The Crimson Dagger - Vatican Knights Series 23 (2020), Rick Jones [free ebooks for android txt] 📗

car as a pair of officers exited the vehicle. In the Arab’s right hand was his firearm, the man moving forward without showing fear or emotion, while shouting praises of Allah.

The officers raised their assault weapons as they hid behind the open doors of their vehicles and shouted commands.

Khalifa continued to disobey their warnings.

There were more demands to stop, the officers’ stresses continuing to go unheeded.

Then Khalifa opened fire. Bullet holes suddenly appeared against the doors, like magic, with some of the rounds creating sparks and embers, which died off quickly. The officers returned fire with the consequence to Khalifa grave. Bullets stitched across his chest and abdomen, as the fabric of his shirt bloomed from the impacts. As his body jolted from the blows, his gunfire became random as he spent rounds that went skyward and then to the pavement. His finger was simply pulling the trigger with an involuntary act as his life was slipping away. When the Glock sounded off with a series of dry clicks, Khalifa finally went to his knees.

. . . Click . . . click . . . click . . .

He then looked skyward and at the glimmer of stars, believing that Allah would make him such a glimmer in the Heavens that would shine down upon those who were still committed to the cause.

Allah has called him home.

. . . Click . . . click . . . click . . .

As his final breath escaped him, and as the edges of his sight closed in with utter darkness, Khalifa fell forward to the pavement with the bones of his face crunching obscenely upon impact.

Allahu Akbar.

* * *

Not only did Abd-al-Mumin and his team hear the claymores go off, but they also witnessed the results of Khalifa’s strategic placements. Vehicles rose and tumbled through the air in an exquisite ballet that appeared to have been slowed down, the moment surreal. Others exploded as the interiors instantly became engulfed by flame, the occupants dead or dying before their eyes. What Khalifa created was poetry in motion, with bloodshed and death the topics of his artistry. But the work was not complete.

A vehicle with a pair of officers had gone unscathed. From the sidelines, Abd-al-Mumin and his team could only watch as Khalifa sacrificed himself in the name of his God, so that others could continue.

With the attention of the officers on Khalifa, Abd-al-Mumin moved his team forward with their weapons raised. They moved across the plaza as moving shadows, black within black, until Abd-al-Mumin opened fire. Others followed his lead as the night suddenly lit up with a volley of muzzle flashes. Rounds hit the officers and the nearby pavement, with the bullets stamping out their lives the same way they had stamped out Khalifa’s.

Bodies were lying everywhere, and vehicles remained ablaze.

Abd-al-Mumin could only look down at Khalifa, as blood spread along the pavement underneath the dead man’s head as a crude halo. It wasn’t until someone grabbed Abd-al-Mumin by the triceps to shake him from his reverie. “We must go,” was all he heard. He wasn’t sure if the voice belonged to Qusay, Ghazi or to another since it sounded hollow and distant.

Ripping his arm away, Abd-al-Mumin continued to look down at Khalifa. And then: “I will join you in time, my brother, after I serve His needs. Allahu Akbar.”

With his praises his last words, Abd-al-Mumin hastened to remove his team from the site.

* * *

Ali Mustafa was beside himself. They had planned for months and had gleaned intelligence regarding the make of the facility, including its mainframe operations. His visit to the Treasury with Abd-al-Mumin had simply been a reconnaissance mission to see if the schematics had lined up, which they did. But the undertaking had proven true on one aspect: that plans always looked good on paper but are rarely played out to perfection as designed.

He had seen everything through their bodycams from multiple angles. He had watched as the Spear of Destiny became the property of Abd-al-Mumin. He saw the killing of Khalifa, though his pride was admittedly high when he saw the aftermath of multiple explosions take place. Still, he knew they were far from succeeding in their quest. With the Holy Lance now in possession, his team would have to avoid the dragnet he knew would form within the city and along the borders. He would act swiftly to abscond with the article, believing that its power would see him through, along with the grace of Allah.

Ali Mustafa would be wrong.

* * *

There suddenly seemed to be a vacuum after Khalifa’s death as Abd-al-Mumin led his team to the van, since an especially important piece to the mission was now missing. Not only was Khalifa someone who navigated through the straits of turbulent warfare, he was also a master planner. Though the situation they now found themselves had fallen short of the goal, the Holy Lance was within Abd-al-Mumin’s ownership—a coup, he considered as the team made their way quickly inside the vehicle.

The engine started, revved, then the vehicle pulled away from the curb. In the backdrop, the wail of the Treasury’s alarm system continued to keen along with the approach of additional sirens from law enforcement, now a streaming convoy of blue and white flashing lights.

Abd-al-Mumin gripped the Spear of Destiny within his hand as his knuckles turned white. He closed his eyes and prayed for divine intervention and for Allah to show His might through the dagger’s head. In his mind’s eye he saw the blue bolts of His fury lash out to strike down the enemy. But when he opened his eyes, he saw no such tendrils. The article that had once been dipped in the blood of Jesus was just as cold as when he first laid hands on it.

Outside the rear window of the van, Abd-al-Mumin could see the police vehicles converging on the Imperial Treasury. It wouldn’t take long for the authorities to identify Khalifa and tie him to the