“Has there been any further word?”
“From her or the kidnappers, no. I’ve enlisted some help though that will hopefully find her soon, but just in case, I have to start my search.”
“Do you think they’re watching you?”
Acton paused, the thought having not occurred to him until just now. “I suppose they could be.” He felt his spine tingle. He turned in his seat, looking out the rear window, seeing nothing but heavy traffic. “Do you think they could be?”
Giasson shrugged. “It’s possible. They’ve been in Rome twice before so we know they have a reliable way in and out, probably a private plane just like the one you flew in on. They don’t attract the same type of security, and from within Europe, almost none.” He looked at his watch. “Where would you like to go first? Your hotel—”
“No, there’s no time to waste. Let’s go to the basilica right away.”
Giasson smiled. “I thought you might say that. Father Albano is expecting us.”
“Excellent.” Acton looked out the window again, his heart leaping into his throat as he saw a black car with tinted windows directly behind them as they began to pull away from a red light. The car turned and he shook his head, letting out the breath he had been holding.
You have to focus! Even if they are following you, you’re safe as long as you’re looking.
He just hoped that was true.
These people seemed desperate, as if whoever they were trying to save didn’t have much time.
And if that person should die?
Laura might be next.
Konigstrasse, Stuttgart, Germany
Dawson found himself admiring the beauty that was Europe, pretty much every street having a building on it older than America. It was the history he loved, the stories behind the buildings, the towns, the castles that dotted the hilltops. He just wished he had more time to play tourist when he was here.
I’m going to have to bring Maggie to Europe on an actual vacation.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had been on a real vacation. In fact, he couldn’t remember actually ever being on one. Visiting family didn’t count, decompression leave after an op didn’t count, and weekenders in Atlantic City definitely didn’t count.
Maybe Dylan’s idea of bringing her here after we’re done isn’t such a bad idea after all.
“Watcha thinkin’?”
Dawson closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. “None of your business.”
He felt Niner’s arm curl around his elbow. “But honey, communication is the corner stone to any good relationship.”
“Don’t you dare start your gay couple act like you did in France that time.”
“I’m hurt.”
“Remove your arm before I break it.” Dawson continued to admire the timber frame buildings lining the pedestrian mall they were waiting in. Niner’s arm worked its way loose.
“You’re not getting any tonight, Mister.”
“Thank God for small miracles,” muttered Dawson as he tried to keep a straight face. Going on an op, especially one like this, was always fun with Niner.
You’re never bored.
He shivered.
But you can get cold.
“See, you’re cold, we should snuggle.”
“I could gut you and climb into your still warm corpse.”
“Ooh, I love it when you go all Jedi on me.”
Somebody bumped into him and he felt a hand reach briefly into his jacket pocket.
“Entschuldigung,” said the man as he stumbled past, slipping slightly on the cobblestones lightly dusted with snow.
Dawson said nothing, instead reaching into his jacket pocket, his fingers wrapping around a small package. “I’m getting cold. Let’s head back to the car.”
Niner nodded, swinging a shopping bag filled with some souvenirs they had bought as part of their cover of two tourists out shopping for their girlfriends back at the hotel. It hadn’t been part of their plan, but plans always seemed to change on ops like this, and when the CIA analyst Leroux had called him with an idea, he had immediately agreed.
Niner climbed in the driver side, firing up the still warm engine, heat immediately beginning to pour out. Dawson looked at the pedestrian traffic, waiting for Niner to pull out into traffic before removing the package from his pocket.
Leroux had informed him that Renner Security’s computer network seemed to be completely isolated so there was no way to access the data he needed to trace the former employee’s financial data.
He needed them to tap the network.
A brush pass had been arranged.
Moving now, he pulled the small package out of his pocket. It was a tiny envelope, something newly cut keys might be placed in. He tore it open, dumping the tiny device into his hand.
Just plug it into any USB port.
Leroux’s instructions sounded simple, it was the execution that would be difficult. It was truly a tiny device, the smallest memory stick he had seen, the standard USB connector actually longer than the rest of the nub containing all the electronics. Apparently it would be able to bypass any security and establish a two-way connection with the Internet using the cellular network.
Assuming they’re not jamming cellphones.
Niner turned right, glancing in the rearview mirror.
“We’ve got a tail.”
