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

against his temples and his heart drum against his chest. Wrapping his finger around the trigger of the BFG and with a smile brimming with pending victory, Caspari directed his weapon and set off a hellacious volley of gunfire.

 

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

Salt had never been so frustrated. Over the past few hours his family had been threatened and his life nearly lost. Luck and skill would only carry him so far. Eventually fate would come into play and work against him if he weren’t careful. The Consortium had their skilled personnel, commandos who were well-trained in the art of killing, when necessary. But the Vatican Knight was a surprise and a viable threat. Though Salt could hold his own against most elite special operators, the Vatican Knight had proved his worth as an equal. This was recently displayed inside the Vault with a number of attacks and counterattacks that nearly rendered Salt unconscious. No one had ever brought him to such a precipice before.

By choosing to live over the securement of the relics, Salt knew that this would not go over well with Caspari. He could only imagine the consequences from the man who not only believed in him as a master warrior, but also as a man who would rule by Caspari’s side as his ruling commander who would captain the troops in future endeavors.

What a failure I must be to the man who saw me with a vision of trust.

Taking tunnels that twisted and turned like a maze, though they were familiar to him as he moved to escape the depths to reach the heights of the surface, Salt ran on.

 

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

Mr. Plato found himself alone in a cavern filled with military armaments, which made sense since Elias Caspari dealt with selling unique weapons on the black market. As he raced for the bank of downed elevators so that he could climb his way to the lobby, he noted the technicians—both men and women with some crying and believing that they would never see family again, which may be true—all knotted up by the elevator doors.

After Mr. Galileo set the charges and informed the team that they had been enabled, everyone on the Consortium team had set their watches to countdown. The face of his watch, as was the reading on every members’ watch, displayed:

. . . 10:45 . . .

. . . 10:44 . . .

. . . 10:43 . . .

Knowing that the elevators were close to the mountain’s horn and most likely to fall from the concussive blasts, Mr. Plato discharged his weapon ceilingward, a quick burst, which immediately caused startled barks and cries. What followed thereafter was complete silence and inquisitive looks.

“Listen to me,” Mr. Plato told them. “The elevators are down. Inoperable.” He looked at his watch.

. . . 10:13 . . .

. . . 10:12 . . .

. . . 10:11 . . .

Then he added: “Charges have been placed throughout the facility and this part of the mountain, the Horn, is highly susceptible to falling into the ravine once they go off. We need to move away from this position toward the southside.”

One of the techs moved away from the crowd and pointed upward. “But the cable-car’s up there,” he said to Mr. Plato.

“Did you not hear what I just said? The elevators have been rendered inoperable. There’s too many of you. We need to get to the point of greatest stability, which is away from the Horn and closer to the south face.”

“I don’t think you understand,” said the tech. “This entire facility is filled with military hardware. One explosion could turn this entire mountaintop into dust.”

Mr. Plato looked at his watch:

. . . 09:47 . . .

. . . 09:46 . . .

. . . 09:45 . . .

Getting thirty-plus people topside would be an impossibility.

Then he could hear the distant and hollow resonance of Mr. Spartan’s voice in his mind, something he always said when situations appeared too great to overcome, by citing this mantra that was meant to goad and provide confidence regardless of the odds: the word ‘impossible’ does not mean that something cannot be done, he would say, it only measures the degree of difficulty.

Though the odds of survival were low, Mr. Plato could not allow these people to suffer the condemnation of Elias Caspari’s sins, even though their own judgments had placed them in this situation.

As a Consortium operative, he was bound to protect and provide aid to those who could not protect themselves, much like that of a Vatican Knight, even if the cost was his own life.

“Believe me,” he finally said, “there’s not enough time to get you all topside.”

“How would you know that?”

Mr. Plato flashed them the face of his watch.

. . . 09:12 . . .

. . . 09:11 . . .

. . . 09:10 . . .

“We head deeper into the mountain,” said Mr. Plato. “The stone walls will provide us with a buffer.”

“Or collapse all around us.”

This was true. Mr. Plato had no idea how much ammunition was stored inside the facility, or the power it would have once the initial Semtex charges went off. All he knew, by reason, was that time was not a luxury, nor was it to be spent wastefully.

“If you stay here, you die. There’s no doubt about that. Head south to where the walls are thickest, then you can ride out the blasts.”

“Says you,” said the tech. “I’ll take my chances through the shafts.”

“It’s a long climb. And timely. You’ll never make it.”

“And I’m to trust you?”

Mr. Plato pinned the tech with a long and even stare. Obviously, he wasn’t going to be able to reach anyone unless this tech was agreeable. Then from Mr. Plato: “That’s your choice.”

“It is. And going topside is what I choose.” After waving a few of his associates to help him in opening the elevator doors, they did so. The shaft was deep and dark with no bottom to perceive. Looking up and scanning the rappelling lines,