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

The Consortium way was not the use of experimental interrogation, meaning torture. But Mr. Spartan was also a man who had his limits and was, in the end, a human with follies. He reached out with his hand, grabbed Kristoffel by a hank of hair, and forced his head back. Kristoffel, in reaction, burst out with laughter that sounded maniacal, which angered Mr. Spartan. They were getting nowhere with this man.

Then Mr. Spartan held Kristoffel’s cellphone in front of his eyes. “We found this on your person,” he told him.

“Good for you.”

“Three calls came in—all encrypted—after you were disabled.” Mr. Spartan cocked his head slightly as if he was about to punch home his point. “Status calls that went unanswered, yes? Most likely prompting a dismissal code to erase the caller’s point of origin?”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.” He released the man’s hair and fell back. “Tell me what I need to know, Kristoffel. And try to remember the honor you once had when you served as a member of the Korps Commandotroepen. Remember the man you used to be.”

Kristoffel stared at Mr. Spartan for a long moment before bursting into laughter. “Man,” he said, “you really need to work on your technique.” Then he started to mimic Mr. Spartan in a nasally twang. “Try to remember the honor you once had when you served as a member of the Korps Commandotroepen . . . Remember the man you used to be.” More laughter, his range heightening.

That was when Mr. Spartan reared back and fired off a direct blow to Kristoffel’s chin, the man’s head snapping back sharply, the hit rendering him unconscious.

“You laugh too much,” Mr. Spartan said through clenched teeth.

It was also the first time that Kimball Hayden witnessed the man’s loss of emotion.

Mr. Spartan handed the burner to Mr. Galileo. “Get everything on this unit to the Consortium tech team. I want them to locate the calls point of origin ASAP.”

Mr. Galileo took the phone and removed himself quickly from the room—something Kimball Hayden took from Galileo as not wanting to be around Mr. Spartan when he was in this rattled mood.

With his head resting against the back of the chair and his mouth agape to reveal bloodied rows of teeth, Kimball Hayden pointed to Kristoffel. “And what will happen to him?”

“The same as all people who refuse to listen to sound reasoning,” he answered. “He’ll be tossed inside of a black site never to see the light of day again.” Then he focused his full attention back to Hayden. “Now we wait for the others and go on from there.”

With that, Mr. Spartan turned and left the room, the man clearly heated.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Salt, if nothing else, appeared disheveled as he entered the security checkpoint to the cable-car lift. His clothes were dusty, which drew curious looks. And his hair, always neatly coiffed, was now in wild tangles. After passing through the advanced security system and accepting congenial nods from the armed guards, Salt found himself alone on a cable car that began its angled trajectory to the Deep Mountain facility. The car was hundreds of feet above the valley floor as it ascended to greater heights.

Salt held a hand in front of him and discovered that it trembled uncontrollably. Normally a disciplined man who could manage his emotions, he found it difficult to accept the fact that he had placed his family in jeopardy, the man believing that they would always be out of the reach of hostile factions. Tonight, however, he’d been proven wrong by the Consortium, who showed to him that nobody was beyond the scope from those who had the determination to hunt down a target. Lowering his hand, Salt realized that he was a ghost no longer.

My family, he thought. My wife. My children. If they had been stolen from his life, Salt knew that he would have nothing to live for and nothing left to lose.

Closing his eyes as the gondola rode along the stretch of cable to the Deep Mountain facility, Salt realized his vulnerability had made him feel less secure, less elite. Always the predator, he now felt like prey.

He looked at his hand once again. Since it trembled, he closed it into a tight fist. My family is safe. Now, it’s time to claw my way back to the top of the food chain. And I will do so by defeating those who have trespassed against me. I will seek those out within the Consortium—one by one, if necessary—and reclaim the scepter of rule.

He opened his fist to find his hand steady, the trembles gone.

In a game between life and death, he knew he would become a hunter like no other. He would elevate himself to be the black panther in darkness; the chameleon who evolves with the background, the man truly unseen; and he would use these skills to kill those whom he considered to have overstepped their boundaries.

He thought of Mr. DaVinci.

Mr. Plato.

Mr. Donatello.

Mr. Archimedes.

Mr. Michelangelo.

Mr. Galileo.

And, of course, Mr. Spartan.

This, he knew, was simply the tip of the proverbial iceberg; a list of names from a rival organization who sought to manage certain outcomes.

What he didn’t know about was the wildcard factor here, which was a man by the name of Kimball Hayden.

Salt’s hand remained steady.

When the cable car reached its destiny of the Deep Mountain platform, the doors to the vehicle opened wide. When mountain air swept into the gondola, a biting wind chilled its way to the marrow of his bones almost instantly. Getting off and entering the lavish lobby, Salt passed through all the security protocol systems and made his way to the lower levels via the lift.

The first place he went to, while heavily laden with dust, was Elias Caspari’s office and its million-dollar view. When Elias Caspari saw him enter, the man fell back into his seat without revealing any notion of surprise, and said, “I see that you’ve