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

“And kill anyone who tries to play the hero.”

Once again from Abd-al-Mumin: “Yes, Mustafa.”

As the team dispersed with minimal ammo and their khanjars, Mustafa was alone inside the suite with the exception of the hostages, who remained behind a locked door. With the Holy Lance in his left hand, Mustafa removed the jambiya from its sheath with his right hand and held the two daggers side by side. The Holy Lance was magnificent compared to the Yemen product, the jambiya nothing more than a substandard piece of junk by comparison. Returning the jambiya to its sheath, he allowed the Spear of Destiny to sit across the palms of both hands with his eyes ablaze with fascination. Still, there was no sensation of the relic’s magic, no tingle of its power being absorbed by Mustafa’s flesh. It simply remained cool to the touch. Nevertheless, Mustafa continued to adore the item as flames continued to engulf the building several stories below.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Inside the Kristallpalast

Vienna, Austria

The Vatican Knights were in peak shape, so ascending the stairwells posed no problems to the team members who were neither winded nor taxed. The only true obstacle came when light smoke drifted through the east- and westside stairwells on the forty-fifth floor, with the smoke on each level above forty-six getting noticeably thicker.

Kimball and Isaiah were working the eastside stairwell. Jeremiah, Job and Daniel were ascending the westside.

When the air drifted in space as slow-moving commas of smoke, Kimball held up and tapped his communication earbud. “Jeremiah, what’s your twenty?”

“Forty-fifth floor.”

“You come across heavy smoke?”

“That’s affirmative.”

“We knew this was going to happen.”

In the few short moments as they stood inside the stairwell, gray smoke was thickening into a black mass and the heat was elevating, meaning that the fire was inching towards them.

Then from Kimball: “The stairwells are impassable at this point. I was hoping to go another two or three levels before alternating our course.”

“The fire’s moving quickly.”

“Move down one level and meet me at the alternate site.”

“Copy that.”

Kimball, along with Isaiah, headed to the floor below.

* * *

Mustafa was sitting before his PC with its monitor nothing but snow. But he appeared to be hypnotically immersed at the showing as though the screen was calling to him. Even as he viewed the lead-colored pixels flash and dim, his mind’s eye was watching something entirely different.

He envisioned his future—one that was glorious and wonderful. He would command great legions with the power of the Spear of Destiny and hold his enemies accountable for their lack of faith in the one true God. Streets would run red with their blood to match a blood-red sky as fires razed once great cities and turned them into ruins. There would be years of change and conflict. But in the end when his enemies had been overwhelmed, it would be time to rebuild and reform. Mosques would dot the landscape, perhaps one at every corner, the thought bringing a light and dreamlike smile to him. And it all starts here, he thought, with a small crew armed with two AK-47s with limited ammo, suppressed sidearms, and a few daggers. But with the Holy Lance serving as his spiritual power, he knew that his team was simply the seeds that would germinate into a great and uncontested force that would be equaled by no one.

He looked at the Holy Lance sitting on the table before the monitor and thought: I am king.

Down below, the warriors of his newfound empire were about to be contested by a band of Christian fighters who sought to balance the playing field by forcing Ali Mustafa, the man who would be king, to utilize the power of the Holy Lance to better his odds.

The Vatican Knights, however, would be up to the challenge.

* * *

While Ali Mustafa daydreamed of a future that might be, as the Vatican Knights tried to conquer an obstacle in the making, Talib, Zamir, Qusay and Abd-al-Mumin were shoring up the line of defense.

The teams had established themselves along the corridors and stairwells between floors sixty and sixty-nine, the group had strategically placed themselves in positions to stop and intercept the pending flow of panicking guests. As the smoke thickened and with the climbing threat of the flames becoming apparent, those trapped above the fiftieth floor would be forcibly hemmed in by Mustafa’s team. The hostages would be herded and locked away with Abd-al-Mumin commanding his team of sheep dogs to establish full control.

So is the word of Ali Mustafa.

Zamir and Talib acted as the first line of defense in the stairwells with their AK-47s. Qusay and Abd-al-Mumin monitored the hallways that were lined with suites. As soon as guests tried to enter the hallway, either Qusay or Abd-al-Mumin ordered them to return to their rooms. And for those who balked at their orders, they unfortunately found themselves the recipients of well-placed kill shots. Their bodies, which lay prone on the floor with their blood fanning out from beneath them, served as scarecrows to others. Ye who attempt to go beyond this point will also find their fate equal to those who challenged the will of Allah. Bodies of the innocent were already mounting with at least four dead.

From the lower levels as the guests clamored for greater heights, the terrorists would seize them at gunpoint and usher them to certain suites that served as holding pens.

At first there was a dozen, and then two dozen as panic started to set in. There were tears, sobs, people desperately pleading, all which fell upon deaf ears and insensitive hearts. And then the upward migration stopped with the congregation of guests stopping at a final count of forty-eight people, a relatively small number.

Talib and Zamir were ordered by Abd-al-Mumin to clear the lower levels with the use of lethal force, should it be necessary. But for the few who were discovered below, Talib and Zamir had always found it ‘necessary’ to extinguish their lives with