Maria stood off to one side with most of her family. They stood there watching as Samantha went over the equipment laid out on the table before her. There was the normal undercover laps, cellphone, and family knives. The same ones she would normally carry for a team operation. Samantha would have to secure new firearms and anything else she would need in Rome.

Angelic was pissed that she wasn’t going in with Samantha. Then she remembered that her second cousin was more than just a trained and blooded old world assassins. Samantha was the Hemlock Rose. Angelic knew that as deadly as Samantha is, she was worried about her going in alone.

The deadliest member of the DeMarco wasn’t taking one of her firearms. All of her weapons were all of the bladed type. Knives, throwing knives, spikes, and darts. The traditional weapons of the assassin. The only weapon missing was poison. Not that Samantha wanted it. Not for what she was going to do. She wasn’t going to let her target die a peaceful death. Not if she could fucking help it.

“If I can have your attention.” Krystel started off with. “I'll begin your briefing now.”

“Stow it, Krystel. I know that you’re not happy with me going in alone. Neither is the rest of my team.” Samantha sighed. “But We have to face facts here. First, none of you know enough about the Vatican to not get in the way. Even Annette and Angelic don’t know what I do. Sure, they both have the training and skills to act as infiltration specialists. But Annette is beached for medical reason. Angelic maybe one of the best thieves in the fucking world, but she is not an operator or assassin. Sure, Gemini can be considered as both, despite their ages. But I don’t have time to run them up to standard for this type of operation.”

“Oh, I'm sorry to take you away from beating up a pregnant friendly.” Krystel said sarcastically then ordered. “You WILL give me your attention and only raise relevant points. You want this operation, it's yours, but you will focus and set stupidity aside. It would be preferred that you have back-up. It is advised you reconsider.”

“I have damn it! Why can’t you see the truth for what it is?” Samantha snapped. “If it was up to me, I wouldn’t be leaving this island!”

“Samantha! Control your temper! Behave like the professional that I know you are!” Maria called out from where she stood. “We don’t have time for this arguing. The situation is what it is. We work with what we have. Annette is off field operations until after the pregnancy. Krystel, as skilled as you are; you can’t pass for a devout catholic. The same can be said for Tiffany and Shawna. I’m too old to be traipsing across rooftops or through sewers. The same goes for Anna. I would endorse Lyssa, but she is not available due to the powers that be. We are down to facing the truth. It is an uncomfortable truth and painful one but the truth none the less. Wishing that it wasn’t so, isn’t going to change the facts.”

“The Major conditionally approved this plan.” Krystel reminded. “Strong emphasis on 'conditionally'.”

“The Major did approve the personnel. I know that you don’t like it. You have voiced your disapproval and had it put on the record. Now, carry on the briefing.” Maria was done arguing with the cyber-warfare Operator. “Or should I take over for you?”

“I'll resume.” Krystel replied, turning back to Samantha. “I've replaced your standard laptop. When you’ve completed your operation bring up the command line, enter Hellfire666. When the program opens; hit run. Ten minutes later it’ll fry the cpu, and motherboard after wiping all traces from the recoverable memory. This will happen if the laptop is open or closed. Even underwater. It’s a onetime use. No matter what happens it does not come home. Like all of this equipment. You come home, but none of this equipment does. Understood?”

“Yes. The final part of my exfiltration route is through the Cloaca Maxima. It dumps into the Tiber River. I’ll get rid of everything there. Don’t worry, I’ll be well out in the middle of the river when I dump it. I’ll make the arrangements for the boat once I’m in Rome. I still have more than a few contacts in that part of the world. Ones that I can count on to keep their fucking mouths shut.” Samantha chuckled. “If they want to live that is.”

“Is it always a death threat?” Krystel asked.

“Who said anything about threats?” Angelic asked bluntly. “Krystel, the Capizeo family doesn’t make threats or empty promises. They state facts. You cross them, you pray that they give you a quick death.”

Krystel looked over at Maria, who nodded. “My niece has only stated the truth. Not even the DeMarco’s would dare to cross or think of crossing the Capizeo family. Just look at what just one of their number did eighteen years ago in Toledo, Ohio. They have very long knives and even longer memories.”

“We don’t ever tell someone that has double crossed us that we’re going to kill them, Krystel. We make them wish that we just killed them.” Samantha told the seasoned operator. “We wipe out their whole family first. Then when they are at their lowest, do we think about killing them.”

“And anyone with more than two functional braincells knows and understands this fact.” Bobby told the Operator. “Krystel, trust me when I say that my first wife has a nasty streak to her that you have yet to see.”

