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

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Isaiah was standing at the broken window looking down, but the rising smoke was so thick that he was unable to see the streets below. But it didn’t take a mental giant to realize Abd-al-Mumin’s fate.

Isaiah hit his earbud. “Kimball.”

Nothing but the noise of static, the frequency growing weak.

“Kimball, do you read?”

A message finally came through, though the connection was breaking up. But Isaiah was only able to pick up half the words and piece together a message. Four tangos were confirmed down. Two remained. Head to the seat of Ali Mustafa’s command on the seventieth floor.

Isaiah said, “Copy that.” And then he was gone, the Vatican Knight moving upward and away from the all-consuming flames.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

“Talib?”

Nothing.

“Qusay?”

Nothing.

Zamir? . . . Abd-al-Mumin?”

Still nothing.

After killing his earbud mic, Ali Mustafa fell into his seat and onto his throne that was nothing more than an uncomfortable chair that sat before the downed computer. Without question his team was dead—Qusay, Zamir, Talib and Abd-al-Mumin, all gone . . . All who were receiving the fruits of Paradise.

Ali Mustafa sighed through his nostrils. He still had Ghazi who manned the topside. Below him, the Vatican Knights, who were no doubt converging on his position.

Mustafa gripped the Holy Lance hard enough for the edges to bite, but not break, his skin. The Spear of Destiny, he thought, a divine relic that promises a commanding rise to kings and kingdoms alike, and to rule with the power of a deity. “Where is your power?” he whispered.

Mustafa stared at the artifact with eyes that had the look of anger to them. He had prayed and hoped and waited with saintly patience only to receive nothing in return. The relic had not yet provided him with an advantage or a strategic win. The explosion and the subsequent fire within the building was now ablaze with uncontested fury below, his entire team had been terminated by the Vatican Knights, and lack of time had now become a grave disadvantage.

“Where is your power?” he whispered once again.

Then his eyes shifted. On the desk by the computer monitor was the detonator to the C-4 suicide vests. All he had to do was to give a simple flick of his thumb to set off the plastique. A simple . . . flick.

Setting the Spear of Destiny aside, he picked up the detonator, examined it, then realized that true violence made kings, not the legend of divine relics. If he was to reign, then he would do so by the power of weapons, by the power of explosives. If Allah decided to call him to Paradise, then who was he to question His authority? Still, the relic of the Holy Lance. Perhaps the two together needed to work in tandem to create the necessary results, he considered.

Ali Mustafa smiled: Of course.

In one hand was the Holy Lance, in the other was the detonator. Together they would make a formidable force, even against the Vatican Knights.

Hitting his earbud, he said, “Ghazi.”

“Yes, Mustafa.”

“I need you. We’re about to have company.”

“Yes, Mustafa.”

Mustafa cut the connection by tapping his earbud. In one hand was the detonator. In the other was the Holy Lance. Then he weighed the items as though his hands were balance scales, eventually concluding that the Spear of Destiny had the greater weight; therefore, the greater power. Nevertheless, the detonator would also play a big factor in the outcome of the mission. “Now,” he whispered while holding the two items side by side, “show me Your power.”

As the smell of smoke started to waft through the suite, whereas cloaking veils of smoke beyond the windows moved skyward to blot out the light as though scudding clouds were passing across the sun, Ali Mustafa could feel his confidence waning, no matter how much he wanted to believe in the power of the items within his hands.

Show me Your power, he willed. Show me . . . Your power.

CHAPTER SIXTY

The lower floors had been cleared and the treats removed, leaving Job to freely escort the guests to the helipad. The hallways, however, were thickening with smoke, causing some to cough and gag. Smoky commas and slow-moving eddies were shifting in space, the smoke a revealing sign that the fire was nearing their level at an unprecedented rate.

“We’re almost there,” he goaded. “Almost.” But Job could feel his lungs growing heavy with smoke and his throat becoming sour. His immediate surrounding was beginning to overcome and overwhelm.

Coughing, the Vatican Knight continued to drive his people to the nearest stairwell. Once the stairway was reached, Job put his shoulder into the door and rammed it open. The area was just as smoky and just as thick, though the upper levels appeared clear.

“Move,” he told them. “Everyone to the topside.”

With people coughing, gagging and choking, even when they wore gaiter masks fashioned from torn sheets and bath towels, their motion was becoming slow due to the smoke beginning to sap them of energy and oxygen. Still, as the leader of his flock, Job continued to shepherd these strangers to safety with his life at risk.

So were the virtues of a Vatican Knight.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

One level below Ali Mustafa’s suite, Kimball met up with Jeremiah and Isaiah.

“All right,” Kimball told them softly, “Job is moving the masses forward, but our mission is not done, not even remotely. We press ahead, we move up, and we push forward. So, what do we know at this point?” Kimball raised his gloved hand and held up four fingers. “One, Mustafa is in control of the hostages, so we proceed with stealth.” He lowered one finger. “Two, only one remains on Mustafa’s team.” He lowered another finger. “Three, Mustafa is highly educated, so he’ll intuit our moves and counter them the same way he countered the hard entry by the Einsatzkommando unit.” He lowered