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

Mr. Spartan’s newfound adrenaline rush began to recede quickly, his gun hand beginning to tremble. It was either that or, as Kimball Hayden had accepted, to be absolute rage that was tampering with his aim.

“But’s that’s all in the past now, isn’t it?” Salt added. “So now we must deal with the present and eventually the future. And Elias Caspari leads the way.”

“Elias Caspari is an idealist,” noted Kimball Hayden. “But hardly the realist. He’s blind to his ambitions and sees what he wants to see without grasping the dangers that surround him.”

“The only danger,” Salt stated, “is to allow our kind to continue without direction. Elias Caspari will provide direction as soon as the superpowers realize that they have an Achilles Heel. And the weakness is the power of Elias Caspari, and what he brings to the global table of negotiation.”

“I think you really believe that.”

“Do you think I’d be here applying my wares if I didn’t?”

Kimball Hayden knew that Salt was not going to listen to reason. In Hayden’s world, people like the Salts and the Casparis were ruled by lofty goals and unprecedented convictions. They had often locked themselves onto a course, and then refused to alter their path to reach their ambitions at the end, which were often unattainable.

And then from Salt: “One last time, Mr. Spartan . . . Drop your weapon.”

Instead, the Consortium’s Battle Master pulled the trigger . . .

. . . again . . . and again . . . and again . . .

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

Elias Caspari was obviously premature in believing that Salt would simply execute his opponent at gunpoint and make off with the treasures. What he did not see was the obstacle of Mr. Spartan, who had come from the chamber’s dark veils to take position behind Salt with his pistol raised.

Caspari, in frustration, swept everything off his desktop with a cry of rage, then spewed off a string of X-rated profanities at the TV monitor.

There was an obvious exchange going on between the two men, both bartering for the dominant position. Whenever Mr. Spartan tried to draw close, Salt would make his point by redirecting his aim at Kimball Hayden, which stopped Spartan in his tracks.

Then as the second power source started to run dry and the screen began to falter by turning into a monitor of snow, Elias Caspari was able to view enough of their exchange. Before the screen faded entirely from view, he had witnessed Mr. Spartan get off a volley of gunfire, though the outcome was not made clear before the images disappeared. Then running his fingers nervously through his hair, Elias Caspari realized that he could not rely on anyone other than himself. If he was to escape Deep Mountain, then he would have to abscond immediately through the tunnels that meandered topside.

And should Salt live through the moment, his hope, though marginal, was that his chief operator would succeed in carrying the Eye of Moses to the island stronghold in the Pacific.

After Caspari made his way to a concealed doorway in his office, he tossed a series of hardcover books from the bookcase to the floor to reveal an ocular scanner. After typing in a numeric combination on the keypad and then saying his name for voice recognition, the scanner came online to take a visual reading of the pulsating lines within the whites of his eyes. Once done, the bookcase, which was as thick and sturdy as a bank vault, swung open on its axis to reveal a darkened maw that led to a staircase that ascended to the topside platform.

Looking back at the screen and seeing nothing but snowy pixels, Elias Caspari would not allow his spirit to be dampened. Then after striking another numeric combination into the keypad which lit the staircase and the way upward, the door closed behind him as he ascended the steps.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

Spartan had lost all control to absolute rage. He could see Salt clearly on the day he murdered his wife and daughter, then recalled the assassin’s lack of contrition as though killing was something to rejoice over rather than be agonized by it. Then in a rage-driven throe of conduct, Mr. Spartan pulled the trigger of his weapon, though the gun’s point was off mark from his ever-growing feeble grip on its handle.

Bullets went wide until the weapon sounded off with a series of dry clicks. Yet Mr. Spartan continued to drive forward on a bad knee and clenched teeth as cords stood along the sides of his neck. Then in furious anger, he screamed, “SALLLLT! . . . SALLLLT!” More dry clicks sounded long after his Glock had emptied, the despondent man pulling the trigger repeatedly by the instinct to kill. “SALLLLT!”

Realizing that Mr. Spartan would be no match for Salt in his condition, that was when Kimball Hayden took over.

* * *

Gunfire went off repeatedly from the point of Mr. Spartan’s weapon, which prompted Kimball Hayden and Salt to take to the floor in self-preservation. Bullets and rounds had not even come close to scoring a kill shot. In fact, diving probably would not have been necessary since Mr. Spartan had apparently lost his range of direct fire. Hayden could see the fever growing in the man’s eyes by the seconds and moments, his rage becoming paramount with every word spoken. It was a side of Mr. Spartan that Hayden never believed he would see, since Spartan had always carried that cloak of unbelievable sadness around him. Now he understood why as he lay on the floor until Mr. Spartan’s Glock went dry.

Then as Mr. Spartan approached like something from a zombie apocalypse with pale features and eyes that had a red and rheumy look to them, Salt started to bring his weapon around to bring Mr. Spartan down.

With a straightforward kick, Hayden was able to strike the crown of Salt’s head, which jammed his