Giasson Residence, Via Nicolò III, Rome, Italy
“It looks like they’ve arrived at wherever they were going.” Acton flipped the laptop around so Giasson could see it. “According to this it hasn’t moved in almost half an hour.”
Laura leaned over and looked. “They could just be stopped for a break.”
“Let me see.” Acton zoomed in on the map, his eyebrows jumping when he saw the pixelated image coalesce into a clearer picture. “What do you make of that?”
Everyone gathered closer.
“Is it a castle?” Laura’s voice was tentative, as if she couldn’t quite believe it herself.
Acton nodded, it appearing to him to be exactly that. “It looks like a castle at the edge of a mountain town in northern Italy.” He glanced at Giasson. “Is that possible?”
Giasson nodded. “Yes. You Americans don’t seem to realize how many castles there are in Europe. There’re thousands of them and a lot of them are privately owned, usually in preservation deals. The governments can’t afford to preserve them all, so most go to ruin, but there are private non-profit groups, and individuals, who will buy them and restore them as museums or even residences.”
Acton peered at the picture then pointed. “It looks like there’s at least half a dozen cars in the courtyard. This thing is definitely occupied.”
“We’ll need to find out who lives there,” said Laura, returning to her chair and taking a sip of the iced tea Marie-Claude had brought earlier.
“Shouldn’t be too difficult.” Reading sat back down. “I’ll use my Interpol access and see what I can find out.”
Acton glanced at Giasson to see if he still wanted to look at the laptop. The man shook his head, waving his hand slightly and Acton sat back down. “Should we go there?”
“Absolutely not.” Acton looked at Reading. “There’s no reason to risk our lives over a drawing.”
“But they’re thieves and murderers! And who knows how long they’ll stay there. If we’re going to catch them, we have to act now.”
“We don’t have to do any such thing. We need to figure out who we can trust, and until then, sit tight.”
Giasson yawned and Acton looked at him, the man beginning a battle to keep his eyes open. Acton stood. “We’ll let you get your rest. We’ll be at our hotel room, trying to find out as much as we can. Call us if you need anything.”
“I’m sorry, my friends, it would appear that getting shot does indeed take a lot out of you.”
Laura smiled and patted his foot under the covers. “Having been shot recently, I can attest to that.”
Giasson smiled then his face became serious.
“Remember, trust no one. Whoever they are, they have killed six people, including four police officers. They won’t hesitate to kill you should they think you’re a threat.”
Acton felt his body tense as Giasson’s words sank in. He felt Laura’s hand slide into his, squeezing hard.
“Don’t worry. We will.”
Rocca d'Angera Castle, Angera, Italy
“So, Karl, who is he?”
Hofmeister leaned into the screen as their lead tech’s fingers flew over the keyboard, the iPhone in a shielded box so it could no longer transmit its location, giving up all its secrets as the contacts were pulled and cross referenced against the law enforcement databases the Congress had access to.
“His name is Professor James Acton. I requested his file for this morning’s mission. It’s quite extensive.” Karl handed him a file folder. “He’s apparently very well connected and his wife is extremely rich.”
“How rich?”
“From what I can tell, approaching half a billion Euros.”
Hofmeister whistled as he flipped through the file, his eyes narrowing as he read the little bit known about the professors, and their propensity for getting into trouble. What never seemed clear was how they got out of it.
Karl motioned toward the file. “He might not be the easy target you thought.”
Hofmeister frowned, glaring at Karl. “You forget your place.”
Fear flashed over Karl’s face as he paled. “Sorry, sir. I meant no disrespect.”
Hofmeister felt a rush of pleasure at the man’s obvious fear. It was something he’d never tire of. “Of course you didn’t. You are not a fool.” He flipped the file shut. “You’ve read this?”
“Yes, Obersturmbannführer.”
“Then what are his vulnerabilities.”
“He has a wife but no children. His parents are still alive and he is an only child. There’s no intel on friends yet, but we’ll gather that from the contacts on his phone.”
Hofmeister pursed his lips as he thought of how best to apply leverage. The man was married, but it could be a failing marriage for all he knew. Kidnap her and Acton might simply rejoice. He had no children or siblings, and friends were sometimes difficult to assess as to how willing you were to compromise your ideals for them.
But parents?
“Where are the parents?”
“They’ve recently moved to Germantown, Maryland.”
“Have a team pick them up, immediately.”
“Yes, Obersturmbannführer!”
Ellsworth and Dorothy Acton Residence, Germantown, Maryland
“I can’t believe we’re watching this.”
Ellsworth Acton stared at the television screen, shaking his head. He’d rather nothing on than most of what was available today. Yet he found he couldn’t pull himself away from the screen. It was strange, something he noticed even in public. If there was a screen, everyone’s eyes were inevitably drawn to it. At a bar, a restaurant, the airport, the barber. Everywhere there was a screen, even if you couldn’t hear what was happening, your eyes were drawn to it.
It was a sickness.
And now his son had given him an eReader, yet another screen to stare at.
