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

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Leroux snapped his fingers. “Okay, people, you know what to do. Start flooding the news wires. Terrorist attack in Angera, Italy.” He turned to Therrien. “Do we have the footage from Professor Acton yet?”

  “Yes, sir.” He pointed at a display showing a cloud of dust or smoke rising above the castle. “Good, I want footage hitting YouTube and LiveLeak now. Get this thing trending. Once we’ve got some traction, hit the conspiracy sites with the ownership history.” He turned to Sonya. “Notify the Italian police that this is where the stolen painting is.” He turned to watch the displays. “We want a media circus, people.”

  Hofmeister sprinted down the hallway, shoving people out of his way as he tried to reach the offices of the executive. Over the PA system the evacuation announcement was playing, a recording made years ago, one its creator was probably certain would never be needed. In the offices he ran past, he could hear papers being shredded and keyboards being tapped away at as evacuation protocols were implemented.

  But there wasn’t enough haste.

  He was the only one who truly knew what was going on, and he was concerned that the Doctor might not be out in time, and he couldn’t risk that. The Doctor was their leader, and if he were to die because a lowly professor had somehow tricked them, it could demoralize them all.

  The Congress must survive.

  He shoved through the doors and out into the courtyard, organized chaos greeting him as vehicle upon vehicle lined up from the motor pool, people climbing into their designated ride, boxes of materials tossed in the back of several transport trucks.

  He sighed with relief when he saw the research staff rushing from their building and loaded into a truck, it roaring away with a gnashing of gears. The research would continue, just at a different location. He spotted the doctor getting into the back of a large Mercedes and he raced across the courtyard, dodging vehicles, reaching him just as his son, and the current head of their research, arrived.

  The elder Mengele asked the question Hofmeister was dying to ask. “What’s the status on the lab?”

  “All data is being wiped. We keep nothing printed so there will be nothing left. All data is backed up nightly offsite so all we lose is time.”

  “And the test subjects?”

  “Sanitation procedures have already been executed. No one will know what was happening here.”

  Mengele smiled. “Good. And the artifacts?”

  His son shook his head. “We’ve got some, but there won’t be time for all.”

  “No matter, we’ll simply reacquire them.” He motioned for his son to join him. “Get in.”

  The younger man climbed in and Hofmeister stepped up to the door, Mengele waving him off. “This is your doing. Get your own ride.” He pointed a finger at him. “And don’t even consider not showing up at the rendezvous point.”

  Hofmeister gulped, jerking out a nod, then stepping back as the door slammed shut and the tires chirped, the two most important people in the Congress escaping.

  Our mission will continue.

  He looked about for a moment, then began to sprint toward his designated vehicle when there was an incredible rumble, the ground quaking beneath his feet, several times worse than the first, his feet swinging out from under him. He hit the cobblestone hard, his elbow screaming out in pain as he rolled to his side and gasped in horror, the entire medical research facility dropping into the ground, as if Mother Earth herself had swallowed it whole.

  “Here they come!” shouted Acton as the first vehicle raced down the road that wound its way up to the castle. A second explosion rocked the room, Acton grabbing onto the windowsill until things settled down, a massive dust cloud, many orders of magnitude bigger than the first, filled the skyline.

  “They did it!” Laura squeezed him tight as they watched vehicle after vehicle pour from the castle, an evacuation definitely underway. And judging from the size of the explosions, Dawson’s team must have succeeded brilliantly, his plan to take out the structural supports in the catacombs inspired. If it worked—and it certainly appeared it had—then the structures above them would drop into the massive empty spaces of the catacombs below them.

  Rebuilding would take years and untold monies.

  And a lot of outside help.

  Their secret lair was no longer a secret.

  “I can hear the locals,” said Reading, cocking an ear.

  Acton nodded as he heard the first of what he was sure would be many sirens.

  “Now let’s just hope Langley can do their part,” said Verde, joining them at the window, taking another video.

  And hope BD and the team get out alive.

  Dawson tried the door at the top of the narrow stone staircase. It was locked. He motioned for Niner to give him a charge and it was handed up the line. Dawson quickly put it in place and everyone hustled down a dozen steps and covered their ears, squeezing their eyes shut.

  The tiny explosion was deafening in the tight quarters, though if anyone on the other side noticed, there wasn’t any indication yet. Dawson climbed back up the stairs, pulling the door open slightly and peering out.

  It was chaos.

  People were screaming, running in all directions, there clearly a civilian contingent here that lacked discipline. Soldiers in plain black uniforms with no insignia were trying to direct things, he impressed that they seemed to be holding it together, he finding it hard to believe they had ever been able to be properly trained. Then again, there were enough private security companies now to do the job, so anything was possible.

  You no longer needed military service to experience boot camp or live fire exercises.

  He stepped back inside, glancing at his brightly colored team. “Fashion show’s over, boys.”

  He reached down and pulled his track pants off revealing black fatigues. Tossing the ball cap to the side, he removed his jacket, the black t-shirt underneath more appropriate for the situation. Reaching into his backpack, he stuffed three mags in his pockets, his phone, and a knife. He pointed at Niner. “Make sure you take a couple of charges. Give one to Atlas.”

