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

the mahogany veneer of the registration counter, the tiled floor—the plastique ever so powerful.

Taking the moment to assure that the area had been cleared, Zamir made his way to the hotel’s nerve center located in a high-tech chamber behind the registration area. The door had been locked—the area restricted. But a pair of rounds quickly rectified that problem after they destroyed the entryway keypad. Using the brunt of his shoulder to burst his way in, the door swung wide.

The room was sophisticated with high-end technology. There was an advanced computer system, monitors, high-definition wall screens, Plexiglas boards, everything that kept the hotel’s heartbeat going. The area, however, had been vacated, the playground his to do as he wished.

Zamir looked over the console. Everything was so state-of-the-art it was unrecognizable. In some respects, the evolution and speed of new technologies was passing him by.

Zamir hit his earbud. “Mustafa, are you getting this?”

“Adjust your bodycam.”

Zamir did. Then: “Now?”

There was a pause, something Zamir thought to be a moment where Mustafa was examining the setup. Then: “Sit at the main console to your left. Do exactly as I say.”

Zamir followed Mustafa’s commands. He took his seat, laid his Glock to the right of him, then placed his fingers along the keyboard. “Ready.”

Mustafa talked him through the measures, beginning with disabling the elevators. After typing in the proper codes to incapacitate the lifts, he hit the ENTER button. Numerals and odd-looking symbols began to scroll along the screen. Then the screen read in bold red letters:

* * * ELEVATORS OFFLINE * * *

Beyond the breached doorway, Zamir could hear the approach of sirens, which was no doubt the advancing unit of the elite Einsatzkommando.

Zamir spoke into his earbud mic. “Mustafa, we’ve got company.”

“Stay calm, Zamir. Zeller has his orders. You still have time.”

“Zeller may not have the control you think over the Einsatzkommando.”

“He’ll have enough to hold up the unit long enough for you to follow through with what I’m about to tell you. You need to finish the process, Zamir. Don’t worry about the Einsatzkommando. Concentrate.”

“I’m ready.”

Mustafa walked Zamir through the second phase of the operation. Though Zamir was not as quick with his fingers along the keyboard as Mustafa, he was able to enter the sequence of codes that had been given to him.

Numeric values and odd symbols once again appeared on the screen, the characters scrolling with the even numbered rows moving from top to bottom, and the odd numbered rows moving from the bottom to top. After the characters locked into place, the screen winked off.

“Mustafa, something’s wrong. The screen went blank.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Zamir. Everything is as it should be.”

Suddenly, as though on cue, the screen reactivated. The words on the monitor, which was accompanied by a synthetic female voice that was flat in its measure, read and said:

. . . ALL SYSTEMS IN SECTION ONE . . . DISABLED . . .

. . . ALL SYSTEMS IN SECTION TWO . . . DISABLED . . .

. . . ALL SYSTEMS IN SECTION THREE . . . DISABLED . . .

. . . ALL SYSTEMS IN SECTION FOUR . . . DISABLED . . .

Zamir grabbed his firearm from the console and eased back into his seat.

. . . ALL SYSTEMS IN SECTION FIVE . . . DISABLED . . .

. . . ALL SYSTEMS IN SECTION SIX . . . DISABLED . . .

From where he sat, Zamir was watching the Kristallpalast die a slow death. Mustafa was shutting off her brain and disabling its capacities to defend itself on any level.

Finally, the female synthetic voice stated:

. . . ALL SYSTEMS DISABLED . . .

“Excellent, Zamir. Now, onto the next stage of the operation.”

Zamir, without hesitation, responded accordingly knowing that time was limited.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The cube van belonging to the Einsatzkommando Cobra unit was as black as a midnight sky. After the vehicle was given a wide berth to enter the circle of police cars, the rear doors swung wide and a dozen heavily armored commandos jumped down from the bay. Every man on the team was wearing the Robocop attire of shin, knee, forearm and elbow guards that were constructed from a special composite, and a Kevlar helmet that held the boon of gadgetry that ran along the top of their helmets like a Mohawk. The operational commander of this unit, a man by the name of Roland Müller, did not operate under the jurisdiction of the Austrian Federal Police, but he did come under the control of the Federal Ministry of the Interior and had the right to usurp authority.

Müller approached a man who was rail-thin and smartly dressed, and asked, “You the officer in charge of securing the scene?”

Zeller raised his hand which continued to tremble. Though a vet, he was not built to take on such a high degree of adversity as a first responder. This was strictly for the mindset of those who prepare daily for such scenarios, like the Einsatzkommando Cobra.

Müller noticed the tremble of the officer’s hand. “Are you all right?”

“I could be better.”

“I’ve been briefed along the way by Central Command,” Müller told him. “Apparently, Ali Mustafa’s cell has absconded with the Holy Lance from the Austrian Imperial Treasury, killing nearly a dozen people. And now, he and his cell have taken refuge inside the Kristallpalast, at least five men not including Mustafa. Obviously armed with military-grade explosives, C-4, and firearms.”

Zeller nodded. “The others involved are—”

“Ghazi; Zamir; Talib; Qusay; Abd-al-Mumin, Mustafa’s first lieutenant; and Mustafa himself, a chief principal who is trying to reestablish a caliphate in Syria.”

“Apparently, you’ve been briefed quite well.”

“I’ve also been informed that high-profile dignitaries may have been taken hostage. Is this accurate?”

“According to Mustafa.”

“Did they say who exactly?”

Zeller nodded. “One, Hartwig Klein, who was a member of the German Bundestag, is lying scattered all over the hotel lobby. The others he mentioned I didn’t recognize with the exception of the Vatican’s Cardinal Secretary of State.”

Müller’s face did not betray any emotion.