“No, Dad, it’s an eReader, not a tablet. It’s a dedicated device with a special display that doesn’t strain the eyes. You read it just like a book.”
He had been skeptical but had given it a shot, unwilling to let good money go to waste.
And had become hooked.
His son was right. It was just like reading a book, only better. He hated staring at computer screens and trying to read anything for any reasonable amount of time. But the eReader? It was fantastic.
He glanced down at it, sitting in his lap, even it unable to compete with the insanity on the screen.
“What was that dear?”
He looked over at his beloved Dorothy, sitting in her recliner to his right, finally picking up on the fact he had said something. “I said I can’t believe we’re watching this. This isn’t a talent show, this is America’s Got Too Much Time On Its Hands.”
“Oh, live a little, it’s fun. Some of these acts are amazing.”
“Right. You’ve got a Canadian, a Brit and a German telling America who’s got talent.”
“Yeah, that is a bit ironic, isn’t it?”
“To no end.” He shook his head.
Dorothy muted the television as a commercial started, still not embracing the full power of the Digital Video Recorder. “It’s what the kids are watching today.”
“I fear for my country.”
“It’s a new generation.”
“That will drive us into the ground.” He glanced over at Dorothy. “I shudder to think what will happen when these kids become the leaders of our country.”
“They’ll do fine. Look at Jim.”
“It’s not Jim I’m worried about, it’s his students. When they get in the White House in thirty years, we’re doomed.”
Dorothy smiled, reaching over and patting his hand. “You have to think positively, dear, you’ll be dead by then.”
Ellsworth laughed, nodding his head. “If I’m lucky. Then it will be Jim who has to worry about it.”
“But not his kids.”
Ellsworth immediately sensed the gloom sweep over his wife. He felt his own
chest tighten slightly. His son and his new wife had only recently learned they’d never be able to have children, complications from a gunshot wound Laura had received several months before. It had been devastating news. He couldn’t care less if he had grandchildren, it was the pain in his son and daughter-in-law’s eyes that had hurt. And it was the final straw for his wife, the house sold in Stowe and one closer to their son, bought.
He pointed at a lawn care commercial on the television, trying to change the subject. “Lenny said yesterday he was going to shoot anyone who tried to enforce the pesticide ban.”
“If he ever followed through on these threats half the town would be dead.”
“He’s right though. It’s junk science. I haven’t been able to find a single study that shows proper use outdoors has harmed anyone. And now some jurisdictions that have banned them are seeing asthma rates go through the roof, emergency room visits are skyrocketing with respiratory problems, their cities look like overrun weed farms, and their parks and sports fields are unusable.” He shook his head, rage building in his stomach. “It’s bullshit like that that pisses me off to no end. These environutbars get something in their head then run with it to the exclusion of all else. How many people have died to save not a single life lost to pesticides. If you want me to not use it, fine, but let me hire a professional to spray my lawn.”
“Remember what your doctor said, you need to watch your blood pressure.”
Ellsworth growled. “Don’t get me started on him.”
The doorbell rang and Dorothy jumped from her chair. “Thank God!”
He grinned. “Saved by the bell?”
“Are you expecting anyone?” she asked.
“If I were, you’d know.”
“Ha ha.”
She disappeared down the hallway and he heard the alarm chime then a cry. He leapt from his chair, a little slower than he would have liked, and rushed toward the hall. As he rounded the corner, he charged as two blonde men stepped into the house, one with a black gloved hand pressed over his wife’s mouth, her head pressed against the wall.
A rage built within him as he surged forward, hatred in his eyes.
You don’t touch my family!
A gun appeared, pointed at his chest.
He kept charging.
Then it pointed at his wife.
He eased up, coming to a stop only feet away.
“Get your hands off my wife!”
The man holding her stared at him. “Don’t be a hero, Mr. Acton. You’ll just get your wife killed.” He removed the hand from Dorothy and Ellsworth reached out, pulling her toward him.
“What do you want?” he asked, glaring at the intruders.
“It’s not you we want. It’s your son.”
Ambasciatori Palace Hotel, Rome, Italy
Acton lay on the bed, his eyes closed, as Reading worked his phone in the other room, trying to find out anything he could on the castle Acton’s phone had ended up in. Acton had decided the best approach right now was to let the system do its job—and Reading and Giasson were that system—while he got some rest. Laura lay beside him, gently snoring, exhausted from the ordeal, her stamina still a work in progress.
Her phone vibrated on the nightstand.
She moaned.
“I’ll get it, you sleep.”
“Who is it?” mumbled Laura.
“Blocked number.”
He swiped his thumb over the display as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Hello?”
“Professor James Acton?”
“Yes?”
“Professor Acton, we have your parents, Ellsworth and Dorothy.”
Acton leapt to his feet, yanking open the bedroom door and rushing into the living area where Reading was. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the phone, Reading immediately nodding and ending his call, dialing another number to start a trace.
“What do you mean? Are they okay?” he asked, not sure what to say, his mind racing with dozens of horrible scenarios.
