Saint Peter's Soldiers
A James Acton Thriller
by
J. Robert Kennedy
From the Back Cover
FROM USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR J. ROBERT KENNEDY
A MISSING DA VINCI.
A TERRIFYING GENETIC BREAKTHROUGH.
A PAST AND FUTURE ABOUT TO COLLIDE!
USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy delivers another torn from the headlines thriller in Saint Peter’s Soldiers.
In World War Two a fabled da Vinci drawing is hidden from the Nazis, those involved fearing Hitler may attempt to steal it for its purported magical powers.
It isn’t returned for over fifty years.
This is fact.
And today, archeology Professor James Acton and his wife are about to be dragged into the terrible truth of what happened so many years ago, for the truth is never what it seems, and the history we thought was fact, is all lies.
Spanning seven decades, J. Robert Kennedy’s Saint Peter’s Soldiers is an action-packed adventure taking readers on an adrenaline-fueled thrill-ride across Italy and her troubled history. Deftly crafted in true Kennedy style, this fast-paced stunner is jam-packed with action, intrigue and laughter, as only he can deliver.
About the James Acton Thrillers
"James Acton: A little bit of Jack Bauer and Indiana Jones!"
Though this book is part of the James Acton Thrillers series, it is written as a standalone novel and can be enjoyed without having read any of the previous installments.
About J. Robert Kennedy
USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy has been ranked by Amazon as the #1 Bestselling Action Adventure novelist based upon combined sales. He is the author of over twenty international bestsellers including the smash hit James Acton Thrillers series of which the first installment, The Protocol, has been on the bestseller lists since its release, including occupying the number one spot for three months. He lives with his wife and daughter and writes full-time.
"If you want fast and furious, if you can cope with a high body count, most of all if you like to be hugely entertained, then you can't do much better than J Robert Kennedy."
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Find out more at www.jrobertkennedy.com.
Books by J. Robert Kennedy
The James Acton Thrillers
The Protocol
Brass Monkey
Broken Dove
The Templar's Relic
Flags of Sin
The Arab Fall
The Circle of Eight
The Venice Code
Pompeii's Ghosts
Amazon Burning
The Riddle
Blood Relics
Sins of the Titanic
Saint Peter's Soldiers
The Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers
Rogue Operator
Containment Failure
Cold Warriors
Death to America
The Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers
Payback
Infidels
The Lazarus Moment
The Detective Shakespeare Mysteries
Depraved Difference
Tick Tock
The Redeemer
Zander Varga, Vampire Detective Series
The Turned
Table of Contents
The Novel
Acknowledgements
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About the Author
Also by the Author
In memory of Syrian archeologist Khaled al-Asaad, beheaded while protecting the archeological sites and antiquities to which he had dedicated his entire life.
“In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.”
King James Version, Genesis 3:19
Preface
On April 11th, 2015, in the scientific journal Protein and Cell, a paper was published by Chinese scientists entitled “CRISPR/Cas9-Mediated Gene Editing in Human Tripronuclear Zygotes”. The title is meaningless to most, but for those who understood its contents, it sent a chill through the entire community.
For the Chinese had broken the germ line, succeeding in manipulating DNA to change the human genome. This is not the act of fixing a genetic defect; this is changing what it means to be human.
Science fiction has become science fact.
There is a very good reason this research is illegal in most of the civilized world.
And this book describes one of those terrifying reasons.
Sapienza University, Rome, Italy
Present Day
“You realize how much this is worth? It’s priceless!”
Inspector General Mario Giasson of the Corps of Gendarmerie of Vatican City State looked from Father Rinaldi to the archeologist the exclamation had been directed to. Professor James Acton stood back, his arms crossed, finger tapping on his elbow as he eagerly awaited his chance to peer through the microscope. His wife, Professor Laura Palmer, had just announced the unbelievable. The red chalk drawing, a self-portrait of Leonardo da Vinci himself, shown on a large screen in Sapienza University’s art restoration department, was genuine.
Yet it couldn’t be.
Or at least it shouldn’t be.
What was thought to be the real drawing had been on display since 1998 at the Royal Library in Turin, Italy. Yet clearly there was more to the story than he and the world had been made aware.
Professor Acton glanced over at Father Rinaldi, who had begun pacing, continuing to mutter. “If this falls into the wrong hands, it could be worth millions, perhaps tens of millions. Especially if someone believes the legend.”
Giasson turned toward Father Rinaldi. “What legend?”
“That if one stares into the eyes of the portrait, one is imbued with great power.”
Giasson dismissed the comment with a flick of his wrist. “Ridiculous.”
