Saint Peter's Soldiers (A James Acton Thriller, Book #14)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Nothing.

  The sound of dishes rattling at the end of the hall caught his attention just in time and he bent over, pretending to pick something up, then began walking past the hotel employee with a room service cart. Nods were exchanged then Freitag spun around, pistol whipping the man.

  He crumpled to the floor.

  Freitag grabbed him under the armpits and dragged him toward a utility closet, unlocking the door with the man’s pass. He pulled off the employee’s jacket and put it on, yanking at it, the front refusing to stretch enough to button.

  How small is this guy?

  It didn’t matter. He left the room, grabbed the cart and quickly pushed it to the Actons’ door, knocking loudly. “Room service!”

  As expected, there was no answer. He swiped the pass and the light went green, the lock clicking. He pushed open the door with his gun hand and listened. Gentle snoring, nothing more. He stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind him then searched the wall for the light switch.

  He flicked it on.

  Light immediately bathed the room, and he found no one.

  His eyes narrowed.

  The cop should be on the couch.

  He stepped farther inside, the bedroom doors both closed, two cellphones sitting on the table.

  And a third sitting on the couch, the sound of snoring coming from the speaker.

  His heart sank.

  He’s going to kill me.

  Irvington Avenue, Bethesda, Maryland

  Kane pulled up to the side of the road, immediately comparing the license plate of the navy blue SUV in the driveway to the one pulled by Langley. It was a match. He surveyed the area, by all outward appearances this an upscale family oriented neighborhood, kids playing, couples walking their dogs, driveways filled with minivans, crossovers and SUVs.

  Nothing out of place.

  Two kids burst from the front door of the residence in question, a man stepping out onto the porch a few moments later. Kane examined the DMV photo.

  That’s him.

  “Be back by nine!”

  Shouts of acknowledgements from the kids were heard as Kane exited his vehicle, walking toward the driveway. He held up a fake FBI ID as the man turned to go back inside. “Excuse me, sir, FBI.”

  The man stopped and stared at him, the concern and slight fear he was used to seeing in the innocent immediately displayed. “Yes? Is there a problem?”

  Kane motioned toward the SUV. “Your car matches the description of a vehicle seen near an incident earlier today. Can you tell me why you were in Germantown today?”

  The man’s eyes popped wide then he stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind him.

  Uh oh, adulterer?

  “I was visiting a shop there, getting this.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small ring box. He flipped it open.

  Kane whistled. “Nice.”

  The man beamed with pride, the fear of a moment ago forgotten. “Yeah, it’s our tenth wedding anniversary tomorrow. I couldn’t risk getting anything in the area. My wife works in the business and they all talk to each other.”

  Kane chuckled. “I guess not.” He nodded toward the house. “Do you mind if I take a quick look around? It’s a rather serious matter.”

  The man nodded. “Of course.” He opened the door and Kane entered, the husband explaining to his wife what was going on as Kane showed his badge. It was a quick search, he already quite certain these people weren’t involved, yet it was still necessary, suburban families sometimes much more than what they appeared on the outside.

  He bowed slightly to the couple as he walked out the door. “Sorry to disturb your evening. You two have a good night.”

  “Thank you, officer.”

  Kane returned to his vehicle, firing off a text to Leroux and the others.

  Bethesda a bust.

  BMB Biomedical, Baltimore, Maryland

  Sherrie rolled up to BMB Biomedical, some sort of medical equipment supplier, the parking lot nearly empty, it well past normal working hours. She pulled into a visitor parking spot and exited her vehicle, walking toward the doors. She tried them. Locked. She knocked on the glass and a security guard inside looked up from whatever he was watching under his desk.

  She pressed her fake FBI badge against the glass and the man quickly stood, perhaps not recognizing the badge, though definitely recognizing that only law enforcement would do such a thing.

  The doors were quickly unlocked and she held up her badge again. “Special Agent Brown. I’m looking for the driver of a black 2014 Cadillac Escalade registered to BMB Biomedical.”

  The guard’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I think there’s a few of those around here. Lotta money, you know.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got a list, in case the lot’s full. We tow the ones that aren’t registered. Just a second.” He rushed back to his desk and tapped at his computer. “What’s the plate?”

  She gave it to him.

  “Here it is. Mr. Gervin. He’s the CEO.” He tapped on his chin. “I think he’s out of town though.”

  Sherrie felt her heart tick a few beats quicker. “Are you sure?”

  “Just a second.” More tapping. “Yeah, thought so. There’s an email here from admin letting us know that his office was going to be renovated starting three days ago while he was in London for business. It has the approved list of contractors that should be given access, you know—”

  Sherrie raised a hand, cutting off the rationalization. “He’s out of town. Where’s his vehicle?”

  The guard shrugged. “I dunno. Not here, I can tell you that.”

  “Do you have an address for him?”

  He hesitated. “Um, do I need to give you that?”

  She nodded, it a lie, but then she wasn’t FBI. “Yes.”

  More key taps and a printer hummed.

