“Italy might be a good place to take Vanessa.”
Spock cocked an eyebrow. “Care to include us in the first part of that conversation you’ve been having with yourself?”
“Sorry.” He nodded toward the castle wall, a security camera visible. “How about a photo, boys.”
Spock and Jagger lined up in front of the wall, striking a pose any eighties hair band would have been proud of, and Atlas snapped the photo.
“Good one!” he laughed, handing the camera over to Spock who switched places. Another photo snapped, a different angle, a process they had been repeating all around the massive structure, each photo automatically uploaded to Langley.
They continued their stroll up the path that ringed the outer fence set about twenty feet from the ancient castle walls themselves. Apparently, the thick walls weren’t enough privacy. To Atlas’ trained eye, it appeared the occupants wanted a buffer between the walls so their cameras could catch anything that might stray too close.
And provide a kill zone should it become necessary.
They had spotted two entrances so far. The main gate and a rear entrance that didn’t appear to be used much, the path leading to it covered in thick grass.
Yet just because there were only two official entrances didn’t mean there weren’t other ways in. They had found several drainage ditches leading to large pipes at the foot of the walls, all with bars preventing entry. But bars were no problem for his team.
“You and Vanessa thinking of going away together?” asked Jagger.
“Yeah, hopefully in a couple of weeks if the world doesn’t throw a monkey wrench into the works.” He nodded ahead, the path coming to an abrupt end, the castle built into the side of a hill, a sheer rock cliff blocking the rest of the way. He tapped his earpiece casually. “Zero-One, Zero-Seven, we’re heading back, over.”
“Roger that, Zero-Seven. That first drainage pipe you sent us seems to be the most promising candidate and matches the plans we have.”
Atlas nodded as they passed the rear gate, the other two carrying on a conversation to disguise his own. “Agreed. It’s got excellent brush cover but there are two cameras that have a good angle on it.”
“Any sign of guards?”
“Negative, we haven’t seen any, not even at the front gate. They seem to be relying on cameras. I’m thinking they aren’t expecting anyone so are keeping a low profile, trying not to look like a Bond villain’s lair.”
“Okay, get back to the hotel. We’ve got an op to plan.”
Giasson Residence, Via Nicolò III, Rome, Italy
“He has agreed to meet you.”
Giasson had to admit he was a little surprised. For the leader of the Keepers of the One Truth to agree to meet must mean he too thought it was important to air their grievances. He was pretty certain it was because of who he was that he was granted an audience. He was after all the head of Vatican security, and these men were apparently sworn to protect the Church, as he was.
Yet they found themselves at cross-purposes.
A meeting was definitely warranted.
“Where?”
“At the final confessional on the right hand side at Santa Maria delle Concezione de Cappuccini Church.”
Mario’s eyes widened slightly. “Really? In a confessional?”
Boileau nodded. “You must understand that it is essential he remain anonymous. Frankly, it’s incredible that he’s actually agreed to meet you.”
“Have you met him?”
Boileau shook his head emphatically. “No, never.”
“Then how will I know it’s him?”
Boileau smiled. “He is a man of God. He would not lie.”
Giasson wasn’t so sure he would agree with that relationship being solid enough to accept on blind faith. “When?”
“I’m to take you there now. No police.”
Giasson pursed his lips, looking at Boileau, then nodded, he having no choice.
“Then let’s go.”
Hotel Dei Tigli, Angera, Italy
Dawson gave two quick raps on the door then entered, closing it quickly behind him. He was greeted with grins.
“Don’t you look colorful,” said Acton, stepping away from the window. “Is that the new army approved camo?”
Dawson looked down at his bright blue track pants and white sneakers, his windbreaker in Italian colors with Italia emblazoned across the back, and a tri-colored ball cap to match.
“It’s urban chic.”
Laura giggled.
“We’re hiding in plain sight. Anybody monitoring the perimeter is going to see a group of tourists and hopefully dismiss us entirely, or not pay very close attention. We’re tooling around town, seeing the sites, and have just discovered a castle that we’re going to walk around and take photos of.”
Acton tilted his head, raising his eyebrows. “Well, let’s hope it works. If it doesn’t?”
“Then we fallback and come up with Plan B.” He looked at Acton. “You know your part?”
“Yes.”
“Good, it’s the most crucial part if this is going to work.”
Reading’s phone beeped and he checked the message. “First batch is coming in.”
Dawson stepped over to the laptop as Reading brought up the first files from Interpol, fruits of their surveillance on the castle entrance.
“Christ!”
Dawson turned to Reading. “What?”
“Everyone one of these people are German citizens.”
“Living in an Italian city?”
Reading nodded. “From these reports, it looks like they’re completely self-contained. None of them appears to be employed, none have ever collected any state benefits. Beyond birth certificates, driver’s licenses and passports, they seem to have no involvement outside of that castle.”
“Completely self-contained, with all the proper paperwork to safely travel outside when required.” Dawson exhaled loudly, nodding at the images as Reading flipped through them. “Notice anything else?”
Reading kept flipping then stopped, leaning back in his chair, he apparently noticing what Dawson had.