“This is where somebody would say they're impressed.” Krystel said to Bobby and turned back to Samantha. “I can honestly say, I'm repulsed. If you run such a high risk of betrayal that you require terrorist-mentality measures, it is beyond obvious you need to reevaluate your position. Carrying those badges as well. That mentality is unacceptable. You will NOT engage non-combatants, Deputy. This is where you say 'Aye, Ma'am'.”

“Aye, Ma'am.” Samantha grumbled then pointed at the table. “What’s with the glasses?”

“Glad you asked. Those have micro cameras in them that uplink with your phone. It took some work, but thanks to Gemini, and some hard work by the guys. We now have a way to see and track your moves without alerting everyone and their brother. Make sure you give them due appreciation for their diligent efforts.” Krystel nodded with approval. Then she gave Samantha a harsh look. “Whatever happens don’t lose them. Between your phone and the glasses, we can track your position down to two meters remotely. On-site, half a meter.”

“Don’t ditch them unless absolutely necessary.” Maria ordered Samantha. “That is an order. Not from Operations, not your mother but from your family.”

“One last thing. These emergency passports are good for two novices and two full sisters. They can get you into and out of Rome. That is the good news and bad news. The good is that unless they get flagged, you won't be stopped.” Krystel told Samantha. “However, if you do use them, you're done. Completely. Shut down. All four of you. Period. Full-stop.”

Angelic finally asked the question. “Why? What is not being said?”

“United States policy, Angelic. Using the cover of clergy, media and Peace Corps is forbidden. To do so is blatant violation and punishable." Bobby answered.

Kasey nodded. “It was in our classes; those three are never to be used. It endangers the real ones. They go out without any kind of protection.”

“If you do it and nothing bad happens, you can be disavowed and even go to prison. If things go bad, you go to prison for life if you're lucky. If it goes really bad; you get a lethal finding.” Kristine finished.

“If this operation goes south Krystel; I won’t be leaving by plane, train, bus, or any form of public transportation.” Samantha answered honestly as she packed up the laptop and other equipment. “Let’s pray it doesn’t come to that, Krystel. Is Lonestar ready to drop me off in Key West?”

“The Lear is on one-minute launch prep. One question. Why are you flying out the way you are? We can fly you all in directly.” Krystel asked.

“Let’s just say that the Monsignor is going to pay in more than one way.” Samantha chuckled at her gallows' humor as she turned and led her group to the Lear.

The implication wasn't lost on the Cyber-Operator. “I see. So, Samantha is charging the flights to the Iscariot Division accounts. Slightly amusing.”

Maria looked over. “I guess being a bit heavy-handed with Samantha can't be helped.”

“She wants to pretend that we're all morons to her genius. I'm not putting up with it. Yes; I come from a nobody family, not a criminal one. I had to work my way through college and earn my commission in the Navy. I'm not a Capezio or a DeMarco, so I don't have the option of saying a name that makes criminals piss themselves. Nobody just gives me anything.” Krystel said to the remaining Black Badges. “Just like everybody else on the military side, I have to earn for myself. At least I didn't have to start over as much as Lyssa did, get napalmed like Kimberly, back-shot like the skipper or hung out like Pete but I don't take it for granted.”

Maria shook her head as Krystel left. “All of you. This must stop. Paul did ask Lyssa and the others to take us in then gave us the opportunity to redeem ourselves of our blatant crimes. They have encouraged us and educated the girls alongside of Mindy, especially Kristine. Krystel devoted so much time with her and Kasey. They are different from us, yes, but that does not mean they are less than. They go where we won't and do what we can't. Bobby and Hunter are familiar with that, but the rest of us are not. No more disrespect to them.”

“Yes Ma'am.” Bobby, Hunter and Annette said.

Coconut Telegraph Shipping, Freeport, Grand Bahama: 1500

The eight fishing trawlers would have not been out of place in any seaport. It was the inboard engines that set these forty-foot fishing boats apart. The high performance high output engines were better suited for offshore racing speedboats than use aboard fishing boats. These were the pride and joy of John Morgan’s smuggling business. As the last package was carried aboard his flagship smuggler, John turned to the tall American who had delivered the box that originally held the packages. John Morgan had seen the man on several occasions over the years and knew his name but had never dealt with him. Nor had he dealt with the man's boss, the notorious Rodrick Mason.

“That’s the last of them.” John told the man. “My crews will be leaving within the next hour. Sorry, but we need to wait for the rest of the fishing fleet to leave. Don’t want to raise suspicions with the rest of the fleet. Too many boats going out this soon will have the whole fleet chasing them down. It’s tuna season, and the blues are running.”

“I was asked to find out the ETA’s for those packages to reach their destination.” Carl told John.

“Forty-eight to seventy-two hours. The trips could be made faster, but that’ll raise too much attention. They also need to put something in their hauls. Just to avoid suspicion if they get boarded or stopped by the US Coast Guard.” John explained for the man. “Fishing boats not fishing draws attention. Attention that my crews don’t need.”

