The Iscariot Agenda by Rick Jones Read Free Book Online

matter how hard you seek the Light, the Light will not be there for you on the Day of Judgment. Is this correct?”
    “Look, Padre—”
    “Am I right, Kimball?”
    Kimball sat erect, unknowingly taking on a defensive position. “Um, well, yeah, I guess.”
    “No matter what it is you do in the eyes of God to redeem yourself?”
    Kimball leaned forward, his voice laced with frustration. “Look, I kill people. It’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at.”
    “But we’ve discussed this matter already, haven’t we? The way you killed in order to save the life of the pope, the lives of the bishops within the Holy See. Did we not cover this in depth?”
    “Padre, I killed two children.”
    “And in seeking redemption for this action, have you not since saved the lives of other children?”
    Kimball fell back into his chair and reflected.
     
    Vatican Knights were chosen young, when they’re waifs and orphans with little promise of direction but possess the tools to excel in character and physical dexterity. To possess the tools of a warrior one who has to have the hunger to be learned and engage fully in academics and self-examination. To see one’s self is to see Loyalty above all else, except Honor.
    At the Hilbert Institute, an academy for wayward boys too old for adoption, Cardinal Bonasero Vessucci stood beside Kimball and was dressed down from wearing cardinal attire by wearing a simple cleric’s shirt and Roman Catholic collar. Kimball remained true to the Knights’ attire—wearing a cleric’s shirt, collar, black fatigues and boots.
    Standing on an upper-tier walkway overlooking a basketball court, resting their elbows along the top of a railing, both held little interest in the ongoing game. What they locked onto was the player sitting on the bench, a third stringer, a child whose sneakers never touched the court.
    “Picking a Knight, Kimball, takes an objective eye no matter how much you empathize with the child. This boy has no ambition, no skills, and according to the administrators, he’s so withdrawn from society he has no friends. And that is by his choosing.” He turns to Kimball. “He does not have the tools to take on the responsibilities of a Vatican Knight, come fifteen years from now.”
    Kimball stood back in examination, sizing the child from a distance. The boy was gangly and pale and far more interested in drawing imaginary circles on the floor with the toe-end of his foot, than watching the game.  
    “What he needs is a mentor,” he finally said.
    “What he needs is a miracle worker. There are far more children out there who hold the standards to become a Vatican Knight.”
    Kimball leaned forward on the railing. “You know who this kid reminds me of?”
    The cardinal smiled. “I suppose you’re going to say that he reminds you of yourself?”
    “That’s exactly what I was going to say. And do you know the person who lent me a hand when I needed it the most?”
    The cardinal nodded. “It was me.”
    “In Venice. You knew all about me, all the horrible things I did. But you opened up anyway and let me in . . . That was the day I opened myself up for the first time to anyone.”
    “But you possessed a very particular set of skills that was over and above everyone else.”
    “Skills I had to learn. You have to remember, we all took awkward steps from the cradle when learning to walk, sometimes falling, then getting back up and doing it all over again until it became an involuntary act.”
    “I don’t know, Kimball. I just don’t feel good about this one. And I’ve been choosing Knights for a long time.”
    “If I’m to ever choose my own team and future teams, then you have to trust me. Otherwise, why am I here?”
    “To learn and see in those who have what it takes to serve best on the pontiff’s behalf.”
    Kimball sighed. “I can reach him.”
    The cardinal turned back to the bench, to the child, who continued to draw imaginary circles with his foot. “Some