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

the fracture and collapse sounded like the rumble of a fast-moving train. Water spilled from the unit as a single torrent which swept a man who pinwheeled uncontrollably and found himself at the mercy of gravity, eventually impacted along with tons of splashing water. Rooftops to cruisers buckled beneath the water’s crashing weight. Broken glass flew everywhere causing people to duck. And for those few who were incapable of moving in time, they sustained extensive wounds that would require immediate medical attention.

But in the end where lessons were taught and learned, the CEO who once earned multiple figures now lay as a gelatinous heap of smashed bones and tissue, with the man hardly recognizable as human.

Zeller, Müller, along with his team of Einsatzkommando’s who had seen everything in warfare and those who were standing beyond the perimeter line,were numbed. If not by the cruelty of Ali Mustafa, then by the violence involved. Mustafa had made his message clear.

. . . I am power . . .

. . . Now . . . see my display . . .

Everything witnessed was prevailing and brutal and demonstrative at the same time.

To defeat Mustafa, Müller considered, it would take someone who was just as cruel and powerful—a tit-for-tat monster of darkness—who could compete against him.

Luckily, there was one man—an unlikely savior who worked in Darkness to better serve the Light.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Point made,” Mustafa said.

The hollow where ten-thousand gallons of water once served as the pool, was now a hole seventy-stories above the street.

Returning to the master suite and placing his AK-47 aside, he turned to his team. “What just happened only bought us time. So, we need to take that time and use it to our advantage.” He turned to Qusay. “Inventory of our supplies?”

“Two bricks of C-4, no claymores, and we’re running low on ammo.”

“How low?”

“Not enough to hold back the Einsatzkommando for too much longer, unless you want us to do battle against them with our khanjars.”

“Put together a pair of vests and place a brick inside each one. One will go to the judge, and the other will be worn by the Cardinal Secretary. Then we’ll remind Müller about our leverage. Should he decide to make another hard run, then we’ll set off the human charges. It’s that easy.”

“Mustafa,” this came from Ghazi who was clearly worried, “even if we hold them off and buy time as you say, there’s no way out. We can’t go down.”

“No. But we can go up,” he answered, pointing skyward. “There’s a helipad on the rooftop, something the authorities will no doubt try to use to attempt a top-ward approach. But we’ll be waiting, Ghazi, as we did before. And we will show the world the power of Allah.”

Ali Mustafa grabbed the Spear of Destiny and held it tight within his grasp. “This will soon be the crowing point of a jeweled staff that will rule Allah’s kingdom. This is going to be the key to any and all future victories, beginning on this day.” He lowered the Holy Lance. “There are three ways for the authorities to advance on our position. From the two stairwells and from the helipad. Ghazi will take position above to keep the helipad clear. Qusay will put together the vests while guarding the infidels.” Then Mustafa turned to Talib and Zamir, then said, “There is a restaurant on the fiftieth floor. We need to turn everything within our power into an advantage. You two will follow my orders accordingly and question nothing, for the coming measures I will propose to you will be extreme but necessary.”

Zamir bowed his head. “Yes, Mustafa.”

“Move quickly. All of you. I’m about to make my demands to the authorities. After I do so, they will try to stall by gathering their troops and decide upon a plan of action. But I will force them to work within a time limit, while at the same time cut off their approach.” Mustafa then pointed to his lip mic. “Stay on channel.”

Zamir and Talib, with assault rifles in hand and dwindling ammo supplies, exited the suite. Qusay went to put together a pair of suicide vests. And Ghazi went topside to keep the helipad clear of airborne approaches.

Mustafa returned to the seat before the desktop computer and buckled into the chair, as though he was fatigued. Then he placed the Holy Lance on the console and eased back into his seat to stare at a screen of snow and listened to white noise.

“You do understand, Mustafa, that we’re trapped inside this building as Ghazi had mentioned,” said Abd-al-Mumin.

But Abd-al-Mumin’s words were mere drones to Mustafa who smiled and dreamily so. While considering that the degree of difficulty involved with their escape was monumentally high, and perhaps even insurmountable in the thoughts of others, such as with Abd-al-Mumin, Mustafa was confident that the structural designs of his plan would see him as the victor. Already the wheels and cogs were in motion with people like Ghazi and Talib and Zamir and Qusay working at his behest. And within his mind’s eye, Mustafa could see himself sitting upon a gemmed throne in the heart of the Middle East, while holding the golden scepter that was tipped with the Holy Lance. For years this had been the dream of madmen, to rule and lord over others until society eventually conformed to their principles that would establish a utopian way of life. But to achieve such a kingdom often took away freedoms and individual thoughts, with the cost of lives too many to count and the final result absolute destruction.

“Mustafa . . . did you hear me?”

“Yes, Abd-al-Mumin, I heard you.” Mustafa’s smile drifted away with that dreamlike quality eventually disappearing, his reality once again becoming stark and darkly genuine. After sighing through his nostrils, he repeated, “Yes, Abd-al-Mumin, I did hear you.”

Standing, Ali Mustafa placed a hand on Abd-al-Mumin’s shoulder. “Listen, my friend, we came into this knowing the risks and we weighed