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

firmer grip on his pistol, he discovered that his palm was overly moist.

Then he took more steps into the room, all tentative and exploratory.

The tapestries continued to wave along the walls with the course of a cool breeze, the animation drawing his attention.

Then along the periphery of his left eye was a motion, something that was fast and fleeting, and then gone. Zamir moved with speed and agility after years of military training, the man trying to run down his quarry.

Inside this large room, however, there were countless partitions and walls, too many places to hide. So Zamir, who remained prudent, exploited these walls to his advantage by using them as barriers. He continued to listen with hearing that was acuter than most and stayed close to the partitions.

A wind blew.

The tapestries moved.

To his right something appeared to move behind one of the textile hangings, a shadow in play.

Zamir smiled as he trained his weapon on the shape in hiding, the tapestry a poor barrier. And then the bottom of the silk fabric kicked upward from a strong wind, the tapestry now waving like a banner as it lifted high enough to reveal a replica statue of a terracotta warrior.

Zamir set off a couple of shots that sheared away a portion of its clay head, the terrorist somewhat disappointed that it wasn’t a living target.

Then from shadows behind him, something emerged with its weapon trying to direct itself on Zamir. It was blacker than black, a silhouette cast against the light of a broken window. But Zamir was well trained, the man once a military might when he fought along with a Saudi cast of special force operatives. He grabbed the point of the weapon and knocked it aside, the burst of gunfire going off in muzzle flashes enough to light up the face of his opponent.

The features were strong and angular. And around his neck, which stood out in contrast to the color of his uniform, was the white band of a cleric’s collar. Zamir instantly recognized his enemy whose collar was emblematic of the team that wore it.

Here was a Vatican Knight.

As the MP7 went off and the bullets going on errant paths, a fist emerged from the shadow like a power driver and struck Zamir squarely on the jawline. The terrorist fell away with his eyes rolling up into slivers of white while seeing internal stars. But the moment was short lived as Zamir immediately collected himself. By the time he was able to level his weapon, the shape was gone.

The surrounding tapestries moved.

The wounded terracotta soldier looked upon him with indifference.

And Zamir evoked the myth of the Vatican Knights, all elite warriors who existed both in the shadow and in the light of day. Even amongst his people, they had been dubbed as demons who walked in league with the devil.

Seeing a partition before him, Zamir set off a volley of shots that peppered the wall. Holes magically appeared with every shot. And then Zamir carefully went to check his handiwork. When he examined the area behind the partition, he discovered the area empty. The Vatican Knight had moved on to a different location, to another shadow, the man as cunning as lore had made him out to be.

Zamir was beginning to panic with his imagination taking over. His enemy could neither be defeated nor destroyed, for they were not mere mortals. They were the pagan committee who evolved within the shadows of St. Peter’s Basilica, or so the legend is told in the Middle East, to wreak havoc specifically on the virtues of the Islamic State.

But the Vatican Knights were so much more than that. They were the equalizers between Darkness and Light. They were the saviors to those who needed them most. And they dedicated their lives to protect those who could not protect themselves.

In panic, Zamir set off a few more rounds until there was a series of clicks, his weapon going dry. In pro fashion, he expertly ejected the magazine and quickly reseated his final one, then he began to direct his weapon to all points of the compass by first turning his Glock to the left, and then to the right, and then once more to the left, the assassin searching for a viable target.

Then Zamir hit his earbud and whispered into his lip mic. “Talib. I need you. In the Asian Conference Room. There’s a Vatican Knight.”

“A what?”

“Hurry.” Zamir shut his earbud off to concentrate on his surroundings that was suddenly too big for him to control by himself.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Ali Mustafa had heard everything over his earbud.

“Talib. I need you. In the Asian Conference Room. There’s a Vatican Knight.”

“A what?”

“Hurry.”

Then white noise.

Ali Mustafa believed that he had planned well by cutting off all means of entry, had advised the authorities of his demands, and ruled over high-profile hostages by deciding who lived or died. How the Vatican Knights made it to the upper tiers was beyond his wonder. Though Mustafa’s team originated from piecing together elite commandos from the special forces ranks in the Middle East, the Vatican Knights were a completely different class of fighters.

Mustafa could feel his heart racing, as well as to hear his blood rushing past his ears like the current of a fast-moving river. Suddenly, nothing made sense. The power of the Spear of Destiny was supposed to be absolute and uncontestable. Yet a fire raged out of control and the Vatican Knights were stalking his unit in order to neutralize what they would perceive to be a threat.

How did they get here? Mustafa asked himself. How did they skirt the flames? But the answer came to him in folklore fashion: In the Middle East, the Vatican Knights had been mythologized as demons who came out of the shadows that had been cast by the spires of St. Peter’s Basilica, to become the alpha predators they were known to be.

But this was only partially true. The Vatican Knights did