“Not trying to tell you how to do your job sir. Just following orders.” The American said as he held up his hands. “She needs the information to plan accordingly. She is very meticulous.”

“I see. Understandable and I should have expected it from the Donna.” John got the impression that asking too many questions of this man about Donna Maria’s business would be dangerous for his health. “Well you can assure the Donna that her packages will be delivered no later than tomorrow.”

“Here’s the payment.” The man said handing over a thick envelop. The American turned to leave. “Have a good day.”

“You as well sir.” John stood there and watched as the American left his warehouse. A cold shiver ran down his spine. “I do not know where Donna Maria finds these people. But I hope that I never find out. Because it must be one step from the very depths of Hell’s deepest pit. Nobody wants to cross those pirates out on Ram's Rock.”

Church Our Blessed Mother, Freeport, Grand Bahama: 1530

Sister Mary smiled as the last of the children returned from school. The smiles on the children’s faces was worth being exiled from Rome. It was the twelve teenagers though that made her want to do more. The five teenage boys hurried inside and changed out of their uniforms. They were already climbing the ladders to help the new Priests with the roof repairs. She could tell that the boys wanted to do more than just get jobs down at the harbor after graduation. She was surprised that overnight almost none of them wanted to join the priesthood. In any of its Orders.

All thanks to those four new priests and their tales of adventure in their younger years while serving in the militaries of the world. She had heard the boys talk of wanting to join the Royal Bahamaian Defense Force over breakfast. Most especially the Commando Squadron. A more elite unit of Special Marine Commandos you would be hard pressed to find. Their training is conducted with U.S. Special Operations Forces with British Special Air and Boat Services in special operations and maritime warfare.

Another surprise for her was one of the after school activities for the girls of the orphanage. She watched as the seven teenage girls gathered up their younger female siblings. The thirty-nine girls all carried a small duffle bag filled with a white leotard, pink tights and Bloch leather full-sole ballet slippers. The older girls, those that were fourteen and up also carried a pair of Russian Pointe adult Muse Pointe Shoes. Each girl carried close to three-hundred dollars’ worth of ballet shoes, attire, and accessories. Whoever was paying for the girls to take ballet didn’t spare any expense for the girls. They were even paying for the lessons.

As the girls left the orphanage Mary sighed over the sad state of adoptions. Of the sixty-seven children staying at the orphanage only twenty-eight were boys. The rest were all girls between the ages of five to seventeen. The fact that boys were more preferable to girls in families in the Caribbean was a depressing thought. The main reason is boys could get jobs down at the docks and at the airport that paid a hell of lot more than the hotel housekeeping, waitressing and bartending jobs that waited for girls. She knew that very few of children of the Bahamas ever went to university or college.

“Thinking of their possible futures Sister Mary?” The heavy Russian accent in the voice let Mary know that the Mother Superior was behind her.

“Yes ma’am.” Mary sighed. “I feel so helpless. Most of these children will never be adopted because of their mixed heritage. Even then, the boys stand a better chance at being adopted than the girls.”

“It has been this way for as long as there have been orphanages, child. All we poor nuns can do is prepare the girls as best we can for the hard life that is ahead of them. The boys just have more choices ahead of them.” Mother Sophia told the younger nun. “What brought about such thoughts, child?”

“That woman who was here earlier this morning, Maria DeMarco. Why did Father Clancy just do as she asked? What reason could someone like her want with those Vatican passports?” Mary asked honestly.

“Sister Mary, while you are here, you will see many things that are out of the norm. Especially when it comes to Maria DeMarco and her family. They are not your normal parishioners. That family walks in the shadows of the world doing the bloody work of the Angels, Saints and Lady Justice.” Sophia told Mary honestly. “What we do for Maria DeMarco is never to be discussed outside of these walls. Especially with those in the Iscariots. Understood?”

“Yes, Mother Superior. Just one more question. Who pays for the girls to take ballet? I know that those lessons cost a good deal of money.” Mary asked with a sly and knowing smile.

“We do not know for sure child, but more than one world Prima has made her home here in the islands. What I do know is Madam Corvallis showed up two years ago offering to give free classes for all the children here. She even said that she would take the boys as students. The Dance Mistress provides all their needed supplies and attire for the classes. For both the boys and the girls.” The mother Superior looked over at where a group of boys was now gathering. “Ah. Here come the boys class now.”

Sure, enough a group of ten boys were gathering in the courtyard. Sister Mary noticed that the average age was around twelve with the youngest being ten and the oldest around fourteen. The boys all had one thing in common. They were all in excellent physical shape.

“I’m surprised that none of them are bullied for taking ballet.” Mary said.

