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

we will be hailed as heroes within the community we keep in Syria.”

“You honestly believe you can pull this off?”

Ali Mustafa looked at the Holy Lance with adoring eyes. “I know I can. And as we speak, Abd-al-Mumin, trust me when I say that the flame is about to burn bright.”

Abd-al-Mumin had no idea what Ali Mustafa was talking about.

* * *

The purpose of a culinary torch, which is a high-powered butane lighter, is to brown-baked meringues, melt cheese or to roast small peppers. When Zamir and Talib scavenged through the kitchen of the five-star restaurant and discovered the torches, they also found the master valve for the gas line.

With the stock end of his rifle, Talib knocked the handle free from the first of four valves. Gas hissed, the restaurant now becoming a tinderbox. As gas whistled through the open valves, Zamir and Talib placed the lit torches in the center of the restaurant as the means to light the fuse. As soon as the gas reached the flames, the entire floor would erupt with explosive ruin. And since Talib and Zamir would have no time to admire their handiwork, they knew that they had to withdraw immediately to a safer haven above the restaurant.

Zamir tapped his earbud. “Mustafa.”

“Go.”

“It’s done.”

“Hurry,” Mustafa told him, “before the level erupts.”

“Yes, Mustafa.”

Zamir shut off his lip mic and stared at Talib.

Then from Talib who appeared genuinely frightened, perhaps his devotion waning, he said, “Mustafa is martyring us. He drives us into a corner with no escape.”

“If that’s what he believes to be best, then it is not for us to agree or disagree. He has already been embraced by Allah. Soon, we will all dine together in Paradise if that’s our destiny.”

“But to die by fire . . .” Though Talib allowed his words to drift away, the indication had been made quite clear by his tone. To brave a painful death by fire gave him pause, even if the reward was Paradise.

It was also something that Zamir intuited. “A moment of agony for a lifetime of indescribable peace,” he reasoned. “Remember that.”

As the pair headed for the stairwell, gas continued to fill the level as the torches awaited to light up the Kristallpalast into a towering inferno.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Medstar Washington Hospital Center

Washington, DC

The bank of overhead lights with faint illumination faded in and out.

The masked faces of strangers.

The gleam of a scalpel and the glimmer of light along its scimitar-shaped blade.

The call to her from a strange voice, distant and hollow, the words for the most part nonsensical.

“. . . Ms. Cohen . . . ruptured . . . malignant . . . tissue . . . discovered . . . mail delivery.”

Shari’s world moved with an awful slowness to it. And her limbs appeared weighted and leaden, her body numb.

The lights overhead, all orbs, continued to fade in and out from her vision. And then the light was gone altogether.

Inside this darkness she could hear her breathing and her heartbeat, both coming in even measures.

Her breathing . . .

Her heartbeat . . .

Inside this darkness . . .

Nothing else existed.

And then there was nothing.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Vienna, Austria

Ali Mustafa was beside himself and gleefully so. A raging fire was about to wage below with the wick of the candle soon to be lit, perhaps within minutes, he thought, as he sat at his desk with the Holy Lance within his grasp. Now that all means of entry were about to be stolen from Müller, he could now fully concentrate his efforts and give his undivided attention to the Cardinal Secretary of State and the supreme court judge, who had been forced to their knees before him. Neither looked Mustafa in the eye as they wore the suicide vests that had been crafted by Qusay.

“You,” Mustafa said to Cardinal Favino. “Priest. Look at me.”

Favino lifted his head, a slow rise, and looked the terrorist in the eyes.

“You’re afraid, yes? You don’t want to die.”

“No one wants to die,” he replied.

“Yet, it’s a stop we all have to make. And unlike you, priest, I’m ready to embrace it.”

Cardinal Favino cast his eyes to the floor.

And then to the supreme court judge, he said, “And you. Jew. Look at me.”

Judge Rosenberg looked directly at Mustafa and they locked eyes.

Mustafa cocked his head like a baffled dog. “You are not afraid. You’re not like the priest.”

“I’ve had my share of adversity in life.”

“Which has toughened you, yes?”

“I have come to learn that quarrelsome individuals, such as yourself, will never have a hold on me, psychologically or otherwise. I have made my peace with God long ago. There’s nothing you can say or do that will change that. If nothing more, I am part of a people with resolve.”

Mustafa leaned forward in his seat and directed the point of the Holy Lance at the judge. “Yes, I can see that within your eyes. Your will, which is much stronger than the priest who kneels beside you, holds the conviction of your people who have suffered over long periods.” Then Mustafa pointed the Spear of Destiny at the suicide vest worn by the judge. “Does that not disturb you? To die a violent death.”

“We have stopped fearing about our fates long ago,” stated the judge.

Mustafa leaned back into his seat with his eyes still focused on Judge Rosenberg. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose you have.” His eyes then shifted to the cardinal, who kept his eyes downward. “Perhaps, priest, you’ve lived too long inside a protective bubble to understand the trials and tribulations of both Arab and Jew. Perhaps I should teach you a lesson of true hardship. Perhaps I should set off your vest and watch you be torn to pieces.”

Cardinal Favino finally broke, the man sobbing, which brought a smile to Ali Mustafa’s face.

The others in Mustafa’s team, including Abd-al-Mumin, were beginning to wonder about Mustafa’s game plan. Soon, a fire would wage below and begin