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

upper body had been separated from his lower, with his legs falling to one side and his torso the other. Standing over him was a Vatican Knight, by dress, who wielded the katanas like magic, with the bold stroke from the warrior claiming the life of Zamir, which enraged Talib. Shouting in anger, Talib leveled his AK-47 and sent off a volley of gunfire that lit up the room with staccato bursts of muzzle flashes. Kimball ducked, dove, and quickly rolled behind a statue of Buddha, though the rounds smashed easily through the ceramic structure with chalky dust and chipped pieces going everywhere.

Talib moved forward with the point of his weapon moving from left to right, then from right to left, strafing as he closed on Kimball’s position. The terrorist screamed out in Arabic, his words sounding overwhelmingly angry and profane.

Kimball looked at the swords in both hands as the statue he hunkered behind was being whittled down by the gunfire. Ceramic chips and dust developed all around him. Over his earbud he could barely make out Jeremiah, who was calling from a level below. And Kimball had no way to defend himself from his attacker since a katana was no contest against an AK-47.

The firing suddenly stopped as clicks echoed through the poorly acoustic room. The weapon had run dry, the moment to be seized. As Qusay ejected a magazine and in his attempt to reseat another, Kimball stood up from behind the ruined statue of Buddha, which was now a jagged foundation, lifted his right hand, and let the katana sail between him and Qusay.

The sword spun in blinding revolutions as it quickly closed the gap between them, the blade splitting the air to create whistles during its flight. Qusay, who appeared wide-eyed as he tried to insert the magazine, could only watch as the fast-moving katana spun across the small distance between them. On the downward swing of the katana’s circular rotation, the blade cleaved through Qusay’s skull and divided his head down to the bridge of his nose, where it became lodged with the bloodless gash line from crown to bridge ruler-straight.

Kimball stared at the terrorist as clicking and guttural sounds emanated from somewhere in the back of Qusay’s throat. After a moment of weaving in his stance and then taking a few awkward steps, the terrorist dropped his weapon, fell to his knees, and died in that position—on his knees.

Kimball, who examined his work from behind the whittled down Buddha statue, tapped his earbud and spoke into his lip mic. “Copy that, Jeremiah. One tango down for you. Two tangos by me. I believe that leaves three tangos active.”

White noise. Then: “Copy.”

Kimball then put in a call to Job. “Job, what’s your twenty?”

“Still on the lower levels. I’m moving the packages to the upper levels.”

“Number of packages?”

“Forty-eight.”

“I’ll inform you when all levels are clear. So far, you’re good to sixty-five.”

“Copy that.”

Kimball terminated the communication. At his feet was an AK-47. Tossing the katana off to his side, Kimball grabbed the weapon, fully seated the magazine, racked it to feed a bullet into the chamber, then quickly made his way to Ali Mustafa’s throne, which sat high inside his burning castle.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Isaiah did not see Abd-al-Mumin hiding within the shadows, but he could sense him. He could almost hear the throb of the assassin’s heartbeat and smell his fear within each perspiring bead of sweat.

But Abd-al-Mumin was a master in stealth, as most operators from special forces were.

The Vatican Knight moved through the hallways searching and scoping for hostiles, and to clear the way for Job who managed to rescue those down below. Now that Kimball and Jeremiah had addressed their active threats, Isaiah now had to deal with the target he sensed was close by.

His steps were soft and quiet like feline footfalls. He passed by multiple doors along the hallway, and then a decorative and unbelievably expensive bombe chest. Along the walls hung elegant drapery, luxurious and silklike. And then the power cells in the backup lamps started to fade, the bulbs blinking a moment before the illumination was gone. There was nothing but reigning shadows and little light from a smashed window at the end of the corridor.

Isaiah pressed on sensing his quarry close enough to smell his scent, being the alpha predator that he was.

The drapes to Isaiah’s left moved, the fabric parting enough to reveal a sidearm with its point directed at the Vatican Knight. But Isaiah sprung forward with his reflexes lightning quick and slapped the point of the firearm aside just as it discharged, the fired-off bullet lodging inside the opposite wall. As Isaiah tried to bring his weapon around, Abd-al-Mumin exploded from behind the drape and kicked the weapon free from Isaiah’s grip. As the MP7 skated across the carpeted floor and beneath the bombe, Isaiah lashed out and grabbed the wrist of Abd-al-Mumin’s gun hand and twisted it, the action completely flipping the terrorist off his feet and through the air in a perfect somersault, where he then landed hard on the floor. But Abd-al-Mumin quickly regained himself with the Vatican Knight already standing before him in challenge with his hands and feet arranged in the technique of Taekwondo, something Abd-al-Mumin immediately recognized. To counter Isaiah’s stance, Abd-al-Mumin went into his own performance of displaying the martial art technique of Wing Chun Quan.

The two sized each other up with the two circling each other, though the hallway did not provide ample space. But it was Abd-al-Mumin who struck first after believing to have discovered a weak spot and a moment of opportunity against the Vatican Knight.

The terrorist threw a few forward thrusts with speed that would not have been seen by most. But Isaiah was a master of his craft as the Vatican Knight countered with a series of moves that deflected the blows, and then he brought up his foot and hammered it squarely against Abd-al-Mumin’s chest. The force of