Reginald Cook - The Hammer of God

Inside, the coffin smelled like a fresh Christmas tree. Samuel relaxed. Rest, save your energy. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the sound of Cardinal Polletto’s grating tone. He focused on the task before them. Escape.

Samuel felt the coffin lift in the air and move forward. He opened his eyes, and stared up through the slits cut in the top of the box, barely able to make out the ceiling because of the dim light. He tested the rope tied around his wrists. It wasn’t tight, but firm. He pulled and twisted, careful not to knock around or shift his weight. He felt the rope loosen, not much, but enough to spur him on. He closed his eyes again, and told his brothers to do the same.

Samuel felt the coffin tip downward. We’re going a flight of stairs..

Soon, he saw the stars up through the slits, and smelled the dampness of the lake in the night air. His ears picked up murmuring, and he imagined that the stadium Cardinal Polletto showed them the day before was filled with more jerks like the ones he’d already met.

Bright beams from the stadium lights streamed down into the coffin.

The murmurs and buzzing grew louder, and he could tell from the sound of shoes clopping wood, that they were being carried across the stage.

Samuel closed his eyes again. This time he conjured up the layout around the castle in his mind, imagining their exact location as they moved along. A few minutes later, they stopped, and his coffin touched down softly on what he knew was the extended deck. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard the sound of children whimpering and crying.

“Tonight is a night of triumph,” Samuel heard Cardinal Polletto bellow. “A night we all will bear witness to history, a night when the world will be born anew.”

Samuel worked harder to loosen the rope, straining as hard as he could, sweat burning his eyes, the rope cutting into his skin. He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. The blood seeping from small cuts around his wrists lubricated the rope, enabling him to pull free. Tears streamed down his face from the pain. He quickly rolled his head from one shoulder to the next, wiping his face dry. He retied his hands, but left them loose enough to break free when the time came.

“Curse you, curse every last one of you!” Samuel heard Father Tolbert scream. “Hell is waiting for all of you! I swear it!” Samuel heard more chanting. Words he didn’t understand. A few moments later, Father Tolbert let out a terrifying shriek.

“No, get away from me, no!” screamed Father Tolbert.

R obert and Thorne waited in a small, cliff-side house in Trevignano, across the lake from a well-lit Bracciano Castle, visible in the distance.

When all was clear, the shops closed, and the streets empty, they crept across the street, through a brief section of woods to the beach, where one of Father Kong’s men, Father Timothy Pastuer, a young Frenchman who resembled the long-haired surfers Robert had seen riding waves along the shores of Australia, waited with their underwater gear.

They both undressed and slipped into black wetsuits. Robert saw Father Pastuer almost gasp at the sight of Thorne’s chiseled frame, perfect breasts and tight ass. Robert smiled. I wonder how many Hail Mary’s this will cost you.

Thorne never gave either of them so much as a glance. It wasn’t the first time they’d gone through this drill, and Robert had long ago immunized himself from Thorne’s exotic looks, although every now and them she still managed to catch him off guard. Robert’s radio cackled.

He and Thorne pressed their earpieces. It was Father Kong.

“Everybody’s in position,” the priest said clearly. “Signal us when you’re inside.”

Robert affirmed the message, and he and Thorne went back to their preparations. Once inside his wet suit, Robert checked the air tanks, fins, laser, and underwater scooters they’d use to pull them through the lake.

Thorne handed him a waterproof sack. Inside were two nine-millimeter automatics, plenty of ammunition, a set of night vision binoculars, and a Bowie knife. Robert removed his earpiece and radio and placed them inside.

“I’m all set,” said Thorne, handing him a large, yellow underwater light that he attached to the top of his scooter. “We’ll fire these up once we’re ten feet under, so we don’t give ourselves away.” Robert strapped the underwater laser to his shoulder. Thorne carried their weapons. They gave Father Pastuer the thumbs-up as he prayed, then slowly waded into the icy water, surrounded by complete darkness and the stars above.

Under the pitch-black water, Robert barely saw Thorne in front of him. Ten feet later, they turned on their lights. Fish and eels scrambled to get out of their way, several crashing into Robert as he swam. He moved to Thorne’s left and fired up his underwater scooter. Silent, the scooter pulled him through the water with ease, snatching him past Thorne until she started hers and caught up with him. They sliced through the water like dolphins, diving down two hundred feet, gliding toward the castle at twenty-five miles an hour.

According to the map, the three tunnels beneath the castle were spread out fifteen feet apart at the base, hidden in the small reef one hundred twenty-five feet below.

Twenty-five minutes later, Robert and Thorne reached the rocks below the castle and secured their scooters by wedging them in between large crevices, then detached the underwater lamps and swam along the reef until they came to the first tunnel. Robert peered inside, shook his head no, and pointed. Just past the steel grate was a wall of bricks. The only way through it would be to blast it open with explosives, which was not an option.

They reached the next tunnel, only to find another wall. This one was solid concrete, and had been built all the way to the steel grate. Robert cursed inside his mask and took off to find the next tunnel. When he reached the third steel grate and shined his light through, he saw another concrete wall, but this one was further down the tunnel, about fifty feet.

Thorne pulled hard on the grate, which was loose on one end. Robert fired the laser and began cutting the grate on the loose end. The rusted steel melted like butter. Fifteen minutes later, Thorne pulled the grate free and watched it disappear beneath them. Robert swam inside first, taking the laser torch with him as a precaution. The entryway was so narrow, he was unable to look back, but was sure his partner was close behind.

Thirty feet inside, the entrance widened enough for Thorne to swim up beside him. Twenty feet later, they stopped at the brick wall, but could see the surface above them. Robert sat the laser down. Thorne handed him the bag that contained his weapons. He motioned for them to ease up slowly, and they each swam up five feet apart.

Robert eased his head out of the water and looked around as they floated quietly, listening, looking around the dark cave. He signaled all clear, surveying the left side of the cave. Thorne checked their right, and they quickly pulled themselves out, removed the scuba gear, slipped on a pair of rubber-soled shoes, and loaded their weapons. Robert screwed a silencer on one of his nines, as did Thorne.

To his surprise, Thorne had managed to bring along her signature Mosberg pistol grip shotgun. He smiled as she jammed in the shells and hung if from her shoulder.

“I see you brought her with you,” he said, attaching his radio and ear piece.

Thorne checked her other weapons, never looking up. “Bitches fair better in pairs.” She racked in a shell. “And this bitch is my favorite.” Robert shined his light around the cavernous, dark cave, focusing the beam on a concrete stairwell to their right. The stairs led up to a heavy steel door that Robert initially thought was locked, but cracked open when he and Thorne leaned hard into it with their shoulders. The door opened up into a dusty basement filled with old artifacts, canvas covered paintings, tools, and other maintenance items apparently untouched for quite some time.