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

“Don’t think for one moment that you’re capable of putting a bullet in my head from where you are. Your window of doing so is not that great.” Salt was right. Most of his head was hidden behind Mr. Archimedes, with only his right eye and a parcel of white hair showing. “Do I need to count down from three . . . to two . . . to—”

Mr. Archimedes launched himself into action by throwing a right elbow into Salt while ducking, the maneuver saving his life as a wayward shot discharged from Salt’s weapon, the bullet punching a hole through the ceiling where it lodged.

When Mr. Archimedes pivoted, he threw a grouping of punches that connected. His fists drove like pistons, punching and beating Salt while he was pressed against the wall between the bookcases. As Salt tried to bring his weapon across, Mr. Archimedes slapped it aside, grabbed Salt’s wrist, and gave it a hard wrench. The weapon, with only one round left, fell to the floor. In a subsequent move that was fast and fluid, Mr. Archimedes kicked the pistol with a sweep of his foot so that it would skate out of reach.

Mr. Donatello tried to get a fix on Salt. Couldn’t. The two men were united in the shadows as one. Both rolling, twisting, and grappling. The space they were in minimal and tight.

Then Salt countered by deflecting Mr. Archimedes blows with his elbows and absorbed the punches to protect his vitals. When Mr. Archimedes tried to redirect his thrusts to the assassin’s neck and face for desired results, Salt launched into his own tirade. After countering with straight jabs and punches, Salt had drawn enough space between them to lift his foot and thrust it forward, hitting Mr. Archimedes square in the solar plexus. The blow effectively knocked the wind from Mr. Archimedes lungs as he backpedaled in a stumbling gait, laboring and wheezing for oxygen.

Salt emerged from the shadows with his hands and feet flying with choreographed designs, his form smooth and graceful as he struck Mr. Archimedes and sent him to the floor by Mr. Donatello’s feet. Mr. Donatello, who watched Mr. Archimedes go from victor to being on the losing edge, tried to readjust his aim. But Salt was on top of him in a moment too quick for Mr. Donatello to comprehend, the man impossibly fast. With Mr. Archimedes on the floor trying to regain himself, Salt knocked Mr. Donatello’s gun aside and threw a well-placed chop to Mr. Donatello’s throat. Donatello’s eyes appeared to pop forward from their orbital sockets as the man’s face turned crimson. He then began to gag and wheeze, the chop damaging his passageway. As he was stumbling backwards, Salt grabbed the weapon easily away and followed Mr. Donatello to an adjacent room where, after knocking over the magazine rack, stumbled to the floor with a hand to his throat. As a way of pleading, Mr. Donatello raised his hand as if to ward off the blow of the bullet he knew was coming.

Salt took careful aim. “You shot my wife . . . I get that because it’s business. But it doesn’t mean that I have to respect what you did.”

Salt started to pull the trigger.

Mr. Archimedes was on the floor in the other room laboring for breath. Once Salt finished with Mr. Donatello, he would then focus his attention on Mr. Archimedes and provide him with the same fate.

Just as Salt was about to pull the trigger, a hand wrapped around his face and yanked him backward. The move was a shocking twist to Salt as he was cast across the room and came crashing down on a coffee table, crushing it.

Looking up, Salt was absolutely shocked at what he saw.

Mr. Michelangelo had risen from the dead.

* * *

As Mr. Michelangelo was beginning to come to, his Kevlar vest had taken the double punch of the rounds that Salt had shot at close range. They were like hammer blows, enough to knock him senseless and to the ground. Then as darkness began to fade and light started to take hold, he found himself on the floor looking at the ceiling. Behind him was Mr. Archimedes, who had a hand to his chest while working manically for the intake of air.

In the other room, a voice that was all too clear to him said: “You shot my wife . . . I get that because it’s business. But it doesn’t mean that I have to respect what you did.”

Mr. Michelangelo, after grimacing, managed to get to his feet and went to the adjacent room. Mr. Donatello was on the ground with a hand up, the man pleading for his life.

Silently and within a few steps, Mr. Michelangelo was on top of Salt, and wrapping a hand around the assassin's face, he flung him backward. Salt took flight with his feet going ceilingward and came down on a coffee table. As his crashing weight smashed it into shards beneath him, his eyes began to roll as if he was becoming detached and adrift, his world growing fuzzy. But the moment was swift as his eyes started with recognition.

Mr. Michelangelo.

Then with a smile, Salt said: “Back from the dead, I see.”

After Salt raised his pistoled hand, Mr. Michelangelo kicked it away with his foot, the weapon now free from Salt’s grip as it headed towards a distant wall.

In a following move, the assassin attempted to cut Mr. Michelangelo’s feet out from underneath him with a sweep of his leg, but missed his mark, the assassin able to drive Mr. Michelangelo backward to avoid the strike. The maneuver, however, allowed Salt time to return to his feet and into a combat position.

Behind Mr. Michelangelo, Misters Archimedes and Donatello were beginning to regain themselves as they stood, the cobwebs dissipating.

Salt’s eyes shifted and darted about their sockets, looking for a means of escape.

The Consortium cast were now on their feet, three against one.

Then Salt