The Eye of Moses - Vatican Knights Series 22 (2020), Rick Jones [learn to read books txt] 📗

of his malformed face, which gave off the impression of malicious amusement. “You’re lying,” he told him. “What? You don’t think we saw you trailing us? That’s why we split up, so that we can have this little one-on-one chat—you and me. And you,” he said, jabbing a forefinger into Mr. Shakespeare’s chest, “belong to me.” In a deft move, the assassin produced a butterfly knife from his pocket and started to whip the blade and handles in several directions before it finally became functional. It was quick and stunning to watch, the choreography behind the movements having been practiced to obvious perfection.

Then lashing out with his free hand, Ueli caught Mr. Shakespeare by the throat with his hand and began to throttle him. “Tell me,” he said, the man a good six inches taller. “Whose little boy are you?”

Mr. Shakespeare could feel his head growing light because Ueli was pressing his thumb against his carotid.

“Who do you belong to?” Ueli’s voice was harder and more caustic in tone.

As the dark edges of Mr. Shakespeare’s sight started to pinch inward, Mr. Shakespeare galvanized himself by throwing a series of blows. His hands were like pistons that moved fast and furious with his blazing speed catching Ueli off guard. The assassin fell back against the blows while appraising the fluid motions, seeing that the man was a skilled and seasoned fighter. Then Ueli slashed the knife in a horizontal sweep to gut his attacker, missed, then tried to slice him by bringing the knife across with diagonal cuts—from left to right, and then from right to left—with the attacker cutting Xs in the air with whispering slashes.

Now it was Mr. Shakespeare’s turn to duck and dodge as the assailant pushed forward to take new ground. The blade of the knife slashed and cut and sliced air. Ueli did not appear to slow down from waning endurance, but seemed to gain momentum as he closed in. With a diagonal downward flash of the knife, the edge of the blade sliced through Mr. Shakespeare’s coat, through the flesh, and rode along the bone of his forearm, a deep gash. Crying out, his white-hot pain intensified as the lips of his wound pared back to reveal muscle tissue. Since this moment provided an opportunity for Ueli, he acted upon it. Stepping forward, Ueli grabbed and spun Mr. Shakespeare around so that the wounded man’s back was pressed to Ueli’s chest. And with a hunter’s glee, the assassin drove the knife across Mr. Shakespeare’s throat and opened a horrible second mouth.

A moment after Mr. Shakespeare’s eyes widened as though surprised by his own mortality, he fell to his knees while gagging an awful wetness. Turning slowly to see his attacker, Mr. Shakespeare could only see the silhouette of a man, a blackened shape, until darkness closed in from all sides of his vision to claim him fully.

After Mr. Shakespeare succumbed, Ueli returned the knife to his pocket, grabbed his cellphone, and started to take photos.

Now it would be up to the Shadow Klan’s Tech Unit to determine who this man was.

* * *

Mr. Galileo followed Kristoffel into a park whose trees were denuded of leaves due to the cold weather. After disappearing inside a walkway tunnel similar to those found throughout Central Park, Mr. Galileo hastened his pace. When he reached its opening, he saw the open half-oval shape of light at the other end, but no Kristoffel.

Mr. Galileo, siding with caution, stepped into the tunnel and made his way quickly to the other end, which was thirty meters away. His footfalls echoed off the surrounding brick walls with the cadence a quick tempo.

Just as Mr. Galileo was about to reach the opposite end, a shadow that was pressed against the brick came alive. With speed and agility, Kristoffel attacked Mr. Galileo before the operative had a chance to take a stance in defense. Kristoffel, who had mastered the technique of Tae Kwon Do, threw a series of kicks that knocked Mr. Galileo down to the walkway.

With Mr. Galileo’s hands raised in supplication against further attacks as he laid there, Kristoffel stood over him with clenched fists. “I don’t like being tagged and trailed,” he told Mr. Galileo. “So, I’m giving you the opportunity to tell me who you are and why you’re following me. You’ve got three seconds starting now . . . Three.”

“Look, pal, I was just taking a walk, that’s all. You want my money, take it.”

Kristoffel shook his head. “Ain’t gonna fly with me, boy. I know a professional when I see one . . . Two.”

“I’m serious!”

“One.” Kristoffel brought his foot down to crush Mr. Galileo’s throat, but missed as Galileo rolled to his right, the man fast, and got to his feet. Mr. Galileo then maneuvered into a fighting stance in a style that Kristoffel did not recognize.

“What’s this?” Kristoffel stated in jest as he pointed to Mr. Galileo’s battle posture. “Moo Goo Gai Pan? . . . Seriously?”

Then the men began to circle each other, each vigilantly aware of the other in the way they moved and operated.

“You didn’t answer my question,” said Kristoffel. “Why are you following me?”

Mr. Galileo gave a cursory glance to the tattoo on the webbing of Kristoffel’s hand between the thumb and forefinger, which Kristoffel noticed. Then the Shadow Klansman held up his hand to reveal the illustration to Mr. Galileo in full. “Is this the reason why? Because you know who I am?” And then from Kristoffel, whose smile slowly melted away, added in confirmation: “The Consortium.”

“I want to know where the Eye of Moses is. And you’re going to tell me,” said Mr. Galileo.

“You think so, huh?”

“I know so.”

The pair continued to circle each other looking for an opportunity to best their opponent.

But it was Kristoffel who struck first. After perceiving an opening in the odd arrangement of Mr. Galileo’s stance, the Klansman pressed forward with a series of snap and roundhouse kicks, all which were easily deflected by