“Not with the older boys looking out for the younger brothers. The last person who tried to bully one of those boys ended up with some missing teeth. Father Clancy was called down to the school over the fight.” Sophia chuckled. “Tomas is extremely proactive of his younger siblings. He will make a remarkable Commando. I look forward to the day he earns his first stripes.”

“Mother Superior, how many of the children from here join the Iscariots?” Mary asked in a whisper.

“We actively do our best to steer the ones who would join the Orders away from the Iscariot Division.” Sophia told her hotly. “Father Clancy and I have no use for that order. Yes, you and the other new arrivals or former Iscariots. Yes, we took you in. Yes, we will provide what guidance we can for the seven of you as you continue down the path your faith takes you. But understand something Sister Mary. This would not be the case if you hadn’t been burned and were still active members of the Order. Make no mistake. We would have no problems with handing you over to the Hemlock Rose or the Wraiths of the Moonless Night.”

As Sophia turned to walk away, she gave Mary one final warning. “Do not endanger this Church, or Orphanage. You do and I’ll be the one to end the threat that you present.”

Special Activities Division, CIA, Langley, McLean, VA: 1430

Chief of Operations Dale Roberts looked down at the report Mary handed him. “Is this Intel accurate Mary?”

“It came from the same source for the tip on that bunch at JJ’s Bar-Bee-Q.” Mary told him bluntly. “Looks like solid intel, sir.”

“Damn. If half of this gets out. We’ll all be in deep shit.” Dale stood up and turned to look out his office window. “Mary, how many Sweeper teams do we have available? I mean full teams. Not solo cleaners.”

“We have only seven full teams available. If I hit the ‘oh shit’ button. I can have eight more here in forty-eight hours. Might I make a suggestion sir?” Mary asked of her boss. Dale nodded his head. “This might be one time that we intentionally leak our movements to the OpFor.”

“Okay Mary, I've got to hear this one.” Dale chuckled. Some of his most devious plans had come from the mind of his assistant.

“Sir, we know that we have at least one more leak to the Vatican and those cocksuckers in the Iscariots. Let's use the asshole to do some good for once. We let him know that we’re gathering our Sweeper teams. That their little Strike Teams have been burned.” Mary chuckled as she laid out her idea for her boss. “But we let them know that it’ll take us seventy-eight hours to gather the number of teams that we need.”

“Damn! That’s just wrong. The simple threat will be enough for the problem to solve itself. They pop the alarm and pull their own people.” Dale chuckled. “We still need to pull our Sweeper teams in to make it look good.”

“That’s only part one of the plan, sir. As for these sixty-eight scumbags. That’s another story.” Mary snarled. “We use the solo cleaners to handle the situation in one shot.”

“You’re right about that. I’m just worried about using our people inside of CONUS. This could get messy.” Dale told her.

“It’s either that or let the newshounds jump all over the connections between us, State, Price, Vickers and Abrams. It’s bad enough that the New York State Police have figured out the connection with Anderson.” Mary told her boss. “I hate to say this sir. We need the Cleaners for this situation.”

“I’ll make the calls Mary. We’re going with your idea. I kind of like the idea of mind fucking those assholes in the Iscariots for change.” Dale picked up his phone. “And Mary. This time once we’re done with that leak. Fucking plug it for good.”

“With coffin nails and six feet of dirt sir. That is one promise you can take to the bank.” Mary told him with a nasty snarl. “I’m getting tired of playing little Dutch boy with his finger in the dike.”

As Mary closed the door behind her Dale chuckled. He was still chuckling as he began to dial the numbers of his counterparts on the Sweeper teams. “That gal is one nasty piece of work when she gets pissed off.”

Section 21 Iscariot Division Headquarters: 2200 local time

Monsignor Jonathan Delacorte walked through the empty halls of the building. He knew that sleep would not come easy this night. His thoughts were in turmoil brought on by the latest reports coming out of the United States. To say that they were disturbing was an understatement. It was as if someone was deliberately targeting his operations within the country.

The Miami Police had finally found what was left of Ronald Vickers. All indications pointed to a South American Hit Squad having taken out Vickers. Delacorte couldn’t care less for the man, it was his connections as an illegal arms, stolen art and antiquities dealer that would be missed. The same could be said for Sylvia Price. Her connections to the modeling world, high finance, Sports stars, and political figures were his main outlet for the novice nuns he had been smuggling into the US to be mail order brides. The biggest blow was the loss of Global World Transit.

With Donald Abrams dead and the company under new ownership that valuable smuggling outlet was now cutoff. The new owners were a total mystery to him. His most experienced operatives had been unable to find anything on this Prima International Investments. They had just appeared out of nowhere and scooped up the failing GWT as if it was nothing. Whoever these people were, they had money and access to real power.

