The House of War: Book One Of : THE OMEGA CRUSADE (26 page)

Cardinal Redding shakes his head at the sight. “How did we ever come to this?”

“It’s your fault, Your Eminence,” Ralph Golden says flatly.

The Cardinal’s head snaps to look at Ralph, his eyebrows arch in surprise. “My fault?”

Ralph nods. “Absolutely, it’s your fault. Not yours alone, mind you. I mean all you church leaders, the entire clergy, from the Pope on down.”

“You don’t say?”

“I do, Your Eminence. I do say so.”

Ralph drives on, confident that the monitors will not take the Maxists’ latest bait & lead their charges into a riot. They will maintain discipline & not abandon their posts. A quick glance at the Cardinal tells Golden that the old man is dangling, rather helplessly, from his bait. He does not know Redding well, only having met him briefly on two other occasions, but Ralph decides that’s no reason to spare him.

“The Church, Eminence, is the world’s first, last & best defense against evil,” Ralph Golden says. “Or rather it is, when it is doing its job & storming the gates of Hell. We’re supposed to be on the offensive, always attacking & marching ever onwards. But thanks to you guys in the clergy, we’re on the defensive, fighting a rear-guard action.”

“How is that our fault, young man?”

“For fifty years after Vatican Two the clergy took their eyes off the ball. Rather than going at the world, you all went at The Church like a horde of Vandals, Cardinal. You ripped out Communion rails, altars & organs & mangled the liturgy every which way. One day it’s a Mariachi Mass, the next day the priest is in a rubber nose & clown face & the day after it’s a Hip-Hop or some dopey, Hippie Mass.”

Cardinal Redding turns to face Ralph. “It’s not fair, Ralph comparing some of the excesses of the post-Vatican II experiments to the pillaging of Vandals.”

“It’s not fair to Vandals, perhaps,” Ralph retorts. “The Vandals may have looted & burned churches, but to their credit, they never touched the liturgy. You however, changed the liturgy again & again, tweaking & twisting it this way & that, re-making & re-shaping it twelve ways to Sunday until you turned The House of God into a tower of Babel. You confused the faithful, outright frightened them in some cases. It’s no surprise they fled the pews in droves because of all that ‘spirit of Vatican 2’ crap. All the while you argued with Rome, challenging The Seat of Peter on central issues like sexuality, abortion & contraceptives. Y’all refused to do your jobs & draw necessary lines in the sand. In the name of charity you refused to defend, enforce or even articulate doctrine. Instead, for fifty years, a clergy too afraid to go up against a hostile press, allowed politicians pushing the culture of death to receive Communion. Too afraid to hurt anyone’s feelings, the Eucharist was given to every Tom, Dick & Sally living loud & proud in all manner of sin. Rather than discipline the mavericks, Pope after Pope allowed priest after priest to run his parish like his own private theocracy. Even more cowardly, heinous child-molesters in collars were shuffled from parish to parish by Bishop after Bishop until, not conscience, but scandal finally forced the clergy’s hand.

“Is it any wonder Cardinal, that The Church’s moral authority has become a joke? Is it any wonder that secularists have our backs against the wall & Crucifixes are burned on the streets? I say it’s no wonder at all.”

“The clergy has made a lot of mistakes, I know,” says Cardinal Redding after a painful pause. “We’ve corrected many of them & we are working on the rest.”

“I know, your Eminence,” Ralph says. “I know. I meant no disrespect. I was just answering your question. We’re glad to have you aboard at last. We the faithful laity, we who never got swept away by all that ‘spirit of Vatican 2’nonsense, we’re thrilled that the last few Popes have finally begun the house cleaning; we’re overjoyed that you & so many others have had their backs. Better late than never, you know.”

The Cardinal nods thoughtfully.

They drive on in silence for a few more minutes more until they reach the US Treasury Building. Ralph parks the car but keeps the engine running. He gets out & walks around the back. Two guards make their way down the steps. Ralph exchanges salutes with them. He opens the passenger side door & helps the old Cardinal out of the Ghost Mobile.

“I sincerely hope that I have not upset you, your Eminence.”

“No, Ralph, you haven’t,” Cardinal Redding replies. “We Cardinals wear the red to show our willingness to shed our blood for the faith. An ego bruising is a trifling in comparison. Besides, there is much truth in what you said.”

