The Iscariot Agenda Read Free

City
     
    Monsignor Dom Giammacio was the Vatican’s counselor for clerics who wallowed in the self-doubt of their waning faith. Most often they went to him to reaffirm their own ‘unconscionable’ belief that questioning the existence of God was not a fatal sin. And perhaps with some pro-pious readjustment could fall back into His Fatherly graces. In the monsignor’s point of view, if they feared Him on some level, even in their queried state of mind, then it could be logically stated that they at least believed Him to some degree. After all, why fear something that did not exist? 
    But today was marginally different, as was every Monday at this time.  
    In front of the monsignor sat an obtrusively large man who fiercely raked the cleric with cerulean blue eyes whenever the priest attempted to open a dialogue with him, the man always an unwilling participant in the course of such examinations. But at the direction of the pontiff, the man appealed to the wishes of His Holiness by addressing underlying issues regarding his constantly warring subconscious.
    He was large and tall, with a wide expanse of shoulder and chest. His massive anatomical design was even more pronounced by the tight fit of the cleric’s shirt he wore, the cloth stretched to its limit. And though he wore the Roman Catholic collar as a symbol of his faith, he struggled at the core of his divine devotion.   
    Unlike others, he was not a priest or a cleric or a man of pious nature, but a Vatican Knight in the service of the pope who was delegated to preserve the interests of the Holy Roman Church. When necessary, he and his elite force of commandos would perform black op missions selected by the pontiff and six of his most trusted and ascribed cardinals known as the Society of Seven. Outside the ‘Society,’ the monsignor was one of few beyond the circle who knew of their existence and thusly informed to keep matters confidential. Not only were the Vatican Knights to remain a secretive conclave of elite commandos in service to the Church, they were to remain so exclusive that they could not even be considered as mythology. Never will the Vatican Knights be made public, since their efforts to achieve the means were sometimes less than charitable. War, after all, possessed a dark side.
    Quietly lighting a cigarette, the monsignor let it burn in the ashtray as a lazy ribbon of smoke drifted into the air. After tenting his fingers and easing back into his seat, he turned to Kimball Hayden who sat opposite him. The glower he received from the Vatican Knight was quite communicable: Let’s get this damn thing over with . The sentiment in the man’s expression was quite explicit in that he did not want to be here holding psychological counsel. But neither man had a choice, due to the appeal from the pope.
    For a moment they stared at each other waiting for the other to start the session. But over time it had become a battle of wills with the monsignor always giving in. It was a game he never won.
    “Let’s begin, Mr. Hayden, shall we?”
    Kimball sat there appraising the little man with the bad comb-over, which never failed to bring a preamble of a pretentious smirk to Kimball’s lips.  
    “Mr. Hayden—”
    “Kimball,” he said. “I want you to call me Kimball.” He really didn’t, but it was a power play on his part to establish authority.  
    “All right, Kimball. If that’s what you want.”
    He arched an eyebrow. “It’s what I want.”
    The monsignor let the cigarette smolder in the ashtray, his tented hands holding steady as their standoff drew an unwavering bead between them.
    “And how would you like to start off with today’s session?” asked the monsignor.
    “Like I do at the beginning of every session,” he stated. “By saying, I find this a huge waste of my time.”
    “Then why don’t you tell that to the pope? Or do you lack the courage?”
    Kimball eased back into his chair, impressed that the monsignor had challenged