The Eye of Moses - Vatican Knights Series 22 (2020) Rick Jones (amazing books to read TXT) 📖

life. It wasn’t because he saw Caspari as a prophet—far from it. It was because he saw a man with leadership qualities who could promote a way of life he could envision: a life under a single rule, under a single head of state. But in order to get to Caspari’s Heaven, you must do so by going through Hell. And paving the way through valleys filled with fire and brimstone, he knew, was his worldly mission.

Just as he was about to leave, a man he didn’t know took a seat opposite him at the table.

Gruber gave him a questionable look. “Is there something I can do for you?” he asked. There were other empty tables on the landing that overlooked the valley.

The stranger sat quietly at the table looking at the scenery.

Then from Gruber, he said while beginning to stand, “Whatever.”

“I couldn’t help admiring that tattoo you have on your hand,” the intruder said. “A grinning skull whose sockets happened to be covered over by eyepatches.” He turned to face Gruber so that their eyes locked, with the mercenary slowly retaking his seat. Then the visitor added: “It’s a rather distinctive illustration, don’t you think?”

“Who are you?” Gruber asked him. “What is this?”

The stranger was dressed in a cloak-and-dagger trench coat that was something out of a 50s film noir. Beneath it, however, he was holding a suppressed weapon. “A couple of nights ago,” he began, “you were part of a group that raided the Vault of the Knights Templar in Croatia.”

Gruber shook his head. “Look, I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care. So have a nice day.” As he started to get up, the man across from him produced the weapon, a Glock whose suppressor doubled the extension of the gun’s barrel.

“Sit down,” the intruder told him.

Gruber did as he was told.

“Now,” the man with the gun began, “You’re going to tell me everything I need to know.”

“You think so, huh?”

“I know so. And we’re going to start with the whereabouts of the relics you stole from the Vault of the Knights Templar. And you know what I’m talking about.”

“I haven’t a clue.”

The operator pulled the trigger and the Glock sounded off with a muted shot. The round went past Gruber, the bullet continuing its path into open space beyond the café’s railing.

“Consider that a courtesy miss,” said the intruder. “You’ll get no such consideration from me next time. Believe me.”

Gruber looked at the mouth of the gun’s barrel. “Yes,” he said. “I do believe you.” Then he looked the intruder in the face, which remained neutral. “Let me guess,” he began. “You’re from the Consortium . . . since you speak of the Vault which only a member of the Consortium would know about.” And then: “It didn’t take you long. And for that I applaud you for your efforts.” Then Gruber’s eyes shifted in their hollows and settled upon the CCTV cameras looking down at them. There were two that provided a panoramic viewpoint. “I see,” Gruber finally said, before returning his focus back onto the intruder. “The CCTV cameras. I guess Big Brother truly is everywhere. You used facial recognition software to confirm my identity.”

The intruder remained silent.

Then Gruber raised his hand to show off the tattoo. “And that’s why you made a remark about my tattoo, yes? You know who I am.”

“Hans Gruber. A wetwork operator with twenty-four confirmed kills. You work mainly as an assassin for corporate raiders. But you also perform contract killings on political targets, as long as the price is right.”

“Twenty-six,” Hans Gruber said, smiling. “My kill total is twenty-six. I had the pleasure of removing two of your guards in Croatia, which means that your records are somewhat unreliable. That makes me wonder what else the Consortium is wrong about.”

“Not much,” said the intruder. “Now this is how our little exchange is going to work. I will ask you questions, and you will give me answers. It’s that simple.”

“And if I refuse to do so?”

“If you’re going to be a waste of my time, Gruber, I’ll end the moment with a shot to center mass and another to your forehead for good measure. How about that?”

Gruber looked at the mouth of the gun’s barrel. “I believe you.”

“Did you think I was kidding?”

“Still, my devotions lie where they lie, even with a gun pointed in my direction.”

The intruder, Mr. Plato, never broke stride in his conversation. “Question number one: Where’s the Eye of Moses?”

“It’s in a location where the Consortium can’t get to.”

If Mr. Plato was getting frustrated, Gruber could not see it.

“That’s not an answer to my question,” Mr. Plato said evenly. Then: “Where. . . is . . . the Eye . . . of Moses?”

“Again, it’s in . . . a place . . . where the Consortium . . . can’t get to.”

There was a tic from Mr. Plato, a marginal twitch at the corner of his mouth and the first sign of frustration. “Let me put it to you this way, Gruber,” he said while redirecting the point of his weapon to the assassin’s heart. “I’m going to count to three. If you don’t tell me what I need to know, then you’re of no use to me.”

Gruber cocked his head slightly to the side and smiled. “Why wait?” With that he flipped the table over, which knocked Mr. Plato’s aim skyward. A muted pop sounded as the bullet went off with an upward trajectory.

Then Gruber kicked the overturned table and forced it into Mr. Plato, which knocked him backward and to the ground. When Mr. Plato tried to readdress his aim, Gruber was already on top of him. After grabbing Mr. Plato’s wrist and torqueing it hard to the left, the gun fell from the operator’s grasp and to the ground. When Gruber attempted to grab the suppressed Glock, Mr. Plato lashed his foot out and kicked the gun, which skated across the landing and beyond Gruber’s grasp.

With the cords of