Their friend and Interpol Agent, Hugh Reading, snorted. “I find it impossible to accept that people would believe in such nonsense.”
Acton stepped up to the scope as his wife finally relinquished her place, taking in the magnified view. Yes, it was shown on a separate monitor for everyone to see, but there was something special about looking through the lenses, manipulating things yourself. Giasson felt himself itching for his own chance.
A real da Vinci! Lost until yesterday!
And four people were already dead because of it.
Shouts on the other side of the door had Acton standing upright as they all spun toward the sound. Gunfire suddenly erupted and Giasson stepped toward the doors as Acton reached out, guiding his wife behind him. Reading moved from his position near the window to stand shoulder to shoulder with Giasson just as the doors burst open.
Giasson breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized the two Italian State Police officers entering the room. There were half a dozen outside, the value of the portrait, should it be genuine, demanding a protection detail. His sigh however turned to a gasp as they raised their weapons at them.
Footsteps clicked on the tile floor of the hallway, Giasson only getting a glimpse of several bodies past the doors, the police blocking most of his view. A man appeared in the doorway, tall, athletic, perhaps mid to late thirties, with blonde hair and striking blue eyes that took in the room, coming to rest on the display showing the p
ortrait.
He pointed at the genuine article and snapped his fingers, the two officers rushing toward the table it was sitting on.
Giasson stepped in their way, holding out his arms. “This is the property of the people of Italy.”
The blonde man stared at him for a moment, a slight smile suggested at the corners of his mouth before he pulled a weapon from a shoulder holster and fired, Giasson spinning away, crumpling to the floor with a cry.
“You are mistaken. It is the property of the Führer.”
Casa del Conte Verde, Rivoli, Italy
July 4th, 1941
“But the Nazi’s are on their way!”
Vincenzo Donati frowned at his young apprentice’s outburst. He continued to stare through his magnifying glass at the rare 45 centesimi Lombardy stamp from 1850, a rare find if there ever was one. He never tired of gazing at it. It was a piece of history, and history was his business.
And with the war, protecting history was now his primary business.
The Nazi’s were looting galleries across Europe, the only thing protecting his the fact Italy had aligned itself with Hitler and his armies. Though how long that would last was anyone’s guess. Hitler had just broken his agreement with the Soviet Union. Could Italy be that far behind?
Plans were already underway for protecting collections across the country, yet it was a rumor that had reached his ears only this week that had him concerned. A colleague in Rome had told him of a special group in the SS, the Schutzstaffel or “protection squadron”, that was searching the globe for religious artifacts. Anything that had ever had something magical or mystical attributed to it.
And his town now housed such a relic.
A self-portrait of Leonardo da Vinci in red chalk.
The legend was completely unfounded, he himself having tried to duplicate the claims unsuccessfully. But it was no matter. Once legend, rumor was nearly impossible to dispel.
The drawing had been stored at the Royal Library in Turin, its curator contacting him two days ago after hearing the same rumor of the SS group, and a plan had been set in motion, the drawing moved here, to his relatively insignificant institution, in the hopes the Nazis would pass them by.
“Sir!”
Donati sighed, putting down his magnifying glass and looking up at young Nicola. “I am fully aware of what is happening. And plans are already underway to protect the portrait.”
Nicola approached Donati’s desk and dropped into a rickety chair older than him. “But shouldn’t we move it now, tonight? Your contact said they could be here tomorrow morning! If that’s true, we have no time to waste.”
“And we aren’t wasting any—”
“But you’re staring at stamps!” He leapt back to his feet, pacing the small room, the oil lamps casting dancing shadows on the stone walls, the fire in the corner barely taking the chill out of the cool night.
“I find it calms me and allows me to think clearly. You might try something similar.”
Nicola spun, about to say something, then stopped. He took a deep breath and returned to his chair. “Sir, with all due respect, if there is even a remote chance that the legend is true surrounding the portrait, it mustn’t fall into Hitler’s hands. If it does, his armies could become unstoppable.”
“Some Italians might think that a good thing.”
Nicola’s jaw dropped as he stared at the older man in shock. Then he smiled. “You’re toying with me.”
Donati smiled, leaning back in his chair. “It is sometimes too easy.”
Nicola pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “I’m tired.”
“Then get your rest and be here at sunrise tomorrow morning. And bring your moped.”
“Why?”
“Because tomorrow morning the portrait will forever be placed out of Hitler’s reach. By you.”
Casa del Conte Verde, Rivoli, Italy
July 5th, 1941
Nicola leaned his moped against the side of the museum, stepping out of the alleyway and walking toward the front entrance. The streets were still mostly empty, the roosters trumpeting their wakeup call only minutes ago. He knocked three times and within moments he heard footsteps then the door unlocking. It creaked open and Donati smiled at him.