  Niner nodded, handing a charge to the big man who pocketed it.

  “Ready?”

  The team nodded.

  “Then let’s do this.”

  “I’ve got signals again!”

  Leroux looked up at the display, Child’s announcement turning all heads as six signals suddenly appeared, clustered together with no other heat signatures in their immediate vicinity.

  “They’re alive!” cheered Sonya, her elation shared by Leroux who had been they were caught in one of the explosions or shot deep in the underbelly of the castle.

  He pointed at Child. “Notify Acton.”

  “What the hell are they doing?”

  Leroux stared at the screen. “What?”

  Child pointed at the screen. “They’re a couple of hundred feet, tops, from the main gate, but they’re heading deeper into the complex.”

  Leroux took in the display, there still over one hundred targets displayed, mostly clustered around the main gate and in the courtyard. The numbers dwindled however in the direction the team was heading. He pointed. “They’re heading for the rear entrance. That has to be it.”

  Child leaned back, grabbing at his hair. “They need to get outside those walls. If they stay inside, there’s no one that can help them.”

  “What’s the ETA on the locals?”

  “Emergency teams are responding,” replied Therrien. “ETA two minutes.” He snapped his fingers, pointing at one of the displays. “First footage is going live from the locals.”

  “Push it. I want every dummy Twitter and Facebook account sharing that. I want #italyattack trending before the hour’s out.”

  “Yes, boss.” Therrien’s fingers were flying over the keyboard as automated routines manipulated social media in ways only governments could. With thousands upon thousands of dummy Twitter accounts at his disposal, each retweeting each other’s messages, each foll
owed by thousands of lemmings who accepted and reciprocated every Follow request, the videos would be in the feeds of millions of people within minutes.

  And carnage always got retweeted.

  The word would be out, which meant the secret would be out.

  Sort of.

  Who actually occupied the castle, and what they actually were doing there, nobody would probably ever know.

  But everyone would know by the end of the day that the castle existed.

  And it had been blown up.

  By six red pulsing dots, racing along the side of the courtyard.

  Hofmeister rushed over to the command car, the military commander of the facility climbing in. Hofmeister tapped on the window and it rolled down. Commandant Richter leaned toward the window, his expression one of stoic resolve, a man resigned to the fact he would probably be executed before the day’s end.

  “Who is responsible for this?”

  Hofmeister hesitated, though for only a moment. “Professor Acton is claiming responsibility.”

  “I want him dead.”

  Hofmeister nodded. “I agree, but there are other considerations.”

  “Such as?”

  “If this one man can do this, rescue his parents and stop the kidnapping of his friends, he is far more connected than we ever realized. Killing him may just make him a martyr.”

  Richter nodded slowly, his gaze taking in the devastation around them. We’ll discuss this at the rally point.” He glared at Hofmeister. “Untersturmführer.” He motioned to the driver and the car peeled away, leaving Hofmeister to stand there as the realization he had just been demoted set in.

  He searched for his assigned car and spotted it. Heading for the idling vehicle, he noticed half a dozen men, all in black with bright white sneakers, heading deeper into the courtyard, in the opposite direction of everyone else.

  It must be them!

  Rage filled his belly and he pulled his weapon.

  Blending in wasn’t an option. Though they were mostly in black, Dawson knew they would stand out like sore thumbs, and going one at a time simply wasn’t an option—half the complex was about to collapse when the third and final set of explosives took out most of where they were standing.

  Gunshots behind him, accompanied by shouting, had him lean into his sprint a little harder, taking a beeline for a collapsed wall as bullets tore into the cobblestone next to him.

  He dove.

  His knee protested as he slammed into rubble on the other side, the rest of the team leaping over, grunts from most of them, the stone unforgiving. Multiple weapons were firing at them now, more shouts as their opposition grew. He popped up and fired several rounds, quickly assessing the situation before dropping back down.

  “Dozen hostiles, fifty yards out, no cover. How long before the next detonation?”

  “Less than sixty seconds,” replied Jagger.

  “Are we safe here?” asked Niner as he fired off several rounds, someone crying out in pain.

  Jagger shrugged. “Hopefully.”

  “You should become a motivational speaker if you ever leave the army.” Niner emptied his mag. “I know I feel a lot better now.”

  “Glad I could help. Thirty seconds.”

  The ground shook, a rumble coming from below them, Dawson immediately not liking the feeling. “Oh shit!”

  “Thirty seconds my ass!” shouted Niner as they all jumped up, sprinting for the rear entrance, the bullets no longer their concern.

  Hofmeister marched forward, flanked by half a dozen guards on either side, continually firing at the enemy position, paying no attention to the fact his men were in the open being gun down.

  So was he.

  And it didn’t matter.

  He would be blamed.

  He wouldn’t see tomorrow.

  And if he was going to die, then so were those responsible.