But the most disturbing report concerned Charles Anderson and his operations. The New York State Police had raided Anderson’s main offices. The records found there implicated half of his personal operatives within the US. Those same recovered records pointed to his personal connection a good deal of Anderson’s illegal activities within the US. The illegal arms and drug smuggling, the selling of stolen or looted artwork and antiquities were just the tip of the iceberg. The real mystery was the disappearance of Anderson. The last anyone had seen of the man was at the Gorman Rod and Gun Club. Even that was circumspect as it was the man’s personal bodyguards.

Though it was the latest report out of Miami that had him really worried. The one brought to him just two hours ago by Father Lennard who was in charge of the Section Twenty-one Strike Teams. One of their longest operating Strike Teams had been burned. Normally the loss of one team was of no consequences. But this was the Miami team. A Strike Team that has been in operation longer than any other. Founded in the days of the Cuban missile crisis. For more than fifty years the team had operated with impunity. Then in one moment of ignorance the whole cell was burned by an informant.

That wasn’t the only cell that was now endangered thanks to the raid on Anderson’s office. He was being forced to recall or burn the teams that had been exposed. Most of them he would be forced to burn. The Bishop was already demanding answers that he did not have. Delacorte knew that his practice of working from the shadows of the Iscariots was now in danger.

“Damn it. What the hell is going on? It doesn’t make any sense. How could everything come a part like this?” Delacorte said into the empty air of the lonely hallway. “Just when I was finally getting ready to make my move.”

Delacorte looked out the nearest window towards the residence of the Bishops. “So close. Yet so far. Could that old bastard have figured out my plans?”

As he thought about what little he really knew of Bishop Karl Ferdinand, Delacorte realized that he had made a monumental mistake. One that could very well cost him his life. “I think it’s time to make arrangements for my departure from the priesthood. I wonder what the skiing is like in the Swiss Alps at this time of the year?”

With his mind made up Delacorte headed for his private quarters. He knew that it would take to time to arrange things for his escape. The first of which was burning certain Strike Teams in the US. That alone was going to take more work than he wanted, but it had to be done just to protect himself from the fallout. He also knew that he couldn’t just blindly cut ties with those teams. It would have to be done in a way that doesn’t bring unwanted attention to the teams that won’t be exposed.

“I need to handle this with kit gloves. The problem is which teams will be exposed by those clowns in the New York State Police. I just hope like hell that the CIA doesn’t get involved in this mess.” Delacorte mumbled to himself as he walked towards his quarters.

“Monsignor! Monsignor!” Delacorte stopped and turned to face the young priest that was rushing towards him waving a folder. “Sir! We have a major problem! This just came in from the office in Virginia.”

Delacorte took the folder and began to read the report inside. The more that he read, the whiter his face turned. His worse fears had come true. The CIA was already moving to take out his Strike Teams. “DAMNATION! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? WHO EXPOSED OUR PEOPLE LIKE THIS? JUST DON’T STAND THERE MAN! I WANT FUCKING ANSWERS NOW!”

“But sir. We already know who and how our Strike Teams were exposed.” The young man began only to get a dirty look from Delacorte. “Well not so much who, but we know how. It was a direct leak into the hands of the CIA and US State Department. Don’t worry sir. We’ve already began to work on updated Judas Protocols for those teams.”

“What about the who? Damn it! Who could have exposed our Strike Teams directly to the CIA and US State Department? I need details man.” Delacorte demanded.

“Sir we’re still working on who leaked the information on our Strike teams. All our operative in the CIA was able to gather is the leak came in through the Internet. Whoever did this used multiple ISPs, International Nodes, and Server Farms in fifteen different countries around the world. According to our operative in DARPA there are maybe fifteen or sixteen people in the whole world who could have pulled off this type of cyberattack.” The young man told Delacorte before swallowing hard. “Sir, not even with all of our people in the cyber division working together, they couldn’t have pulled this off.”

“Is there any chance at our people getting out of the country undetected?” Delacorte asked. Even though he already knew the answer.

“Our people in Intentions say one out of ten can escape. At the outside twenty percent of the team members will be able to escape the dragnet.” The young priest wasn’t looking forward to the next part. “Intentions say those projections are best case scenarios. Realistically, they predict that only five percent of all our Strike Team personnel will escape capture.”

“FIVE PERCENT! How the hell could that happen? Our people are some the best trained in the world.” Delacorte was beside himself with rage.

“The Americans may not have photo ids of our people, but that doesn’t mean they won’t know what to look for, sir.” The young man answered honestly. “If we don’t cut our compromised Section twenty-one teams lose sir. They could compromise all of the Iscariot Division operations within the US boarders.”

“Damnation. How much time does Intentions give us before the Section twenty-one teams are fully compromised?” Delacorte wasn’t liking where this was going. He really didn’t want to lose such valuable assets.

