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

considered, it was too late to work his way back into the Lord’s good graces through some form of atonement. As he prayed and begged for His divine mercy, he was afraid that He had said ‘no.’ Or that the cost of his atonement was punishment coming by way of death and sacrifice.

“Please, Cardinal,” said Judge Rosenberg, “show yourself to be a man of your station. Get up and lead the way. Become that shining light of hope and faith of what will happen to us is not the end . . . But a new beginning.”

But the cardinal nodded and refused to stand, the man pleading, begging and sobbing.

The judge frowned at the cardinal. “Really.”

Ghazi’s patience had run thin as he crossed the room, grabbed Cardinal Favino by the C-4 suicide vest, and hoisted the man to his feet with the point of the assault weapon dug into the cardinal’s side as added motivation.

Ghazi continued with his Arabic tirade, yelling and shouting for them to move along. The judge was first, the woman second, and then the cardinal, who was forcibly escorted out of the room by the terrorist.

“Please don’t hurt me,” the cardinal begged. “Please.”

“Cardinal,” this came from the judge. “I’m surprised by your conduct. I truly am. If not for the position I keep as an associate judge of the Supreme Court of the United States, I would surely give you a ‘bitch slapping’ because you don’t deserve to be punched like a real man. Your actions as a man of faith is deplorable, to say the least. I’m ashamed of you.”

But the cardinal did not appear to hear him, the man much too absorbed within his fear.

The trio had been marched into the suite where Ali Mustafa sat before a dead computer. In one hand was the remote detonator. In the other, the Spear of Destiny.

After Ghazi lined them up, Mustafa appraised each and every one. Judge Rosenberg looked entirely composed. The woman appeared frightened, though she appeared to have accepted her fate through faith. The cardinal, however, appeared to be neither composed nor in acceptance of his fate. He was simply a coward who posed as a man of holy conviction when, in fact, he was a fraud in sheep’s clothing.

Ali Mustafa got to his feet, cocked his head in study, then stood before the judge. “You, Jew, are you not afraid?”

“Should I be? Would it change anything if I were?”

Mustafa looked into the man’s eyes and saw insane courage underneath, and something that irked him deeply. Then he moved on to the woman, a Chinese national who held her chin high, though her cheeks were streaked with tears. Nevertheless, he had to admire her showing of courage, even when it was a feigned one. But it was his moving on to the cardinal that pleased him most. The cleric was quietly sobbing as he stood with paralytic terror.

“You, priest, tell me, has your courage abandoned you? Does your faith not lift you?”

The cardinal started to speak nonsensical syllables.

Mustafa chuckled. The power he exuded over the cardinal was like an opiate and a memory to be cherished. Here were two men of different faiths challenging each other as to who holds the mightier faith, the priest or the extremist.

Mustafa raised the Holy Lance before the cardinal. Its sharpened tip sparked a moment with a spangle of light, before disappearing. “Do you know what this is?”

Cardinal Favino nodded.

“Tell me, priest.”

“It’s the Spear of Destiny.”

“That’s right. Now, tell me more.”

After licking his parched lips, Cardinal Favino said, “It was rediscovered during the First Crusade by Christian Crusaders at Antioch. Its recovery inspired the Crusaders to take the offensive against the Muslims to take the city.”

“Which they did. They took Antioch. And now a Muslim holds the relic to take back what had been stolen from us.” After a beat, he asked, “Do you know of its power?”

A nod from the cardinal.

“Validate it,” Mustafa stated curtly.

The cardinal swallowed. “It gives uncontested power to those in possession of the artifact, to reign over a great kingdom and command great armies.”

Mustafa’s smile flourished. “That’s right.” The terrorist then pointed to the broken windows. Outside, the wall of rising smoke was getting thicker, blacker, the far and distant view now obstructed behind darkened veils. “A firestorm is closing fast on our position. Soon, this entire level will be engulfed in flames. But with the guidance of Allah, He has seen to provide me with the advantage of His blessings.” He held up the Holy Lance as though it were an exhibit, then stepped back to address all three hostages. “We are going topside where a helicopter will meet us for transport. I expect full compliance. Full compliance. If not,” he held up the detonator, “I will not hesitate to use this, believe me. I am fully prepared to meet Allah and to dine by His side tonight, if necessary.” He quickly turned to Rosenberg as though to address him specifically. “Do you understand? I do not want to see any attempts at heroism. It’ll only get you all killed.”

The judge’s response was his maintained, stoic appearance.

Mustafa turned to Ghazi. Softly, he whispered, “Maintain the premise, Ghazi. Allow me to wield the Holy Lance as the scepter of rule. Trust me, the lands will shout your name in rejoice.”

Ghazi immediately understood. He was to be a moral sacrifice in the name of Allah by staying behind to fight the Vatican Knights, until he could fight no more. And Ghazi seemed to relish the idea of being a part of folklore. But even more so, his father would finally be proud of him and speak the name of Ghazi with reverence.

“Yes, Mustafa. I understand.”

Mustafa leaned into him until their foreheads were touching, then stated softly, “Tonight, you will dine with Allah. And delight in the fact that it was you who paved the way to my power. People will name their sons in your honor and as a symbol of a hero’s bravery.