Every photo showed a man with blonde hair and chiseled features.
“Bloody hell. It’s the Master Race.”
Mercy Medical Center, Baltimore, Maryland
Kane sat in the corner of Ellsworth Acton’s hospital room, Fang sitting kitty-corner to him, it Sherrie’s turn at the door. A computer on Kane’s lap showed six dots superimposed over a map, each representing a member of Bravo Team as they made their way to the castle.
He glanced over at Fang, picking absentmindedly at the bottom of her shoe. Her face was long, her eyes drooping. She seemed sad.
“Something bothering you?”
She looked up at him and shook her head. “No, I’m okay.”
She didn’t sound like it. He put the laptop on the seat beside him and leaned forward. “Hey, you can talk to me. I’m probably one of the few people you actually can talk to.”
She looked at him, tears filling her eyes. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
He drew in a breath, frowning. He knew exactly what this was all about. “You miss home.”
She nodded. “I miss my family, my friends, my job.” She cast her eyes to the floor. “My country.”
“I know how you feel.”
She stared at him. “How could you possibly know?”
He smiled gently. “I have one friend who I barely see. I almost never get to see my family, and when I do, I have to lie about what I do. My father has no respect for my job and I think resents the fact that I left an honorable job in the military to become my cover job. I spend eleven months of the year outside of my country, living in alien cultures, sometimes in caves with none of the things I grew up with, and I have almost no one I can share my troubles with.” His smile expanded slightly. “So, you see, I do understand what you’re going through. The only difference, and it’s a big one, is that I at least do get to se
e my one friend from time-to-time, my parents every once in a while, and my country. That’s forever cut off for you.”
He leaned forward, putting his hand on her arm. Her eyes darted down to look at the contact and he began to draw away. She reached out with her other hand and put it on top of his, stopping him.
She was craving physical contact.
The poor woman.
He understood that need, that basic human desire to be touched. It didn’t have to be anything sexual, just the touch of a caring hand could do wonders to heal the wounded soul. He squeezed her arm and she smiled slightly, her eyes still averted.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “You need a friend. I think I should probably have a second one. How about I start visiting you when I’m stateside? We can talk about whatever you want, since I know your past. No tiptoeing around things.”
She looked up at him, eyes slightly wider, a definite smile on her face. She nodded. “I-I’d like that.”
“Good. It’s settled. I have a second friend.”
She stared down at the floor again, squeezing his hand. “And I have one.”
He took her hand in both his and held it up to his lips, giving it a gentle, platonic kiss.
“Sometimes one is all you need.”
Rocca d'Angera Castle, Angera, Italy
Dawson shrugged off his backpack, placing it on the edge of the path before sitting on a large rock. The others did the same, creating a circle, everyone stretching and groaning as if they had been walking all morning. He pulled out a bottle of water and some beef jerky. He took a swig and pulled on the teriyaki flavored dried meat, handing the bag around, all the while eyeing their surroundings as innocently as possible, the others doing the same, casual banter about the weather and his upcoming wedding providing the background noise should anyone be trying to listen in.
Niner was sitting to his right, his back directly facing the wall and the two video cameras with a view of the drainage ditch. A small computer in his lap was being worked expertly as it reached out, detecting any signals then tapping into them.
“Church wedding?” asked Spock.
“Ha, I can’t wait to get some photos of that with my wireless,” said Niner. “Both of them.”
Dawson nodded.
Both cameras wireless, not hardwired.
“I dunno. Maggie’s handling everything.”
Niner’s head bobbed. “I should be able to help her when I get about ten seconds.”
“I told her to tell me where and when to show up.”
Spock handed the empty jerky bag to him. Dawson gave him a look and Spock shrugged. “Hey, you brought it.”
“You did,” agreed Niner as Atlas swatted a fly. “All I can say is when I’m taking your photo, no sudden movements for about thirty seconds, okay? How about we practice?”
They all sat, slight movements only, Dawson mentally counting down the thirty seconds Niner needed to record the tapped feeds. Once recorded, he’d loop them and they should have a nice blind spot to work in, assuming no one decided to check on them personally, or watched the video too closely.
“Okay, you can move now,” said Niner. “The video is looping, but I don’t know how long we can rely on that so let’s boogie.”
Dawson pointed at the fence, Atlas and Spock leaping to their feet, cutters in hand, as they made quick work of the chain link. Dawson activated his comm. “Control, Zero-One. We’ve tapped the security feed and are going in, over.”
“Confirmed Zero-One. Good luck, out.”
Dawson trusted Leroux, Control for the mission, though he’d prefer Colonel Clancy. That wasn’t an option since this wasn’t a sanctioned mission, so he’d have to accept the fact that the people they were relying on might not have their back. He trusted some individuals in the CIA, but not the organization. They weren’t military, they didn’t subscribe to the idea of no man left behind. Not because they didn’t value their personnel, but because usually that man or woman was undercover, and admitting that they were an asset could compromise other lives.
