The Crimson Dagger - Vatican Knights Series 23 (2020) by Rick Jones (romantic novels to read txt) 📕

“Get her back online,” Müller told his tech.

The tech made his way to the console and gave it a quick study. He knew the system, the layout, the computer classification a top-of-the-line model. When he pulled the seat away from the console, there was a definite click. A wire had been attached to the chair.

The tech knew the sound which was not alien to him. Before he could close his eyes to accept his fate, a claymore went off. The tech disappeared within licks of flame and boiling smoke, like magic, as the connecting claymores went off in succession.

Bodies were lifted and took flight. If not for their Kevlar vests, most would have been killed. As bodies pounded against the walls or skated across the chamber floor from the explosions, a brick of C-4, which was independent of the claymores, detonated. The console and the mainframe blew into myriad shards, the explosion devastating the wall monitors in the process, the room now in complete ruins.

From his position on the floor, Müller tried to wave off the thick smoke with the effort, however, one of futility. Getting to his feet to take stock of his team, three appeared severely injured with one dead.

Looking at the ceiling as though to catch a glimpse of Ali Mustafa on the floors above, he thought with unbridled fury: The war’s not over yet. Then he examined the nerve center only to realize that Mustafa had destroyed not only the system’s brain, but its heartbeat as well.

The Kristallpalast was dead in the water without any chance of resurrection. In Mustafa’s wisdom, he had leveled the playing field by taking away the advantages of his opponent.

Müller stewed.

* * *

Zamir was waiting in the shadows when he heard the claymores go off. Then in his earbud he heard Mustafa say, “Now.”

Hitting the throttle of the remote, the plastique he secured beneath the console went off, with the explosion felt as concussive waves passed through the hallways and lobby.

“Excellent, Zamir. You’ve done well. Now join your team.”

“The stairwells?”

“In time.”

“Yes, Mustafa.”

With the long climb ahead now that the elevators had been deactivated, Zamir made the upward journey with the man in peak physical form.

* * *

From his room on the seventieth level, Ali Mustafa sat in his seat before the computer monitor watching the world play out, with Abd-al-Mumin standing alongside him with his arms folded across his chest.

From the bodycam Zamir placed along the console that gave Mustafa a panoramic view of the room, he and Abd-al-Mumin watched the Einsatzkommando unitenter the chamber. They moved with poetic grave, Mustafa thought, with the team well trained by the simple flow of their movements to retake the building.

The Austrian SWAT unit moved about precisely by the protocols to clear, reestablish, and take full command. But Zamir had planted the claymores well. He had hidden them within the shadowy recesses beneath the console. As soon as the tech pulled the chair away to take command of the system, he unknowingly disengaged the cord that set off the claymores in quick succession.

On screen, there was a brilliant flash as a blooming ball of fire and boiling smoke erupted, and then the screen went dead.

Mustafa, who operated his computer through the city’s Wi-Fi system, discovered that every camera inside the Kristallpalast had been rendered inoperable, the internal system now dead. With a few typed commands, he was then able to hack into the CCTV cameras that surrounded the hotel. What he brought up on his monitor was the convoy of police vehicles sitting sentinel in front of the building.

As smoke billowed from the lobby doors, Ali Mustafa and Abd-al-Mumin watched Müller exit the Kristallpalast with his team in tow. Three wounded, one dead.

“Allah has seen to bless us with a victory,” Abd-al-Mumin said softly.

Mustafa, after looking at the Holy Lance by the computer and then caressing its length with the tips of his fingers, answered, “The victory is only a short reprieve, Abd-al-Mumin. We have only bloodied the noses of our enemy. Once the Einsatzkommando reexamines their situation, they will return tenfold.”

“So, what do we do?”

“We take countermeasures,” Mustafa simply stated. “We create barriers where there weren’t any before. We put up walls that cannot be penetrated. We make the Kristallpalast our stronghold until our demands are met.” Mustafa then picked up the cellphone and pressed number nine on the keypad. “Now,” he said, after bringing the phone to his ear, “watch the maestro in play.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Officer Zeller, along with those standing within the looming height of the Kristallpalast, had heard the explosions. Smoke billowed from the front opening of the hotel, then wafted lazily about. A moment later, Müller was escorting his team with a man draped over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

After handing off the wounded man to a medical personnel team, Müller, whose face had been bloodied from a fragment, refused aid and returned to Zeller’s side, with the commando obviously heated.

As Müller was about to address Zeller, Zeller’s cellphone, the one that had been given to him by Hartwig Klein, rang. Zeller raised a finger to keep Müller from speaking, then answered. “Yes.”

“The officer who led the charge, the one with the cut on his cheek, I wish to speak to him.”

Zeller handed Müller the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

Müller accepted the phone and placed it to his ear. “What?” His tone was harsh.

“Your approach was the first act of war. I specifically informed Zeller to inform all involved that no one was supposed to breach the Kristallpalast. Yet you chose to do otherwise.” After a beat, Mustafa continued. “As previously stated, there will be consequences.”

“One of my men was killed,” Müller told him. “Three wounded.”

“It’s not the type of consequence I was talking about.”

“You can’t win this, Mustafa.”

“I think I can. Not only do I have the power of the Holy Lance behind me, but I also have the power