“That’s all behind us now, Eminence.”

“Indeed.”

“We will save Christendom.”

“Yes, we will.”

The guards arrive at their side.

“Merry Christmas, gentlemen,” Cardinal Redding says in greeting.

“Merry Christmas,” the two men respond and kiss Redding’s ring.

Ralph shakes hands with the guards. “I’d love to stay & chat, but the clock is ticking. Keep the faith, boys.”

Golden then turns back to the Cardinal, shakes his hand & kisses his ring. “See you soon, Eminence.”

“God bless you, Ralph,” Cardinal Redding says making the sign of the cross.

“Right back at you, Padre,” Ralph says & turns to his car.

Golden sits in the idling automobile until the Cardinal & the guards disappear into the Treasury Building. Once inside, they will escort the Cardinal through the secret tunnel that connects the Treasury Building to the White House. The Colonel is waiting for him at the other end. With his first mission of the night completed, Ralph Golden drives off to the second, the speakers in
the Ghost Mobile booming the Gregorian chant,
Da Pacem Domine
, a favorite of Knights Templar, old & new.

Interstate 8, Arizona

19:18:16

Manuel Morales and Milagros Delatorre turn south off the highway and onto a two lane wide dirt road. They are driving in the delivery truck they intercepted and confiscated some thirty miles west of the dusty access arroyo. The truck is carrying the six cases of mixed liquors and another twenty-four cases of beer donated to the international troops of United Nations Border Base # 5. Their comrades, Jimmy Cormier and the brothers, Dan and Jason Rosa, are also in the back of the truck. On the floor, tied and gagged between them, the original driver lies unconscious. Behind the truck, two Hummer Mark VIIs emblazoned with the US Border Patrol logo stop a little ways into the dirt road. They will stay at the north end of the five mile arroyo, following the progress of Milagros and Manuel through transmitters hidden in the truck’s reflectors. Across the border, two Mexican military Jeeps filled with more of their comrades wait, watch and listen in as well. The Hummers and Jeeps will move in once the truck is inside the compound.

Milagros is singing
‘Feliz Navidad’
along to the disc player as she stares ahead through a pair of binoculars. Even though her pitch is a half-step flat, Morales finds her voice pleasing.

“I see the buses,” she says, stopping in mid song. “There are two of them.”

“Just like we expected.”

“Si.”

Manuel steals a glance at the young woman in the passenger-side seat. Milagros is a dark-skinned, shapely five-foot-eight beauty with large, brown eyes and straight, waist-long black hair. She has on black, cowboy boots, a short, black skirt and a matching, low V-neck, sweater. Delatorre is wearing the revealing clothing for the mission’s sake and not because she enjoys the immodesty. She, in fact, does not enjoy it. The scanty outfit made her cringe when it was first shown to her, no doubt dredging up unpleasant associations to her days spent as a sex slave in Tijuana. For the mission’s sake, Milagros put her distaste aside and agreed to wear what she called ‘the shameless half-skirt and half-shirt.’

“It’s hard to believe some women choose to wear so little in public,” Milagros remarked when they were given to her.

Padre Negro nodded in agreement. “I’m afraid some women choose to wear a lot less and do a lot worse in public, my dear.”

She shook her head at the thought and asked why. “Por que, Padre?”

“The world has convinced them that there is no such a thing as sin,” the young priest explained. “It’s taught them that freedom is to be found in shamelessness. And not just women, of course; men too have been taught that the indiscriminate feeding of their sexual appetite is acceptable, even commendable. As a result, this favorite movement of the modern world, what they laughably call ‘sexual liberation,’ has enslaved millions to their bodies and its appetites. This movement is father to so many ills and evils; divorce, abortion, unwanted and unloved children, sexual disease, sexual slavery - all of it is the result of ‘liberating’ sex from marriage.”

Remembering the priest’s words, Miguel Morales lifts his gaze from Milagros’ long, walnut-brown legs. He turns his attention back to the road. Manuel knows it is perfectly natural for a man like him to appreciate, even adore the beauty of a woman like Milagros, but he knows also the failings that flesh is heir to. He loves Milagros and so he will not allow his affection for her to be soiled by base appetite. God willing, they have prayed, that one day soon, when the revolution is triumphant, they will marry. Until then, they will honor their vows of celibacy to the Order of Knights Templar.

