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

Closing his eyes, Müller, a man whose inner core and strength had been forged over the years to be steel-like and stout, did not have the courage to watch the vulgarity of what Ali Mustafa was planning to do.

Grinding his teeth, the muscles in the back of Müller’s jaw worked as he waited for the inevitable.

* * *

Ali Mustafa wasted no time. He severed the call, went to Manning, cupped a hand under his chin, pulled his head upward, then placed the point of the jambiya at the base of the skull where the indent was. “For my people,” he said. “And for those who suffered at the hands of the infidels. As a vessel of Allah, I now show the world His might! Allahu Akbar!”

His team parroted the chant in unison: “Allahu Akbar!”

Mustafa plunged the point of the dagger so deep that the knife’s tip could be seen as a second tongue inside his mouth. As Manning gagged, blood filled his mouth and spilled copiously to paint his chin candy-apple red. As his eyes rolled upward to show nothing more than slices of white, Ali Mustafa took a step back and, with the sole of his boot, used his foot to shove Manning forward and over the edge.

The CEO tumbled into space with the ground coming up at him at an amazing speed. He rolled and somersaulted like a doll with no coordination to his actions, the man simply operating by the laws of gravity all the way until he hit the pavement.

Point made.

* * *

Müller could not and would not open his eyes. He knew that Mustafa’s plan was in play by the dreaded shouts of the crowd. The epilogue to this scenario finally came when the body hit the pavement with the sound of a ripe melon.

Still, Müller did not open his eyes.

When Müller’s phone rang, he questioned himself on whether to answer it. On the fifth ring and realizing he had no choice, he did answer. Placing the phone to his ear, Müller could say nothing, but it became apparent that he didn’t have to.

“That was on you,” said Mustafa. “And let there be no mistake, Müller, anything less than absolute devotion to my demands will see similar fates. Soon, once people realize they cannot move downward they will begin to migrate topside. My team will be waiting and willing to kill them if necessary. No more mistakes from here on in. No more playing around. Take absolute control and see that my demands are met. As you can see, the building continues to burn. Eventually, it will burn like the tallow of a candle if the fire blazes long enough.”

CLICK.

Müller, allowing his phone arm to drop by his side as though defeated, kept his eyes closed.

People screamed in the background, all invocational cries of horror calling for someone to do something to stop this. All Müller could think about were the Vatican Knights.

Where are you?

In the streets that surrounded him, people continued to cry out as chaos reigned and their voices loud and clear.

* * *

Mustafa closed his eyes and drew a deep breath into his lungs as though the air was springtime fresh, then released it all with an equally long sigh. He felt rejuvenated and back in control with things once again running smoothly. The firestorm underneath continued to burn, which would eventually force those trapped inside the building topside. When the masses realize that they’re trapped with no escape options, then the cortex shuts down and instinct takes over. People will then migrate naturally to the upper levels as the building turns into a pyre.

Mustafa gauged the faces of his team and could see the mixed measures of fear and excitement and the want to believe that everything would turn out as Mustafa had planned. The Kristallpalast was aflame, the floors below turning into char. The only reprieve from the stalking fire would be a skyward escape.

“We’re getting close,” he told his team. “Soon, the chopper will be here, and we’ll be airlifted to our homeland. And, as promised, we’ll be dining tonight as victors.” Mustafa slid the jambiya into its sheath and crossed the room. On the table by the dead computer sat the Holy Lance. With reverence and homage, he lifted the relic with both hands and held the Spear of Destiny skyward. “Behold the power of Allah,” he said. “For he who holds the Holy Lance will command great armies and rule the plains. And with thy staff with the Holy Dagger its scepter head, there will reign one master under One Rule under the One true God.” Then he showed his team the spearhead. Then as if on cue and the timing never better, the gold of the Holy Lance shimmered enough to cast a quick halo that came and went within the blink of an eye.

Mustafa crossed the floor with his eyes focused on the artifact. “Did I not tell you of its powers? We now hold the spearhead that was once dipped in the blood of one of God’s greatest messengers . . . where it came away as a crimson dagger with powers too great to contest.” Mustafa sounded overly gleeful.

Then his face shifted with his features going from pride to stoicism. “Soon, many will journey topside to escape the flames. I need you, all of you, to hold them at bay. For those who choose to challenge you, take their lives as a show to others. They are to be herded like the cattle they are to the rooms below, until our means of escape has come to light. Maintain the line and hold them steady. Once we’re gone, then Muller’s forces can rush the topside all they want to evacuate the guests, if there are any to be saved after the flames claim the levels. Gather these migrators and lock them inside the rooms below before they turn into unwanted surprises.”

Abd-al-Mumin stepped forward and bowed his head.