The Crimson Dagger - Vatican Knights Series 23 (2020) Rick Jones (ebook reader play store txt) 📖

“Impressive,” Mustafa whispered.

Mustafa continued to watch the monitor with rapt attention as he bounced the points of his fingers thoughtfully against his chin. His dream was playing out without him being on the battlefield, the man a true commander who led from afar since true power, after all, came from the one who sat in proxy of their God by becoming a prophet.

The war in the Middle East was evolving with new and different tactics to better themselves in certain theaters of operation. Before the United States had fully involved themselves, ISIS had funded their campaigns from pillaging oil fields and selling the product on the black market for pennies on the dollar, or they stole and sold priceless relics to the highest bidder. Now that the U.S. had withdrawn their troops and CIA backing, the Islamic State was now turning places like Syria, Lebanon, the West Bank and Italy into chem-labs to manufacture ‘jihad meth.’ It had become a product that was easily manufactured and dispensed across the globe because the demand was high, and the profits went through the proverbial roof. High-end proceeds enticed those with incredible military skillsets who had scores to settle. Indescribable incomes were also calling those who had a skill trade with computers, those who could hack and recruit. Without evolution there could be no adaption. And without adaption there could be no victory. As history be told and recorded, Mustafa was a big believer that historical accounts were lessons to learn from. The Spartans at one time were considered to be indominable, yet it was this belief of being invincible that they clung to their old habits instead of graduating to newer ways. While others took the necessary steps to better their armies and wares over time, the Spartan military had eventually succumbed to the newer and grander weapons of warfare. And because of this, they inadvertently allowed themselves to become obsolete.

And this was something Mustafa would not allow. In fact, he was determined to usher in a new age where he would become the innovator and not the imitator. He would hold the Holy Lance high above his head for all to see, a scepter of rule that was uncontestable, and a divine trinket that would hold other worldly powers at bay.

Then he took his eyes off the screen to look at his open palm, which held the many lines of his fate. Soon, it would hold the lance that had come away as a Crimson Dagger that had pierced the side of Jesus to create the fifth and final holy wound. And with that extraction where the point was coated with the blood of Christ, it also absorbed His divine powers. He would sit uncontested upon a throne of his choosing and wave his newfound staff like the Sword of Allah. One Law under One God under One Principle. This would be the rule of the land.

Turning his attention back to the screen, Ali Mustafa watched as his history played out.

* * *

Abd-al-Mumin and his team hastily advanced toward the guard sheds. By the time they reached the shacks, Khalifa had already placed the bodies inside one of the vacant sheds. He was now operating the computer system from the opposite shed.

Without taking his eyes off the screen as his fingers danced quickly over the keys of the keyboard, he said to Abd-al-Mumin, “I can alter some of the CCTV images but not all. Once you get inside, you’ll have to neutralize the entire system. The nerve center is in the sublevel, highly guarded. I’ll maintain the perimeter and guard the entryway.”

Abd-al-Mumin checked his watch. Then: “Fifteen minutes. In and out.”

“Fifteen minutes,” Khalifa affirmed. Then he stopped typing.

Abd-al-Mumin shrugged off a rucksack and laid it on the ground before Khalifa.

Getting to a bended knee, Khalifa opened the bag. Inside were a half-dozen claymores. “I’ll set the perimeter accordingly,” he said evenly.

Abd-al-Mumin placed a gloved hand on the man’s shoulder. “Fifteen minutes,” was all he said.

“If things don’t go as planned and Allah sees fit for me to enter Paradise, then Allahu Akbar.”

“Your time is not up yet, Khalifa. You’re too valuable to the mission.”

“Maybe Allah sees things differently.”

After a moment of thought, Abd-al-Mumin conceded by nodding. “Perhaps,” he answered. “But try to believe that He sees you as a man with value as I do.”

“Either way, Abd-al-Mumin, whether He takes me or not, I am blessed.”

Abd-al-Mumin gave Khalifa a few pats on the shoulder as an act of respect and friendship.

Then from Khalifa: “Go . . . Everything depends on proper timing.”

Abd-al-Mumin did not hesitate as he motioned his team towards the gates of the Austrian Imperial Palace.

* * *

The entryway to the Austrian Imperial Treasury is located at the Schweizerhof, or the Swiss Courtyard, which is the oldest part of the palace that was rebuilt in the ‘Renaissance’ style, meaning that there was a conscious revival and development of certain elements of ancient Greek and Roman culture during the sixteenth century reconstruction. The gateway into the treasury was consistent with these conjoined designs, with a bullet-shaped doorway made of ornamental wood that appeared heavily constructed. Situated above the door, however, was a pair of CCTV cameras, with each catching certain but different areas within the courtyard.

Abd-al-Mumin kept his unit at bay.

Tapping his earbud to enable it, he whispered, “Khalifa, two cameras posted at the entryway.”

Then through Abd-al-Mumin’s receiver: “I’m working on it.”

Abd-al-Mumin checked his watch. They were already more than a minute behind schedule.

* * *

Khalifa received a message from Abd-al-Mumin through his earbud: “Khalifa, two cameras posted at the entryway.”

“I’m working on it.” The Arab continued to type with grace and speed, his fingers missing none of the keys necessary to marry the programs that would allow him to hack into the exterior system to alter the live feed. Encrypted numerals scrolled along the screen as he continued to type. Slowly, the encoded numerals began to take the shape and form of a readable code.