, and they edged toward the open door. At the bottom Robert heard the sound of men struggling, and cursing in Italian.

“They’re carrying something heavy,” whispered Thorne. “They said they’re heavy.”

“It could be the boys,” Robert whispered back. “Let’s go.” They carefully worked their way downstairs to a large room with a cobblestoned floor. It was empty, but the fireplace was blazing.

“They’re outside,” whispered Robert, tipping toward the front door.

A door slammed shut and an engine started. Robert and Thorne burst outside and spotted a van pulling away.

“Bastardo! Bastardo!” a male voice shouted to their right. “Shoot them!”

Robert and Thorne ducked to the left, firing at two men to their right who fired back. The van stopped momentarily then sped away. They both hit the ground and continued to fire. Down the road, Robert saw machine gun fire spray the wooded area where they had set up surveillance to watch the castle.

“Fuck this!” Robert heard Thorne shout.

She stood up and ran toward the two men, shooting and screaming something unintelligible. Moments later, both Italians were dead. Robert ran over to make sure his partner was okay, but should’ve known better.

She stood over the bodies and kicked them both.

“They’re gone,” she said, matter-of-fact, emotionless.

Against the night, Thorne radiated a beauty few women could achieve. At her feet lay destruction not many men could fathom. Robert shook his head. No matter how many times he witnessed her power, it always amazed him.

“I saw them shoot into the woods,” Robert said. “We better check it out.”

They ran across the compound to the woods. Robert cursed under his breath, wishing he hadn’t listened to the others and rescued Samuel earlier. He tried to remember as many details about the van as possible.

Plain white van, late model, spare tire on the rack on the back door.

R obert and Thorne reached the woods and found two bodies sprawled out in the brush, Sister Agnes Mary Paul and Father Thomas Raul, both Il Martello di Dio operatives.

They examined the bodies, searching for signs of life. Two packed cars sped up to the scene. Father Kong and Sister Isabella hoped out, ran over, and at the sight of their comrades, fell to their knees and assisted Robert and Thorne in trying to revive their friends, prayers spewing from their lips.

Ten minutes later, Robert and Thorne stood, watching Father Kong and the others work on the two for another five minutes. Exacerbated, Sister Isabella stormed over to Robert and Thorne.

“You lied to us! You promised not to try this without us! Now our friends are dead, and Samuel’s gone!” screamed Sister Isabella.

“It’s not our fault,” snapped Thorne. “They were moving Samuel when we got here. They stopped to shoot your people on the way out.

They knew they were there. We’d been made.”

“Thorne’s right,” added Robert. “We shot two men up near the castle. You can check it out.”

Father Kong, listening, stood and walked over, his hands bloody.

“What did the van look like?” he asked. Robert described as much as he could. Thorne added her piece.

Father Kong dialed his cell phone and put it out on their network. “If it shows, we’ll find it,” he said, calm and focused. He turned to the other six people who were standing near the two bodies, tears in their eyes, and directed them to search the castle and surrounding grounds. “Show us the men you killed,” said Father Kong.

The four quickly walked over to the bodies Thorne had laid out.

Father Kong and Sister Isabella knelt, prayed for the two, then examined them closely.

“I think I recognize them,” said Father Kong. “They’re mafia, but I can’t place who they work for.”

Sister Isabella adjusted the bodies face up and took pictures with a digital camera. “I’ll run these through our database,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll get a hit. If we find out who they worked for, we might be able to pick up Samuel’s trail.”