  Acton had proven he was untouchable, he just hoped the executive realized that. Mengele was a genius like his adoptive father, and he was certain he would. Their adversary had played the game brilliantly. He had tricked them into thinking he was an average professor, then proven himself anything but, his resources beyond anything one could imagine.

  Yet more importantly, he had understood what was truly going on, and how to remove himself from the game.

  Remove the leverage he had over them.

  This castle was lost. No member of the Congress would ever set foot inside again. Their cause would go on, just in a different location, a location that had been prepared decades ago, a location already staffed and ready to receive them in just such an event.

  By tomorrow, the research would be underway again, and their mission would continue, these events forgotten.

  And Professor James Acton would continue on with his life, he no longer knowing where they were.

  He no longer a threat.

  Well played, Professor. Well, played.

  The ground shook beneath him and he stopped, the gunfire from both sides halting as he tried to steady himself. Their enemy rose, turning tail and fleeing like the cowards they were, but he had to wonder why.

  They’re in the blast radius!

  He turned to his left, sprinting toward the few remaining vehicles, his car still waiting for him, no one daring take it. A shockwave rippled through the ground, knocking him off his feet as all the cobblestones around him seemed to lift several centimeters, as if a great stone had been dropped in a pond. He rolled and gasped in horror as the entire residential block collapsed into the ground, taking half the courtyard with it.

  Including his men.

  Dawson took cover as Niner blasted the lock on the rear entrance, Atlas pulling it open, Spock and Jimmy rushing through, weapons in front as they made sure the other side was clear.

  “Clear!” echoed the two men and Dawson slapped Jagger on the back, the operator rushing through after Atlas and Niner.

  “Halt!”

  Dawson spun toward the sound, firing two quick shots then two more, two guards dropping before they could get off a shot. They had appeared dazed, as if they had been caught in the explosion and not expecting to find anyone, let alone their enemy.

  He kept his weapon raised as he retreated backward, Niner with a hand on his back, guiding his blind exit.

  Through the door, he swung it shut. The lock was blown but it would at least force anyone to reveal they were coming should it open again. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Spock blasting the padlock off the fence, throwing the gate open.

  “Okay, let’s get out of here, dump everything.”

  Sirens sounded all around them as they sprinted along the path behind the castle, coming around the bend that led down the southern side where they had made their entrance. Dawson tossed his backpack, knife and other paraphernalia, leaving his gun until last, just in case they ran into some hostiles.

  He motioned for Spock to take point as they reached the road that ran in front of the castle, dozens of onlookers and emergency personnel swarming the area.

  Spock rushed up to the first police officer he saw and pointed at the castle, shouting in perfect Italian. “Terrorists are attacking the castle!”

  The crowd panicked, turning en masse and running in the opposite direction, joined by six Delta operators, making their clean escape.

  Hofmeister hauled the driver out of his car, pointing at one of the remaining transport trucks. “Go with them!” The man stood there for a moment, bug-eyed, then sprinted toward the truck as it began to pull away. Hofmeister put the car in gear and hammered on the gas, dashing ahead of the truck and racing toward the main gates.

  Clearing the now unmanned gates, he barreled down the twisting road, coming out to the municipal road where emergency vehicles were still arriving, the police blocking traffic, giving the evacuees a clear path away from the chaos.

  And allowing them all to escape, unfettered.

  Hofmeister smiled slightly as he drove deeper into the town, heading for the highway
that would lead him out of the area and to his designated rendezvous point about three hours away. Their cover had been perfect. Perfect for over seventy years, it never occurring to the Italian authorities who actually lived there what they were actually doing.

  And when they were done sifting through the debris, they’d know little more.

  Little paperwork was kept, and what was, had been destroyed. All their digital data was wiped, their backups off site. Their equipment was legal and there would be no indication of what had been going on there. Their experiments had been sterilized with extreme heat, nothing but ashes left of anyone—or anything—the outside world wasn’t prepared to hear about.

  And as for the trappings of Nazism, only two flags were present in the entire complex, those at the head of the table the executive met around, along with a portrait of Adolf Hitler.

  And those would have been taken the moment the alarm sounded.

  No one would ever know the storied seventy years of history that had occurred right under their noses.

  A history about to end for him.

  He slowed, making the turn onto the winding mountain road that led to the highway. When he reached the end, he could literally go left or right. Left would take him toward his rendezvous, right to a new life, a life that he might be able to enjoy for decades to come.

  As a traitor.

  He took a deep breath and shook his head.

  No! I’m a soldier of the Fourth Reich. If I must die as an example to others that failure is not to be tolerated, then so be it!

  He closed his eyes for a brief second, gripping the steering wheel.

  Then I am to die.

  “That’s him!”

  Reading stared at the laptop showing the images of the cars as they exited the castle, their camera still snapping photos. Acton leapt to his feet as Reading enlarged the photo, there no doubt that the man behind the wheel was the man from Rome.

  Alive and well, escaping justice.

  Acton grabbed the keys from the counter before Verde could stop him.

  “We can’t let him get away!” Acton rushed out the hotel room door and toward the stairwell.