“If each team member can initiate their individual Judas Protocols within the next five to ten hours. They can clear the US boarders with little or no problems. The problem will be if they have a chance to fully initiate those protocols. The ones for the offices will happen automatically as we can set them off remotely.” The priest told Delacorte. The young man took a deep breath. “Our teams only have one saving grace. It will take time for the CIA to gather the needed Sweeper teams. According to our asset in the CIA somewhere around seventy-eight hours for full recall. That is time our teams cannot waste in their escape.”

“Send the current Judas Protocols for all of the Section Twenty-one teams. They are to burn everything. They are to go totally off the grid and head for the nearest exfiltration points. I want them all back here in the next forty-eight hours. If they’re not out of the US in twenty-four hours cut them lose. They can take the full forty-eight to return to Rome, but they have to be outside of the US in the next twenty-four.” Delacorte ordered. He was already thinking of how he was going to reinsert those teams at some time in the future. He knew that he couldn’t just send them back to where they had been. There was too great a chance of them being burned again.

“Yes, sir. Twenty-four hour recall burn. Forty-eight for full return to Vatican City.” The young priest was interrupted by Delacorte.

“No. Not within the Vatican. They are not to come anywhere near the Holy City. Rome yes. Anywhere within Italy, yes.” With a sweep of his hand Delacorte took in the full of Vatican City. “But not here.”

“But sir. Standard procedure is for all recalled members of the Iscariot Division to report directly to Vatican City.” The priest contradicted.

“They are to avoid all contact with the Iscariot Division. Am I understood? They are to go to ground and off the gird totally. Drop point contacts only from here on out. Make no mistake. These teams are to have absolutely no contact with the Iscariots.” Delacorte almost snarled. “Sadly, they have become our Barabbas.”

The meaning of the Monsignor’s words were clear as a bell for the young priest. The men and women of the Strike Teams were on their own. They would succeed or fail by their own hard work.

Federico Fellini International airport, Rimini, Italy: 0030

Delta Airlines flight 504 from Miami was the last flight in from the United States. As the passengers began to unload, they paid little or no attention to the petite woman in the gray business power suite as she made her way to the exit. Not even the woman’s glasses could take away from her strikingly beautiful Mediterranean features. Despite her looks nothing was enough to break most of the passengers’ jetlagged fog.

No one remembered when the quiet and extremely well dressed woman joined flight 504. Not the passengers. Not the flight attendants. Not even the drunken fool who made the pass at her in the inside aisle seat in the business class on the upper deck. It was as if she appeared out of nowhere somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. Which is what really happened.

Halfway through the flight from Atlanta International to Leonardo da Vinci Samantha used the Attendant’s lounge for a fast change of appearance. All it took was fifty-dollars to the First Class Attendant and reasonable excuse. Basically, Samantha told the attendant that she would be heading directly for a board meeting from the airport. At first the attendant was skeptical of Samantha’s story. That was until Samantha told her that she was the US representative for GWT did the attendant change her mind. Like most people in the US the flight crew for 504 had heard of the massive takeover of Global World Transit. And the following chaos that followed on the trading floors of the world’s stock exchanges.

Samantha was one of the first to reach luggage claim and recover her bag before heading for the customs lanes. Samantha knew that she needed to exit the airport in a reasonable time frame. She couldn’t afford to be held up. Time was not on her side, and she knew it. First though she had to get through customs. Samantha smiled as she pulled out her UC id for this mission.

“Good evening ma’am.” Samantha easily slipped into Italian as she greeted the female agent behind the counter.

“Good evening young lady. I must say your Italian is quite good. Where did you learn? I mean was it in a primary school or university.” The woman asked in surprise at Samantha’s fluency.

“I grew up speaking Italian at home, ma’am. Mamma was from San Marino and papa’s family was from Florence.” Samantha explained with the same smile as when she first appeared at the counter.

“That explains the slight mix of accents. Well down to business. By the way you’re dressed, I would say that you’re here on business?” The agent said as she opened Samantha’s UC passport. “Is that correct Miss Adler?”

“Only partially ma’am. This is really a holiday in the disguise of a business trip. That way I can write the trip off on my income taxes at the end of the year.” Samantha placed her hand over her mouth to hid the fake giggle. “Girl’s got to stick it to the Infernal Rectum Screw Patrol somehow.”

The agent couldn’t help yourself and chuckled as she stamped Samantha’s passport. As the agent handed it back, she gave Samantha a parting piece of advice. “Be sure to stay in one of those really fancy hotels down by the sea for at least one night. That way you can claim the complimentary room service as part of your bill.”

“I hadn’t thought of doing that. Free meals while getting a writing off my taxes. That’s sneaky.” Samantha chuckled as she recovered her passport. “Is there a car rental here in the airport, or do I have to go outside the port?”