The Order demands that its knights take a seven year vow of chastity. Manuel is three years into his vow. Milagros has recently taken her first. He tried to dissuade her, but Delatorre insisted on sharing his struggle, his path and, if need be, his fate. He could not deny her, especially when she completed the grueling training without a whine or whimper.

He looks at her again, this time catching her eye and giving her a loving wink, admiring how long a way she has come since her rescue five years ago. Manuel can remember the shrunken, emaciated body and the darting, deep-sunken eyes of the wretched creature he found screeching with terror in the corner of a filthy brothel stall. At the time, Morales feared that Delatorre wouldn’t survive for long after the rescue. Her detoxing was a harrowing experience for all concerned, but she did eventually pull through it. Once free of heroin’s grip, the young woman recovered by leaps and bounds.

They identified her through dental records. It turned out that Milagros was born in Santa Fe New Mexico to a young couple living illegally in the United States. In 2009 the young family joined the droves of illegal aliens returning to Mexico as job opportunities for them in the States dwindled in the imploding economy. Their bus was stopped by a band of Los Zetas who killed everyone onboard except for the half dozen girls they raped and sold into slavery. Delatorre’s parents were just two of the over fifty thousand people killed along the Mexican-American border by the cartels in the first decade of the century. Sometime later they discovered a great aunt of hers living in Mexico City who contributed some photos and the few facts known about her parents. On learning about her aunt, Manuel offered to arrange Delatorre’s return to Mexico, but Milagros declined.

“I would rather stay here with all of you,” she said, referring to their underground base beneath the Fortuna Mountains.

“I feel safe here,” she added. “I’m not ready to return to the world. I don’t know that I ever want to.”

They accepted her decision and adopted Milagros into their community. Four years later, he cannot imagine Fortuna Base without her. In their care and company, Milagros Delatorre’s body and spirit all but recovered from the ravages inflicted by her years as a child sex slave. Only her memory suffered still from the tragic trauma of her adolescence.

Milagros has seen a few pictures of her parents since her rescue. There is one in particular that she keeps on her at all times. She looks at it often. The wallet-sized photograph is of her parents and herself outside a pale-pink, shotgun house. She knows every detail of the photo by heart, but the smiling faces of her parents stir no memories of her lost years. Neither does the laughing face of her younger self, hanging knee-high from their arms. Delatorre remembers nothing of the world the image portrays.

“They might as well be pictures of strangers,” she told Manny. “I have a thirteen year hole in my memory. You wouldn’t think such emptiness in the mind would feel so heavy on the heart, but it does.”

“I think, maybe it’s because you watched them being killed,” Manuel told her. “Maybe the sight of them in that ditch you dream of, it was too much for your young mind. I think your memory erased them completely so that you will not remember what was done to them.”

“That’s what Padre Negro says,” she said. “Do you think I will ever remember?”

“I don’t know,” Manny answered. “Let’s hope so.”

“Yes, let us hope.”

Beside him in the cab of the truck, Milagros lowers the binoculars and puts them away in the glove box. Out of it she pulls a Smith and Wesson M&P SHEILD 9mm compact pistol. She chambers a round and slips the small pistol into the holster taped to her right hip under her skirt. She then pulls out the larger Sig 1911 45 and hands it over to Manuel. He too chambers a round, leans forward in his seat and tucks the pistol under his belt and shirt at the small of his back. A few minutes later, they reach the north gate as the second of the school buses is cleared through the gate in the south end. As they hoped, soldiers start coming out of the barracks in twos and threes, eager to ogle their entertainment for the night.

“Look at those animals,” says Milagros. “They can’t wait to get their hands on those children.”

“But they won’t get a chance,” Manuel says soothingly. He stares ahead, smiling at the guard behind the sliding gate. “As long as we keep our cool and do what we got to do, the kids will be safe. A piece of pie, remember?”

She gives him a broad smile. “Si, a piece of pie.”

The guard who approaches the driver’s side of the truck is a small, dark man with the high cheekbones of an African. He looks the two of them over, his eyes lingering over Milagros a little longer than on Manny. “Joyeux Noel,” he says in greeting.

“Feliz Navidad,” Manny and Milagros respond cheerfully.