  “Here you go.”

  She waved the sheet of paper. “Thanks, you’ve been a big help.”

  She headed for her car, her heart racing. Kane’s location was already a bust, and this vehicle now fit the profile. Owner out of town so it wouldn’t be reported stolen, and judging by the address, this Gervin lived on the 21st floor of a condo or apartment building.

  No nosy neighbors once you were inside.

  She started the engine and fired a text message with the address to Kane, Fang and Langley.

  Please don’t let this be another dead end!

  Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  “Sir, there’s a call coming into Professor Palmer’s phone.”

  Leroux leapt from his seat, heading for Child’s station. “Source?”

  “Looks like the same as before. It’s the kidnappers.”

  “Shit, they’re early. Send it to voicemail.” He snapped his fingers, pointing up. “Let’s hear it.”

  The professor could be heard giving a generic greeting followed by a beep, then the voice of someone who didn’t sound impressed came on, their words clipped, the tone as if he were containing his anger.

  “Professor Acton, you must not love your parents very much. You are not at your hotel room, and you were seen getting into a car that wasn’t yours. You were told not to contact the authorities, and you obviously have. You have forfeited your mother’s life. Contact us within ten minutes, otherwise you will lose your father as well.”

  The call ended and Leroux cursed. He snapped his fingers again. “Get me Rome, now! We need to have the professor call him back immediately.”

  Child’s fingers flew as Leroux jacked into his terminal with his head set.

  “What about the mother?” asked Sonya, turning in her chair. “It doesn’t sound like she’s dead yet.”

  Leroux froze for a moment, then committed to an order he hoped he wouldn’t regret later.

  “Contact Agent White. Have her make all haste. Contact Kane and Lee as well as the FBI. Have them all converge on that address.”

  He pointed at Marc Therrien, another one of his ana
lysts. “And get me eyes on that location!”

  Giasson Residence, Via Nicolò III, Rome, Italy

  Giasson flipped through the files of his staff, shaking his head as he realized any one of them could be his suspect. He yawned, covering his mouth.

  I need sleep.

  He sighed.

  I need answers more.

  He pulled his hands back from the laptop and took a deep breath. There were too many possibilities. He had to narrow the list, otherwise he was just wasting time. Somebody had talked, that much was obvious. If he was to assume it was one of his people, then they had to have access to the information.

  Which meant they had to have had the ability to be exposed to it.

  He brought up the list and quickly eliminated anyone on leave.

  Eleven fewer people.

  Not much help. But progress.

  It had to be someone inside his security office, not one of the guards. None of them would have had an opportunity to overhear something, or be one of the few actually exposed to the information.

  Assuming Father Rinaldi made no mention of it.

  He had to assume the Father was telling the truth, after all, he was a priest.

  Less than twenty names.

  Better.

  “Now to eliminate those who weren’t on duty that evening or overnight.”

  His wife moaned beside him.

  “Sorry, hon, go to sleep.”

  The theft had taken place in the morning, after the morning shift had already come on duty, but it took time to coordinate an operation like this, hours at least, so the exposure had to have happened before that.

  And I didn’t tell anyone until after I had reached Hugh!

  He frowned, remembering Father Rinaldi had already made the arrangements at the university.

  When was that?

  He thought back of the events of that day. The shootings, the discovery of the drawing, the collection of evidence including the drawing, it being eventually shown to Father Rinaldi, his subsequent research into what it might be, and his excited visit to his office, requesting permission to call in the Professors.

  He chewed his lip, trying to remember when that was. It was late, but when?

  After the day shift had left!

  He was certain of it. And with there not enough time for the graveyard shift to have acted on this, it had to be someone there that evening. His fingers flew over the keyboard, adrenaline pumping as his fatigue was forgotten.

  Twelve.

  It was more than usual, but there had been four deaths.

  He read through the list, every one of them someone he could have sworn only yesterday that he could trust.

  If one betrayed us, they were obviously working for someone.

  There were two groups at play. The Keepers of the One Truth were definitely involved, the two tattooed victims proof of that. And a second, unknown group, who had murdered six to this point. He found it hard to believe that any one of his staff could be working for them. This was a chance event, a fluke. There was no way this second group could have anyone planted inside just in case by some miracle they’d be needed someday.

  No, whoever it is, is working for the Keepers.

  That made him feel a little better, and it also made the list a little smaller.

  They’re all men.

  He shook his head.

  You don’t know that.

  It made sense that the Keepers might have infiltrated the Church. In fact, he’d be stunned if they hadn’t.

  He smiled.

  He knew a way he might be able to narrow the list down even further.

  And he’d begin with his most likely candidate.

  A candidate he hoped wasn’t involved.

  Prayed wasn’t involved.

  His good friend, his second-in-command, Gerard Boileau.

  He pulled up the man’s Facebook page, the two friends online for years.

  So he had full access to his photos.

  He began flipping through them, searching for anything that might reveal what he was looking for, but the man seemed always to be wearing a suit or button up shirt.

  He smiled.