Atlas bent back the fence and Dawson grabbed his pack, ducking through then sprinting for the barred opening in the side of the castle, a tiny creek, if it could be called that, running out the side, through a small culvert under the path and off into the distance. The size of the opening suggested much greater volumes than they were seeing today, and he had a feeling if it were raining, entering through this hole might not be much of an option.
According to the plans from World War II, this should take them about thirty feet inside before they’d be at an access node in the top of the pipe. That would in turn give them access to the catacombs under the castle.
Catacombs that if they hadn’t changed too much, should provide them exactly what they needed.
Niner stepped back from the barred pipe. “I’ve overridden the security sensor. Blow it.”
Atlas nodded, slapping the small charge in place. They all stepped back and Atlas counted off. “Fire in the hole.” He clicked the button and the tiny charge made quick work of the lock, though it wasn’t as quiet as one would hope.
Dawson activated his comm as Niner checked to confirm the override to the sensor was still functioning. He gave a thumbs up.
“Control, Zero-One. Any sign they heard that?”
“Negative, Zero-One, you’re still clear.”
“Roger that, making entry now, out.”
He urged the others inside, on their knees, and within moments they were out of sight, flashlights turned on. Niner closed the circular gate behind them, securing it with a Ziptie, the locking mechanism no longer functioning to prevent it from swinging open.
“Found it!” hissed Jagger, who had point. “Looks like a metal plate.” Dawson waited with the others as a Broco cutting torch cut through what was clearly a modern addition, the original plans indicating it should be another grate that could be easily blown. “Got it.”
Dawson looked ahead to see Jagger lowering the hunk of metal, Spock helping him place it quietly on the floor. Jagger stood, the upper half of his body disappearing, then all of him as he pulled himself up.
“Clear.”
The rest of the team quickly exited the cramped quarters, Dawson second from last, breathing a sigh of relief as they found themselves in an ancient tunnel junction, three corridors meeting where they now found themselves.
Exactly as the plans indicated.
“Okay, as planned. Remember, comms might be spotty or completely non-functional down here. This is the rally point in ten. Let’s move out.”
Jagger and Atlas headed left, Spock and Jimmy right, Dawson and Niner directly ahead. The corridor was damp and narrow, the construction ancient, though it seemed solid. Dawson had to move at a crouch, the shorter Niner merely dipping his head slightly.
“They sure were a lot shorter back when this was built.”
“We’d be monsters on the battlefield,” agreed Dawson.
“Christ, can you imagine Atlas?”
Dawson chuckled. “Two thousand years ago he’d probably be a gladiator.”
“I could see that. I’ve often wondered what I would have been if I were alive back then.”
“Princess?”
Niner punched him in the back. “Don’t you start.”
Dawson held up his fist, freezing, their conversation ended. He had heard something ahead. What, he wasn’t sure. It could have been their own echo, or something else. A good commander would have these corridors patrolled, and he had a feeling they were dealing with good commanders.
Footfalls.
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and he and Niner quietly fell back as the footsteps approached, a conversation drifting toward them. Niner slapped him on the back and he looked, Niner pointing to an alcove in the tunnel big enough to fit him, Niner already backing into one on the opposite wall.
Dawson wedged himself in as he clicked off his flashlight, pulling his knife, Niner doing the same. He activated his comm, whi
spering an update. “This is Zero-One. We’ve got activity here. Out.”
The voices drew closer and Dawson immediately recognized the language.
German.
Which made perfect sense of course, it matching what their intel had been telling them. This castle was some sort of German enclave buried in northern Italy. The question was what was its purpose, though if he were honest with himself, that was irrelevant to the mission. They had to force these people to move their operation. If they could make staying here untenable, then the leverage the doc had over them would be gone, and these people would have no reason to harass him any longer, unless they wanted revenge.
And he had a feeling they didn’t.
You don’t stay hidden for seventy years if you take your revenge on anyone who slighted you.
These people were maintaining a low profile. The operation in Rome had obviously been a screw up, and if Acton hadn’t tossed his phone in the crate, the necessary second operation would have been a complete success.
Low profile.
If this group truly was a remnant of the Nazis, then his plan, should it succeed, should result in the doc being able to move on with his life without worrying about these people.
A flashlight beam cut through the darkness, casting a dull glow over everything as the footsteps echoed loudly, the conversation about the woman one of them had been paired with, continuing. It sounded like arranged marriages, or arranged liaisons, were the norm here.
Interesting. Might explain a few things.
He controlled his breathing as the flashlight came into view, the beam it was producing past his position now. A match flared, Niner lit up for a brief moment.
Dawson gripped his knife.
“Was ist—”
Dawson stepped out, plunging his knife into the first man’s side as his hand clamped down over the guard’s mouth. He twisted the blade as Niner sliced his opponent’s throat. Dawson continued to hold his writhing man until he finally sighed his last breath.
He looked at the two bodies, frowning. “Lovely. Let’s put them in these alcoves and hope for the best.” Niner dropped his and helped Dawson lift the first man, who he’d be copulating with tonight no longer a problem for him. They tucked him into the alcove and stepped back, Dawson holding out both hands, willing him not to fall out.
Saint Peter's Soldiers (A James Acton Thriller, Book #14) Page 22
