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in.” Stepping off the balcony and into the room’s bathing light, the pontiff looked at Kimball with an emotionless stare.

Then from Kimball: “I assume that the threat has been neutralized.”

“No thanks to you,” said the pontiff. Pope Clement XV crossed the room and offered his hand and the Fisherman’s Ring for Kimball to kiss in homage. But Kimball boldly declined and took a seat before the pontiff’s desk.

The pope, lowering his hand, took his papal seat. “In a time when the church needed you most,” the pontiff began evenly, “when the situation appeared dangerously critical, you absconded from service. That action is cause for dismissal. And believe me, Kimball, when I say that I’ll bring this matter up with the Society of Seven and ask for your full removal.”

Kimball gave a half smile. “Now you’re going to involve the Society of Seven in your decision making, when you refused their input for months regarding missions? What are you trying to do, dot your Is and cross your Ts?” Kimball leaned forward. “My team understands my position. It’s not like I walked away from this by choice. I walked away because I was forced to.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really. And don’t sit there and act like you don’t know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do,” Kimball returned.

“It matters not,” stated the pontiff. “The fact remains: you left Vatican City when the church needed you most. And for that, Kimball, consequences must be dealt. The rules apply to all Vatican Knights who abscond from service. And you’re no different, since I believe you would agree with me on that if another had absconded from duty . . . or am I wrong?”

“I see,” said Kimball. “If you can’t get rid of me one way, then you’ll get rid of me another. This time, your ruling will come by way of the handbook and its governing laws, right?”

“You committed an egregious act under the tenets. Even the Vatican Knights will have no other choice but to see the just nature in the act of discharging you from duty. The law is clear on this.”

Kimball’s one-sided smile remained, a rather snarky look.

“Do you see humor in this?” the pontiff asked him. “I certainly don’t.”

“You set me up.”

“I did no such thing.”

“If the Nocturnal Saints didn’t come through for you, then you’d use the law of the church against me for breaking a rule of conduct. You had me no matter what.”

The pontiff appeared perplexed, “The Nocturnal Saints?”

“Oh, come on,” Kimball said. “Give it up already.”

“I’ll say this again: I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

Kimball appraised the Fisherman’s Ring on the pope’s finger. And then: “Since you like rings so much—” After letting his words hang, Kimball reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew what sounded like trinkets, that of metal clinking against metal, then tossed the jeweled items across the pontiff’s desk. They rolled like dice across the surface and came to a halt with the ruby-faced ring facing the pope. Four other rings, all gold with one having dried blood on it, glimmered beneath the ray of his desk lamp. Here were the rings belonging to the Nocturnal Saints. “How do you like those rings?” Kimball added as a dig.

The pontiff did not appear startled as Kimball believed he would. In fact, he remained stoically disinterested. “And what are these?” he simply asked the Vatican Knight while pointing at the rings.

“Let’s call them the spoils of war,” Kimball answered.

The pontiff looked at Kimball. “This . . . changes . . . nothing,” he finally told him. “The rule of law still stands. I will call into council members of the Cardinal Court, the Society of Seven, and push for your dismissal.”

Kimball got to his feet. “Yeah, well, good luck with that.”

Pope Clement XV raised his hand for Kimball to kiss the Fisherman’s Ring in homage of the pope’s position.

After snickering, Kimball pointed to the pontiff’s ring and said, “Not unless you want me to add that ring to the rings already sitting on your desk.”

Slowly, the pope retracted his hand.

As Kimball was closing the door to leave the chamber, the pontiff called after him.

“So that you know, Kimball, in your cowardly absence, Isaiah and Nehemiah stepped up and performed valiantly as Vatican Knights should have. Unfortunately . . . they were lost while saving the city.”

Kimball appeared stunned. “What?”

“How much clearer can I be? They were lost while saving the city. Both men, it appears, had perished while attempting to rid the territory of the weapon.”

“They’re dead?”

“While in the service as Vatican Knights. Bold and brave. Unlike the man who stands before me.” When the pontiff spoke, it sounded as though he was purposely trying to be malicious and spiteful, the tone apparent. The man wanted to hurt Kimball at his core.

Casting his eyes to the floor, Kimball Hayden quietly closed the door behind him to leave the pontiff alone.

Then, while appraising the rings, Pope Clement XV swept his arm across the desktop, knocking off the lamp and the rings. As soon as the lamp struck the floor the lightbulb popped, the room now entirely dark.

The pontiff rose from his seat and went to the balcony that overlooked St. Peter’s Square. Though he had Kimball Hayden on the ropes, it wasn’t enough. He wanted the man dead and the thorn that the Vatican Knight was forever removed from his side. And as mounting anger and rage consumed him wholly, Pope Clement XV started to bang on the railing with the heel of his hand again and again and again. He denied the pain as he continued to strike the stone banister, his rage refusing to abate.

Then something strange and odd began to eclipse him, something that finally caused him to stop his actions. Pope Clement XV could feel a severe headache coming on with pain so intense that it blurred his vision to the point that he became whirlwind dizzy. Then

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