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

“I maintain hope, Cardinal, that things will turn out for the better. Perhaps you should do the same for the sake of all who sit inside this room. Instead of making yourself out to be the voice of doom, perhaps you should inspire.”

The door to the room opened. Within the frame stood Abd-al-Mumin, who studied each individual before deciding on the man sitting in the room’s corner. Pointing to the individual, he stated harshly, “You. On your feet.”

The man, who was a CEO of a multi-billion-dollar corporation which developed AI software that would be integrated with cybernetic hardware, started to sob and plead. Then he placed his arms over his head and brought his knees up into acute angles, the man making himself as small as possible.

With a simple gesture of his hand, Abd-al-Mumin ordered Qusay and Tamir to grab the individual, which they did roughly, with the two terrorists half-carrying and half-dragging the CEO out of the room. With an amplified glare that spoke of an all-consuming hatred for those inside the room, Abd-al-Mumin slammed the door shut. Thereafter, there was the sound of locking pins falling into place with the turn of a key.

Cardinal Favino turned on the judge while pointing to the door. “There goes your hope, Judge. Now tell me, do you still believe that harmony resides in tragedy?”

“If you look hard enough and deep enough, Cardinal, you’ll discover that there’s harmony in everything. As a clergyman this is something you should know. Especially one who sits so high within the Vatican’s hierarchy such as yourself.”

Cardinal Favino clenched his teeth hard enough to cause the muscles in the back of his jaw to work. Then he went back to pacing the floor like a caged animal moving from one side of the room to the other, while nervously raking his fingers through his hair.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Outside the hotel, Müller was awaiting orders from a leading principal of the Federal Ministry of Interior after they had been briefed as to the initial raid: two dead, which included Hartwig Klein, and three members of the Einsatzkommando unit injured. Hardly a successful run. But it was the death of Hartwig Klein that created tumultuous waves amongst the leadership. Klein was a leading member of Germany’s Bundestag, meaning that this was now an international incident. The media had gathered with cameras and mics and asked annoying questions that went unanswered. Police were maintaining a perimeter by creating an impenetrable human chain. And network vans with stamped logos on their sides noted which station they represented. There was CNN International, the BBC, Al Jazeera, CNBC, and Germany’s DW, with every reporter and journalist crying out for information because they, as the media, were entitled to the truth.

But Müller ignored them, as did Zeller, who stared at the tower before them. Then Müller wiped his cheek with the back of his gloved hand, which came away slick with his blood. Then he examined every nearby post and streetlamp which seemed to have a CCTV camera attached to each one, as though in overkill. Only then did it dawn on Müller about the remark Mustafa made about him getting the cut on his cheek looked at. Mustafa had been watching everything play out on the cameras with an all-points vision.

He then pointed out the cameras to Zeller. “The son of a bitch is watching us,” he said. “That’s how he knew about the cut on my cheek.”

Zeller looked around and became duly aware of their mounts. “They’re all over the place,” he remarked. “It’s funny how you notice something like that only when it’s brought to your attention.”

“He’s watching us via a Wi-Fi linkup.” He turned to Zeller. “Cut off all Wi-Fi capability in this area. I want Mustafa as blind as we are.”

“I’ll get on it,” Zeller stated as he turned to walk away.

After Müller watched Zeller get on the mic to verbalize orders, he then turned his head skyward to look at the pools that extended outward from the luxury suites. Where are you? he asked himself. Andwhat are you up to?

He would soon get answers to both questions.

* * *

Ali Mustafa had zeroed in on Müller and Zeller, with the two serving as the points of interest on Mustafa’s desktop monitor. Then he watched the two men speak with Müller finally pointing to the cameras, with Zeller eventually moving away and getting on the mic.

“Well-well-well,” Mustafa commented, “it appears that we’re about to have thine eyes plucked out.”

Those by his side had no idea what Mustafa meant until the grids began to turn into snowy screens, the Wi-Fi gone.

“It matters not,” Mustafa said as he grabbed the cellphone, tapped nine, then placed it against his ear.

It was Zeller who answered. “Yes.”

“Nice move,” Mustafa answered. “About killing the cameras.”

Zeller remained quiet.

Then from Mustafa, “The commando, the one with the cut cheek, the brazen one, what’s his name?”

“Müller.”

“I wish to speak to him.”

A moment later, Müller answered the line. “Müller.”

“I think I like you, Müller. You have what I believe what the Americans call . . . moxie. Is that what you have, Müller? Moxie?”

“What do you want, Mustafa?”

“In time, plenty. Right now, I want you to look up.” A moment later, he asked, “Are you looking up, Müller?”

“I am.”

“I want you to know that this is because you disregarded Zeller after I informed him of my demands. Instead, you led your team into a situation I was fully prepared for.”

“Trust me, Mustafa. It won’t happen again.”

“What won’t happen again? Your team getting caught within a situation they didn’t see coming? Or once again trying to storm the hotel?”

Müller remained silent.

“In any case, the consequence of your action, Müller, as promised, now falls on your shoulders. Are you still looking up? I hope so because the show’s about to begin.”

Ali Mustafa summarily killed the call with a tap of his thumb.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Alexander Hoffman was a CEO for