“After you have your bag searched there’s a car rental counter just before the exit, Miss Adler. Enjoy your stay and welcome to the home land.” The agent said as she waved for the next person in line.

As Samantha neared the final customs check point, she knew that her bag would clear without any problems. Her only worry was the laptop case. She knew that a custom agent could get nasty about certain electronics entering a foreign country. Samantha handed over her customs forms and passport.

The agent read over the declaration forms and doubled checked her passport. Samantha waited for the man to open her bag. “You are Miss Irene Adler of 221B Baker Street, London, Ohio, United States of America?”

“Yes sir. I have nothing to declare.” Samantha told the man in perfect Italian. She could tell by the change in his attitude it was the right move.

He just handed her back her paperwork and passport. “Enjoy your stay.”

“Once I’ve taken care of business I plan to sir. As my grandfather was fond of saying. One must work before they can play.” Samantha tossed over her shoulder as she headed for the car rental counter.

Once she had the keys to her rental in her hand Samantha left the concourse. She smiled as she settled in behind the wheel of the dark blue Alfa Romeo Spider. Before starting the engine, Samantha pulled out her phone. After opening the secure app that linked her glasses Bluetooth. There was one feature that Samantha wasn’t ready for, the built in two-way. “I know it is not my norm, but fuck it. You only live once. Besides I can finally scratch something off the bucket list.”

“What driving a fast car? I thought you would have done that during your Marshal training, White Swan?” Krystel said over the earpiece.

“What the hell? I thought you were locked out of the TOC?” Jumped in surprise.

“The TOC is locked down.” Krystel replied. “But not the ALOC, and I can access the uplink from my house or the hangar office.”

“Damn I forgot about you being able to use that beast like that.” Samantha said as she shifted into gear and pulled out. “You’re right about being trained for highspeed interceptions. But that is not on my bucket list. I’ve had plenty of wheel time at high speeds. No. My bucket list is to drive a real Italian sports car, in Italy.”

Samantha didn’t waste any time. She hit the Italian Highway and opened up the powerful sports car’s engine. She hit all of her shift points dead on the money. “So, how’s the feed from the glasses coming through?”

“Crystal clear, Swan. I got to say, they did good. The problem was all the features they WANTED to install. Thermo, x-ray, HUD. If they'd have tried to do all that, you'd be wearing a stormtrooper helmet. They guys nixed the x-ray, on ethical protest. The girls griped and the guys shut them down with a demand to wear them as well. Killed that argument fast. Might make them standard issue though.”

“I don't know if that'll work, Dolphin. Once I start my run through the Vatican, they’ll be a hindrance. They’re not exactly action friendly. If you catch my meaning?” Samantha told Krystel with a chuckle. “Maybe with some training time and a few modifications they’d work, but not as they’re now.”

“What kinds of modifications?”

“Wire arms to hook around the ears. Stronger frames across the face and around the eyes. The lens could use a ‘blue-blocker’ coating.” As Samantha list the requirements in her head for the ‘tactical version’ of the glasses she was wearing she had a flash of insight. “If I had to give you a full list of specs for the type of glasses for a base. I would say use a high quality set of ‘shooters' glasses’.”

“You’re talking about ballistic and tactical eyewear. The tricky part will be integrating the earwig and spy-cams. Not a whole lot of room in most standard frames. Can’t modify something off the shelf like we did for the pair you’re using now. Any ideas?”

“Nope. Not a one. Get with Stalking horse and Rumrunner. They’re pretty good at fabricating what they need on the fly. Give them enough time and the right equipment those two nutjobs can work magic.” Samantha chuckled as she thought about her husbands then her daughters. “If you get Gemini in the mix stand back and let them give you your heart’s desire.”

“And we'd be wearing helmets, Swan.”

“I know that you don’t want to believe this, Dolphin. But yeah. I’m better than what you’ve seen. I know that you find that hard to believe. That good. Sure, Sierra Bravo is deadly as fuck. She's flat out terrorizing when she cuts lose. The problem is I have yet to cut loose. There are far too many strikes in the Sleep of the Beautiful Death that kill.” Samantha didn’t want to let how she felt about cutting loose fill her voice. “Remember the Beautiful Death is the true art of the assassin.”

Krystel said flatly. “Bottom line it.”

“Exactly what it sounds like. The Sleep of Beautiful Death was created for one reason. Kill without trace. It takes a mindset that few can reach. Even fewer can truly master.” Samantha chuckled. “I’ll be honest. The last true Master of the art was my mother. Yes, I’ve spent the eighteen years working out the next steps in the art. Once I had my mother’s journals, I was able to piece together the rest. I’ve busted my ass to perfect them.”

“Ok, noted. Go on.”

