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

of Allah. As you can see, the first wave you commanded barely got beyond the lobby. Believe me when I say that it won’t get easier should you decide to storm the hotel again, which I know you will attempt.”

“Trust me, Mustafa, I can deal with whatever you throw at me. We will meet face to face.”

“Then I see that lessons must be taught and learned. I will teach; you will learn. When I speak of consequences, know that this is due to your actions after given fair warning. And if I were you, officer, I’d get that cut on your cheek looked at.”

Müller rubbed the back of his hand over his face, the glove coming away slick with his blood.

“Remember, what’s about to happen is by your decision to storm the hotel.” And then: “Look up.” The connection was suddenly cut off, the cellphone droning in Müller’s ear.

Müller, as the wound on his cheek continued to bleed, did exactly as he was told. He looked skyward.

Something obscene was about to happen.

* * *

Ali Mustafa calmly placed the cellphone on the desk by the computer. Without looking at Abd-al-Mumin, he said, “Choose anyone from the bargaining chips with the exception of the judge and the Cardinal Secretary. Let us show those who believe they’re in charge, as to who is really in charge.”

“Yes, Ali.”

Once Abd-al-Mumin left his side, Ali Mustafa got to his feet. Leaning against the wall was an AK-47. Grabbing it and feeling its heft, Mustafa pulled back on the bolt and checked the weapon. It was a sound rifle as were all AK-47s, being the Islamic State’s weapon of choice.

Then he went to the balcony that shared a glass-bottom pool and looked over the railing. Blue and white lights continued to swirl in their bars, a chaotic scene.

Returning to the computer station, he grabbed the Holy Lance. It remained cool to the touch. So far, there was nothing fantastical about it, nothing of magic. The relic could have been an ancient dagger dressed to be the Spear of Destiny, a facsimile, which was something he had considered. There was a spear tip inside the vault of the Vatican that had been declared as the true artifact, this he knew. But that artifact had 1,200 years of history missing, meaning that it could not be verified to be the divine article. In fact, while he was a student minoring in biblical histories at Oxford, he came upon the realization that the Bible never referred to the spearhead again after Longinus pierced the side of Christ. Nor did it hint that the spearhead had any power since there was no historical proof that it did outside of the crusade at Antioch, where the legend was first born. To the disbelievers and scholars, the entire idea would have been completely unbiblical. To people like Mustafa and to those he commanded, however, it had the power of God. Still, the relic remained cold to the touch.

Setting the item aside, Ali Mustafa returned to the balcony where the surface of the pool remained even. Then looking at the AK-47 with admiration before turning his eyes skyward, he noted the canopy of overhead stars.

“Allah be praised,” he whispered. Then he closed his eyes.

With chaos below and order above, Ali Mustafa began to pray for his divine connection with the Holy Lance, wishing above all else that he would be the conduit between Paradise and Earth.

As Ali Mustafa continued to fully pray while expecting an answer, he received nothing in return.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Behind a locked and guarded door to a room that connected with Mustafa’s suite, five men took residence from different walks of life. One was a judge who sat within the highest court in the United States. Two were CEOs from big corporations worth billions. Another was a political principal of the Italian Parliament. And the last was a chieftain of the Vatican, the Cardinal Secretary of State. They had been gathered and herded inside a room with no escape. Through the doorway, they could hear the muted banter between two guards who spoke Arabic.

Cardinal Favino paced the room while raking his fingers nervously through his thinning hair, the man exhibiting high-end concern. It wasn’t until Judge Rosenberg of the United States Supreme Court addressed him of his actions.

“Why don’t you sit down and relax?” the judge told him. “Your show of anxiety is not making things better for any of us.”

The cardinal shot the judge a glaring look that said, ‘mind your own business.’ But then from the cleric: “Do you have any idea who these people are? What they’re capable of doing? Don’t you realize the position we’re in?”

“You’re a priest, are you not?” asked the judge.

“I’m more than that,” Favino stated curtly. “I’m the Vatican’s Cardinal Secretary of State.”

“Why would I know the difference?” said the judge. “I’m Jewish. If nothing more, I should be the one to worry since Arabs don’t much care for our kind.”

“You think it’s any different being Catholic?”

“I know that as a man of God, you should be exhibiting a courageous front rather than a cowardly one.”

“Death scares all of us. Don’t try to act otherwise.”

“Yes-yes. I admit that death scares me. But I also believe that God will show me mercy. And I know this because I attend the synagogue weekly to pay my devotions, much in the same way you attend your services. In payment of worship, do you not believe in eternal reward?”

Cardinal Favino ignored him as he continued to pace and rake his fingers through his hair.

“Look,” said the judge, “all of us share the same dilemma. We’re all hostages whose fates are now within the hands of God, be it good, bad or otherwise. Perhaps it would be best to comfort one another rather than to display an agitation that only promotes a greater fear instead of harmony.”

Cardinal Favino scoffed at this. “Harmony.” Then with a barking laugh that was meant to mock, he