  Vacation photos, Sardinia.

  Shot after shot of the man’s wife and kids, then finally what he was looking for.

  Boileau in a shirt, a few buttons undone.

  What is that?

  It wasn’t a tattoo, but there was something. A discoloration of some sort.

  A scar?

  It almost appeared to be, yet it was hard to tell. There was definitely something, though. He pulled up Boileau’s file, skimming through it. There were no references to any chest issues, no leave for heart surgery, and he had known the man long enough to know that if he had gone through anything serious while they were working together, he’d be the first to know.

  Whatever it was, predated their knowing each other, so it was easily a decade old.

  His eyes closed as he realized it had to be what he feared.

  And his heart sank.

  CIA Safe House, Rome, Italy

  Acton grunted then bolted awake, Mr. Verde shaking his shoulder. A wave of guilt at finally giving into sleep swept over him. “What?”

  Verde handed him a phone. “You’ve got to take this call. The kidnappers called your wife’s phone and left a message. They know you left the hotel. We had a recording set up to make it sound like you guys had returned and were sleeping, but that’s been found out.”

  “Our room was bugged?” asked Laura, waking beside him.

  “Yes. They say they’re going to kill your mother and if you don’t call back within the next few minutes, your father as well.”

  Acton’s heart slammed in his chest and bile filled his mouth as the blood rushed through his ears, everything losing focus.

  Mom!

  Laura grabbed him, squeezing him tight as he fought for control. It was his fault, all his fault. If he had just left well enough alone, his parents would be safe at home, his mother would be alive.

  You have to save Dad.

  He blinked away the tears, sucking in a deep breath as he took the outstretched phone.

  “It’s Langley, they’re going to route the call so they can trace it.”

  “Won’t they know that it can’t be Laura’s phone? If they know we’re not in the hotel room, they know the phones were left there as well.”

  Verde shook his head. “No, just say you checked the voicemail. Tell them that Giasson arranged the pickup and that you were taken to a house, you don’t know the address, because he was concerned for your safety. Stress that no authorities were contacted, and that you thought the phone had been forwarded but it must not have been set up properly. Tell them that you just found out about the recording, and that it was made by Giasson. You had nothing to do with it.”

  He nodded, hoping that laying all the blame at their friend’s feet wasn’t going to cause more problems for him.

  “Now keep calm, you need to be able to think.”

  He inhaled deeply and put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

  “One moment, Professor Acton, while we route your call.”

  There was a click then the phone rang. It was immediately answered. “Hello?”

  “It’s me, Jim Acton.”

  “Professor Acton. You didn’t follow our instructions.”

  Acton tried to remember everything Verde had told him, but he was drawing a blank. Everyone stared at him, their eyes bulging as if they were all trying to urge him to say something.

  “Yes, I did.” His heart nearly stopped as the words came out.

  “You deceived us.”

  “Of course. You’ve killed six people. I wasn’t about to risk you killing my wife, so we went into hiding.”

  “You broke your word.”

  Acton felt his mouth dry and he motioned for water, Laura jumping up to get it from the kitchen. “No, I did no such thing. You said I wasn’t allowed to contact the authorities, and that I was to r
emain silent as to where my phone ended up. You said nothing about having to remain where I was, or to remain in constant contact.”

  “Your deception has cost you your mother’s life.”

  Acton felt a rage build inside him, his lip curling into a sneer. His voice lowered to almost a growl. “If you kill her, I will tell the world where you are.”

  There was a chuckle. “Don’t threaten me, Professor, when I am holding all the cards. As you said before, we most likely are no longer where you think we are.”

  Acton took a sip of the water Laura held out to him, handing it back. “If that were true, then I doubt you would be going to such trouble.” There was no reply. Got you! “If you want your precious secret kept, then don’t you dare touch my mother.”

  “Professor Acton, you seem to think you are in a position to bargain. You mother’s fate is sealed due to your actions. Don’t let your father’s be as well.”

  The call ended with a click, and Acton jumped to his feet, whipping the phone across the room.

  “No!”

  West Pratt Street, Baltimore, Maryland

  Sherrie stared up at the tall condo building, Mr. Gervin apparently occupying the penthouse. She popped her trunk and began to suit up as Fang’s vehicle rushed up behind her. The Asian woman climbed out and nodded toward the building.

  “Is that it?”

  Sherrie nodded.

  “Wow! Is he a member of the ruling class?”

  “Wrong country.”

  Fang shrugged. “I watch the news, they’re all the same.”

  Sherrie handed her a vest, an array of weapons in a hidden compartment in the floor of the trunk. She selected two Glocks, several mags, a suppressor, a knife, three small explosive charges, and night vision goggles. Fitting an earpiece in place, she activated her comm, handing a second unit to Fang as she too began to gear up.

  “Control, Freebird-Zero-Two, comm check, over.”

  “Freebird-Zero-Two, reading you five by five, over.”

  “Roger that, Control. Do you have eyes on us?”

  “Negative, Freebird, we should have target acquisition in less than sixty seconds.”