“Come in, quickly!” hissed Donati, stepping aside and ushering him across the threshold. The door was immediately closed and bolted, the normal pleasantries ignored as Donati rushed toward the backroom. He pointed to a worktable, a small handcrafted wooden crate sitting on it, it the proper size to hold the small framed portrait. “The portrait is ready to go.”
“How the hell am I supposed to get that out of here without anyone noticing?”
“Language!”
Nicola flushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any disrespect.
“You disrespected the Lord, not me. Remember it at confession.”
Nicola’s head dropped to his chest. “I will. Sorry.”
Donati stopped what he was doing and stepped over, squeezing the young man’s shoulder. “I forgive you, as will He.” He let go and glanced at his watch. “But plans have changed. My colleague in Rome is sending someone to retrieve the portrait. He should be here any moment.”
Nicola frowned, a feeling of betrayal filling his stomach and gripping his chest. “But I thought I was going to take it?”
Donati shook his head. “No, it’s too risky. Apparently these people have experience. They’ll take it—”
A knock at the front door had Nicola’s heart leaping into his throat, Donati’s head darting toward the sound.
“Who could that be?” asked Nicola as his heart raced in his chest.
Donati looked at his watch. “It’s them. Right on time.”
Donati rushed toward the entrance, Nicola following. Donati peered through the small Judas hole then unlocked the door, pulling it open. A man stepped inside and the door was immediately closed.
“A-are you the one I’m expecting?”
Donati sounded terrified.
The man nodded.
“P-please pr-prove it.”
The man undid the top several buttons of his shirt, revealing an intricate tattoo of a cross, two crossed keys intertwined with it.
“Th-thank you.” Donati rushed to the back of the room and the man followed, Nicola letting them both pass, eyeballing the man, the new arrival doing the same.
He didn’t trust him.
Whoever he was.
Donati pointed at the table. “This is it.”
The man nodded. “That shouldn’t be a problem.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Donati. “Should there be any questions, any problems, this is how to reach us. Memorize it then destroy it.”
Donati’s head jerked nervously up and down as he read the paper, his lips moving repeatedly.
Nicola assessed the man with a critical eye. He seemed to be in his late twenties or early thirties, an impressive moustache and slightly longish hair, his skin dark and healthy. If it weren’t for the hair, he’d look smart and not out of place wearing a military uniform.
As would I. What makes him any more qualified than me to protect the portrait?
“How are you going to get that out of here without anyone noticing?”
The man glanced over at him, his eyes assessing him then appearing to dismiss what they saw. “That is none of your concern.” He turned back to Donati. “Any special instructions?”
“No, but y-you said you had experience in these things.”
“We do.”
“Then do whatever it is you would normally do.”
The man nodded.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just take it out of the frame and roll it up?”
Donati gasped at Nicola’s suggestion. “Are you insane? Have I taught you nothing? It must be protected!”
“What’s more important, it getting wrinkled or Hitler ruling the world?”
“I’m not willing to allow an extremely rare portrait by one
of the greatest masters the world has ever known to be destroyed because of a ridiculous legend.”
“It’s a legend you obviously believe in, otherwise why are we doing this?”
Donati glared at him then his expression softened. “You’re right, my son, you’re right. When I think of what could be, I tremble with fear. And if there is something about this portrait that is special, then it must be kept out of the hands of that man. My belief is that if he believes, then he might think himself invincible and commit even more horrors upon God’s creation. You are right, my boy. Hitler is evil, a scourge upon this Earth that if there is even the slightest chance that this portrait might further his goals, it must be hidden, which is why we are doing what we are doing today.” He paused, stepping closer and placing a hand on Nicola’s arm. “But I am still not willing to see it damaged, or worse, destroyed. You understand that, don’t you?”
Nicola nodded, not entirely convinced the risk of it being found outweighed the risk of it being damaged.
Tires squealed on the cobblestone outside and Nicola rushed for the front, pushing aside the curtain slightly. He nearly pissed his pants. A German car had just pulled up, four men climbing out, one clearly SS, the uniform unmistakable.
God help us!
He sprinted to the backroom and past the tattooed man. “They’re here!” He hissed.
“Who?” asked Donati, the question rendered redundant as the pounding on the front door began.
“The Nazis!”
Nicola grabbed the crate and tore off the top, tipping the drawing out and onto the worktable. He snapped the frame at the corner, yanking the four sides off.
Saint Peter's Soldiers (A James Acton Thriller, Book #14) Page 1
