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

People will shout the name of Ghazi . . . Ghazi . . . Ghazi. Can you see it, my brother? The people in the streets throughout the Middle East shouting your name in celebration: Ghazi . . . Ghazi . . . Ghazi.

Ghazi’s eyes took on that dreamlike quality to them, that faraway look. “I do,” he said, smiling, imagining.

In continued whispers, as though to mimic a stadium filled with fans, Mustafa continued his chant of: “Ghazi . . . Ghazi . . . Ghazi.”

Ghazi was enchanted with his eyes fixed on a realm that only he could see, that of people dancing in the streets throughout the Middle East chanting his name in homage.

. . . Ghazi . . . Ghazi . . . Ghazi . . .

As soon as Mustafa realized that he had penetrated Ghazi’s deep-rooted sense of romanticism, he smiled inwardly. Ghazi had unwittingly handed himself over to Allah after Mustafa appealed to his fantasies that would never come to light. He simply looked at Ghazi as a pawn to be played with and used, nothing more. Once Mustafa boarded the chopper with the hostages, Ghazi would be nothing more than an afterthought that would fade from memory over time.

Mustafa pulled away and smiled, showing perfect lines of teeth. “Thank you, my brother.”

Ghazi nodded. “Tonight, I dine with Allah in honor.”

“Yes,” Mustafa told him. “You will.”

Ghazi looked at his AK-47, which had minimal rounds. Then he looked at the khanjar he had stashed within the sash around his waist. Between the lack of firepower and the khanjar, he knew Ghazi’s time was limited. But he would fight in the name and glory of Allah. And he would prove his worth by going against the Vatican Knights.

Ghazi locked eyes with Mustafa. “Allahu Akbar!”

But Mustafa’s cry was much softer and lacked intensity. “Allahu Akbar,” he returned.

Showing his rifle as though it was the instrument of divine power, Ghazi went to hold the Vatican Knights long enough for Mustafa to escape with the key to absolute power that was the Holy Lance.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

Inside the Kristallpalast

Vienna, Austria

Like the alpha predator that Isaiah was, he had Ghazi within his sights.

The terrorist had moved silently down the stairwell and into the corridor, searching by the way he maneuvered through the hallway and into the shadows. And then he was gone, the man a magician who disappeared within the dark shades before Isaiah’s eyes. Since the terrorist was no novice to special operations, it was obvious to Isaiah that Ghazi knew or felt the Vatican Knight’s presence.

Isaiah moved along the gloomy lit corridor with lamps so dim that only their filaments burned. He could sense and feel the terrorist’s whereabouts—close but not in striking range.

The pooling shadows.

The lights dimmed and flickered as though on their last dying energy feed.

Step after step with his footfalls silent and graceful, the Vatican Knight was ready to lash out against his opponent. In his hand was a KABAR, a combat knife, and one of the most respected double-edged weapons crafted.

The lights dimmed even further, the filaments little more than orange threads inside the bulbs. The shadows became darker, deeper, the terrorist taking a page out of the Vatican Knight’s handbook. Use the Darkness as your friend, your ally, and use it well.

Isaiah closed his eyes and cocked his head in a manner to use the natural radar of his olfactory senses to pick up Ghazi’s location. In his mind’s eye, he could envision this shape standing within the shadows and waiting with his fast-paced heartbeat a certain giveaway. He could smell the sweat of both fear and something that was more intoxicating—the eagerness to hunt.

Isaiah opened his eyes and homed in on the man’s position, though the shadows before him remained uniform. Gripping his KABAR tightly, Isaiah moved with catlike speed with his attack silent and quick as he burst from his position behind the veils and challenged what he could not see but sensed.

The KABAR came across and hit the barrel of the AK-47, deflecting it in time to avoid the sudden burst of gunfire. The hallway lit up with muzzle flashes that were short, staccato bursts of white light. But Ghazi was a master soldier himself, an elite combatant who countered Isaiah’s actions with equal and quick measures. As soon as the point of the gun was knocked aside, Ghazi retaliated by coming across with an elbow strike and connecting with Isaiah’s jaw. The Vatican Knight was uncharacteristically knocked off guard after seeing explosions of light before his eyes, and his KABAR falling from his grip. As Ghazi tried to swing his weapon around, Isaiah retaliated with a series of palm strikes to the terrorist’s face with one right blow after the other—whap, whap, whap, whap, whap—and knocking Ghazi off his stride.

There was another burst of gunfire, a kneejerk reaction as Ghazi pulled on the trigger in reflex, and then a series of dry clicks. The AK-47 was now out of ammo, the weapon itself nothing more than a cudgel at this point. Ghazi began to swing the weapon like a baseball bat, with the swinging arcs driving Isaiah against the far wall, the swipes missing and failing to strike their mark.

Isaiah weaved and bobbed, the Vatican Knight searching for an opening, an opportunity, but discovering little room to work with. Then he found himself up against the wall, the man having no room to operate or maneuver. Then ghazi brought his weapon around in a horizontal sweep with the stock of the weapon coming around to bludgeon and destroy.

Isaiah anticipated the move and ducked. The stock of the AK-47 smashed through the drywall and got wedged, the weapon refusing to loosen its grip, even as Ghazi attempted to pull it free.

The opportunity was here, now and fresh.

Isaiah came up with a series of knuckle punches to Ghazi’s midsection, the blows a blitzkrieg that came hard and fast like the pistons of an engine, with each thrust striking