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

The man was carrying a rucksack that was slung over his shoulder. Though he kept his head down for the most part, he did spy a look into one of the CCTV cameras, a brief glimpse. As though to realize his error, he immediately snapped his head downward and away, which was always a kneejerk reaction of guilt.

“Backup,” said the tall officer, “and zoom in on his face.”

The operator manning the console toyed with the dials. Though the man’s features were not as clear as the officer had wanted and voiced his disappointment over the lack of clarity, the operator cleaned up the blurred pixels and sharpened the picture. Then closing in with his zoom dial, he was able to propose a clear headshot of the man in question.

The tall officer nodded with satisfaction. “I’ll need a digital image immediately,” he stated, “something I can send to the principal lab for identification?”

“Yeah. Sure. Right away,” Hans told him.

“How long exactly?”

“As soon as your techs are ready to receive the information.”

“They’re ready.”

Within less than a minute, Austrian’s primary lab for facial recognition received the image. Two minutes later, they received a hit. And a minute after receiving the confirmation and the biographical history of the man in the lobby, the tall man knew that this was something above his paygrade.

The man—Abd-al-Mumin—was someone who was in league with the Islamic State and considered a forerunner in reestablishing a caliphate in Syria. Scores had been killed by his hand the moment the United States retreated from the territory. And it would later come to light that he and his team of extremists had entered Austria under bogus Pakistani passports to sacrifice many in the name of Allah.

The tall officer immediately established contact with his principals and called for the Einsatzkommando Cobra, an elite unit of the Austrian police. He also believed that the force would engage and easily neutralize Abd-al-Mumin’s team.

But he would be wrong.

The Kristallpalastwas about to become a battlefield.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

TheKristallpalast

The Vatican’s Secretary of State was fast asleep when he heard what he believed to be the creaking of a door.

And then silence.

Dismissing the sound as nothing more than the building settling, he turned over in his bed and came face to face with an outline of something that was black and tarry by nature. Centered within this silhouette and staring back at him were a pair of eyes that spoke volumes of toxicity that was so overwhelming, it forced the cardinal to push aside his covers as he tried to sit up, only for a hand to shove him back onto the mattress with a gun pressed against his cheek.

“Silence priest. Say nothing.”

In a room that was off the master chamber where the cardinal’s valets slept, Cardinal Secretary of State Antonio Favino could hear the pleas of his valets falling upon deaf ears, which were summarily followed up by the dampened sounds of a suppressed weapon.

Three shots in quick succession—

. . . Phfft . . .

. . . Phfft . . .

. . . Phfft . . .

—was quickly followed by a disturbing silence. The pleas, the begging for one’s life, all had ended.

From the adjoining room a figure emerged. In the figure’s hand was a firearm.

In Arabic, the two spoke together, something the cardinal took to be a confirmation of some kind. Though the cardinal did not speak the language, he knew that the exchange was in regard to the bishops of the Holy See, who were now dead.

“Listen to me, priest, and question nothing,” Talib stated evenly. “You will come with us. If you insist on making protests or refuse whatever I tell you, your fate will be as equal as the other priests. Do you understand?”

Cardinal Favino nodded.

Talib stood back and pointed his Glock towards the door. “Quietly,” he said.

Favino got to his feet wearing the night garments of a cardinal, a one-piece robe, and started towards the entryway. Passing the doorway of the adjoining room, he took note of his valets lying face down on the floor, each having been executed after taking a bullet to the back of the head.

When the cardinal slowed, Talib gave him a shove. “Keep moving.”

Cardinal Favino, who was still confused and unsure of his future, followed commands.

* * *

Ali Mustafa’s team worked like clockwork during the early morning hours by collecting high-profile assets, knowing that time was limited and that the troops below were gathering to make a run at his unit. He also knew that it was always best to take the high ground.

In a mesmerized state, he continued to stare at the Holy Lance.

“Ali.” It was Abd-al-Mumin who spoke with caution.

“Yes.” Mustafa’s beaded stare never broke away.

“Time is running short.”

“Abd-al-Mumin, we both know that time is never a luxury. But the advantage belongs to us on so many levels. We have the high ground, always an advantage. And assets are being gathered, human shields. But this,” Ali Mustaf held the Spear of Destiny high, “is the greatest advantage of all, yes? Allah will see us through.” He lowered the relic, then looked at Abd-al-Mumin with a gleam in his eyes and with the challenge of what was about to happen exciting him. “It’ll be all right,” he told him. “There’s still time. And yes, they know we’re here. And yes, they most likely know who we are.” Ali Mustafa leaned forward in his chair. “And because of who we are,” he continued, “the Federal Police are most likely waiting on the Einsatzkommando Cobra. By the time they storm the Kristallpalast, we will be in position to undermine their intentions, believe me.”

“We’re talking minutes,” said Abd-al-Mumin. “Maybe ten.”

As if on cue, Hartwig Klein was led into the room by Zamir. Though he was still in his striped pajamas, his attire had a slight modification to it. He was now wearing a C-4 vest with a plastique brick attached to it.

Ali Mustafa gave off a one-sided smile. “All I’ll need, Abd-al-Mumin, is