“I started learning when I turned seven. Mastered the Way of the Dancing Blade by twelve and had Mastered the first ten steps of the Sleeping Death by fourteen. As for my father’s side of the house I had those techniques down by the time I was eleven. By the time I was thirteen I could put four out of five inside a dime at five-hundred yards with my custom built three-oh-eight AR-ten.” Samantha sighed as she thought about that weapon from so long ago. “I really fucking hated having to destroy that baby.”

“Why destroy it?”

“I used it during my Toledo rampage. I wasn’t about to let it fall into the wrong hands. So, I found a nice hot furnace and dropped it in. That furnace melted down my rifle in about twenty minutes.” Samantha let her disappointment over losing that rifle fill her voice. “It took me five weeks to build that rifle. Not to mention another three days and four hundred rounds to get her sighted in correctly.”

“Too bad.”

“Yeah.” Samantha told Krystel as she drove through the countryside. “Just ten more kilometers and five-hundred years to go.”

“What do mean by five-hundred years?”

“I may know the key to reading those ancient wall maps, but I’ve never had the chance to actually read them. The last time those maps were actually used was sometime in the late seventeenth to early eighteenth century. I really do have to go back five-hundred years. Back to when my ancestors built our home and most of the Vatican was still being built.” Samantha explained.

“Oh, seriously entrenched in the history of Italy.”

“Clear back to the eleventh century as far as I know. Some would say even further back than that. Sadly, I have no real way of proving that. Just those wall maps. According to my mom’s journals; the keys to the Vatican lay upon our walls.” Samantha chuckled again. “Just one more puzzle to the past.”

“Why do you say it like that? You make it sound like you’ve lost everything.”

“On that night eighteen years ago, I did.” Samantha snarled. “And by all that’s holy and damned the man who took that all away from me shall pay.”

Krystel sat quiet for a moment then asked. “So, you ran around Toledo, killing a shitload of people which turned out not to help you at all, even kill the priest that rejected you, which didn't help you either, then you strolled in to the Marshals. Went into Protected custody then rejected it to become a Marshal and now you're using the badge to make your kills legal. Remind me, those three Marshals that bought it on the courthouse steps, what did they die for; a kid that needed help, or a murderer that only needed breathing room? Funny thing about Dead or Alive Warrants, they aren't Execution Warrants or Lethal Findings. Those Black Badges aren't licenses to Kill. That should be plenty to think about on the way back. If you can make it back.”

Samantha gawked then felt anger. “Bitch! I didn't use those Marshals as...as....as.”

“Oh no. Let's keep things in perspective. Might be a challenge, but let's give it a shot. You didn't actually have to go to the Marshals and turn state's witness. You could've simply gone down the street to Maria's house and in less than four hours, she'd have had you safely out of the country. You and Annette would've been safely tucked away and free to grow up as you pleased. You didn't do that, did you? No, you spent all that time trying to come up with a way to get a badge to provide an excuse to indulge your criminal inclinations. The Major had obligations to Maria and Annette, so he asked a favor. Lyssa respected Maria as a dancer and thought retiring here would give you all a chance at a clean slate. Kim thought that all of you taking on Black Badges would let you go after the untouchables and bring them down." Krystel listed.

Samantha was riveted by the words and was trying to find a protest.

Krystel didn't let up. “Bring them down. Not Take Them Out. Since you all got those Black Badges, you haven't made a single arrest. You made others do it. By the way, the four arrests in Colorado? Mistrials, due to technicalities. Nice going, you got criminals off the streets for a day. The arrests in South Carolina? Sherriff's Deputies. No Marshals. No arrests in Toledo, D.C. or anywhere else. You just kill. Hell, we can do that. Well, we carry out Lethal Findings. You know, Threats to National Security. We don't carry badges, we don't arrest people. Shawna does that. She carries badges and arrests people, when she has to. She even files reports to the agencies she hides in. You all bitch, gripe and WHINE about filing reports and debriefings to the Major. So, what if we aren't hereditary criminals, doesn't make you smarter or better. Kim and I have multiple college degrees. You have one. Bobby, Hunter and Annette do not. Don't ever speak to any of us like we're morons. We don't do it to you.”

Samantha beat on the steering wheel. “BITCH!”

“Of course, there's always this Rainy-Day file I have, courtesy of the Major. Samantha Justice, Stephani Capezio, make up your mind who you are. You are certainly MORE than welcome to directly call Dorothy Rose and tell her you think she's an idiot and you played her like a birthday kazoo on the last day of kindergarten. A means to an end, nothing more, to get a Marshal's badge to make murdering legal. I kill, yes. But I do it on orders of the United States or because lives around me are in immediate threat. Not to satisfy an urge. Definitely not to prove worthy of my name. Yeah, I'm nothing like you. Out.”

***tbc****