“If you contact the police, they will die.”
He glanced at Reading who was rolling his hand, indicating he needed more time. He decided not to stop him.
“What have you told the authorities about the theft?”
Laura entered the room, her brow furled with curiosity. He shook his head, holding a finger to his lips, silencing her unspoken question.
“Nothing.”
“I find that hard to believe, Professor Acton. We found your phone. Clever. I assume you have traced its location?”
He said nothing, terrified the admission might seal his parents’ fate.
“Professor, don’t make me hurt your mother. These are simple questions. Answer truthfully and I won’t be forced to apply pressure.” There was a pause. “I will ask you once again. Have you traced your phone’s location?”
Acton drew in a slow breath, closing his eyes. “Yes.”
“So you know where the portrait is.”
It was a statement, not a question. Acton decided to try a different tact, it clear this was of concern to the man. “I know where the phone was several hours ago. I assume you could have continued to another location, leaving the phone behind.”
The man chuckled. “Yes, Professor, that is possible. Have you told the authorities where the phone is?”
“No.”
“The truth, Professor.”
“I haven’t. I swear.”
“Why not?”
Acton decided this was one instance where following the man’s instructions might actually prove useful. “Frankly, I don’t know who to trust. Very few people knew we would be there and it was police that were with the man who took the portrait. Telling them isn’t exactly high on my priority list.”
“And just what is high on your priority list now?”
Acton frowned. “It’s changed.”
“I should think so. Your focus now should be the wellbeing of your parents, and nothing more.”
“Agreed. What do you want from me?”
“Your silence.”
“You have it.”
“Good.”
Acton sat in a chair, squeezing his temples as he tried to control his exasperation. “What now?”
“Now we will wait to see if you keep your word.”
Acton froze then sat up. “For how long?”
“That depends on whether or not I feel you are to be trusted. Right now, I am inclined to not believe so, after the stunt you pulled.”
“I’m sorry about that. Please don’t take what I did out on my parents. They’re innocent in this.”
“Which is exactly why you will do as you are told.”
“You have my word.”
“I trust I do. To that end, we will be keeping your parents for a little while, just to make sure you truly are a man of your word.”
“How—?”
“How long? Perhaps a few days, perhaps a few weeks. I really can’t say. I will say that as long as you maintain your silence, they will be kept alive. You will find, Professor Acton, that we think in the long term. The extreme long term. Your silence must be permanent.”
“It will be. My only concern is my parents.”
“They will be safe. Do not break your word, Professor, or I will begin releasing your parents. One body part at a time.”
CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
National Clandestine Service Chief Leif Morrison checked his watch and groaned. He closed his eyes, dropping his elbows on his desk and giving his scalp a massage. He was exhausted.
Time to go home.
It had been a quiet day. At least for his job. There had been over a dozen terrorist attacks around the world, though none high profile, none involving America or its allies. Just a typical day when Islamic fundamentalists were so well funded by supposed allies.
Today had been a good day, but with his wife visiting her sister, it had been a chance to catch up on paperwork. And it was now past midnight.
Definitely time t
o go home.
The phone demanded his attention and he sighed. He hit the intercom button. “Yes?”
“Sonya Tong, urgent.”
“Put her through.” Sonya was one of Chris Leroux’s team. Leroux was one of the best analysts he had, and was turning into one hell of a team lead now that he had his sea legs under him. And for one of Leroux’s analysts to be calling directly, something major had to be happening.
The phone beeped and he picked up the receiver. “This is Morrison.”
“Chief, I’m sorry to disturb you, but, umm, I wasn’t sure what to do.”
Morrison frowned, the young woman clearly flustered, so whatever she had stumbled upon must be very serious. “Why don’t you just tell me what has you so concerned.”
“Umm, well, you know how we’ve been monitoring law enforcement reports for anything to do with certain, umm, key personnel?”
Morrison smiled slightly, the CIA monitoring for thousands of people. “You’ll have to narrow that down a bit for me.”
Sonya’s voice dropped to barely a whisper. “I mean Chris and the others, you know, involved with the Assembly.”
Morrison immediately bolted up in his chair, Sonya finally having his full attention. The Assembly had been a thorn in their side for several years, an ultra-secret organization that had apparently existed for decades if not centuries, with their fingers in so many pies it was impossible to get a bead on them.
Until just a few weeks ago when they had caught a lucky break.
Up to that point his prize analyst Leroux had been under constant watch by a protective detail, Morrison fearing the Assembly might try to take him out due to his investigation.
But they had gained leverage, leverage that appeared to have worked, the Assembly threat gone to ground as far as they could tell.
Yet he wasn’t a fool.
So he had ordered the monitoring to continue, watching for any reports that might suggest the Assembly was moving on their problems, not the least of which was Leroux. Though it wasn’t limited to Leroux. It included one of his prize agents and an archeology professor, James Acton, along with his friends and family.
Saint Peter's Soldiers (A James Acton Thriller, Book #14) Page 10