Dawson’s lips pursed. “I’m not surprised. These guys are good.”
“Very good. That means the hotel in Paris was being watched.”
“Agreed.”
“Which means the professor probably has a tail too.”
“Agreed.”
“He’s probably safe for now, though.”
“Agreed.”
“You’re very agreeable today.”
“Agreed.” Dawson pulled out his phone, firing a text message to Reading to let him know about the probable surveillance.
Niner glanced in the mirror. “Tail’s still with us.”
“If these guys are as good as we think they are, they probably witnessed the brush pass.”
“Probably. They’ll definitely search us before they let us into that meeting.”
“True. Still wearing your special shoes?”
Niner turned left, accelerating slightly. “Oh yeah.”
“Good. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“You too?”
“Let me know when we’re out of sight.”
Niner nodded, making another turn. “Now.”
Dawson quickly tried to stuff the tiny device in a small pocket embedded in his belt, behind the buckle. He was doing it blind, not wanting to risk anyone seeing him look down, giving them a target area to search.
“Need any help?” asked Niner, raising his eyebrows suggestively while glancing over at Dawson’s crotch.
“I’ll break your fingers.”
“Who said anything about using hands?” Niner clicked his teeth then licked his lips.
“We definitely have to get you a new girlfriend.”
St. Paul’s University, St. Paul, Maryland
“And we’re off!”
Mai smiled as Tommy clicked the button on the first machine, the screen jumping to life as image after image appeared, the software picking out the faces then mapping the facial recognition points, “No Match” appearing over and over.
She already felt disappointed but said nothing as Tommy rushed around the lab, starting up the process on all forty machines. He plopped into a chair beside hers, slightly out of breath.
“Poor man’s parallel processing!”
He had explained it to her. His software would use a centralized database to coordinate the effort, and the networked machines would poll this database to see what photo was up next for analysis. With the combined horsepower in the room, they were able to process far more data than any one machine could. Now it was up to them to keep plugging in possible sites and search results for the program to crawl and pull images from.
She had been at it all morning and afternoon as Tommy prepared the modifications to his software. She had hit every respectable newspaper site, every type of event she could think of from polo matches to car races—anything rich people might be at.
She was ashamed to admit her contributions had been minimal, her experience with rich people and the Western world so limited, she had never even heard of Formula 1 racing and thought polo was something played in a pool. It was Tommy who kept shouting out ideas as he worked tirelessly.
He’s remarkable.
She caught herself stealing a glance at him as he leaned in to look at the display on the machine coordinating things.
He is kind of handsome.
His hair was messy, but apparently that was a style here. She had never really found white guys attractive, but then again her exposure had been limited to the odd tourist and conference until her arrival in the United States.
Now, in Maryland, she mostly saw white guys and black guys with very few Asians and some Hispanics—something she had never seen before.
It was sort of exciting, seeing all these different types of people in the same place.
It was also a little scary.
But as she got to know the professors and their circle of friends, and Tommy along with other staff at the university, she was slowly learning to shed her distrust of those different from her—a distrust ingrained by the Communist Party as part of her upbringing—and expose herself to the new cultures surrounding her.
Tommy was looking at her, smiling.
She flushed, dropping her head, ashamed she had been caught staring.
“You looked a million miles away.” Tommy turned his chair toward her. “Thinking of home?”
She nodded, not unaware it was a lie. She wondered if he knew it was too.
“How about we get to work?”
She nodded, turning toward the keyboard, thankful for the opportunity to focus on something other than Tommy’s smile.
I wonder what father would think if I dated a white guy?
One side of her lips curled up in a slight smile.
He’d kill him.
Leonardo da Vinci Airport, Rome, Italy
“Oh, pardon me, I’m so sorry.”
Terrence Mitchell froze, having bumped into three people in it seemed as many seconds. He wasn’t good in crowds, especially crowds in a hurry. He was even worse if he was in a hurry too. His wife Jenny put a hand on his shoulder.
“You okay, love?”
He nodded. “Uhuh.”
“There’s a chap over there holding a sign that says Mitchell. Could that be for us?”
Terrence looked where his wife was pointing and shrugged. “I don’t know. They didn’t say anything about sending a car.”
“But how many Mitchells could there be here in Rome?”
Jenny led the way, Terrence was sure to try and clear a path for her clumsy husband. As he watched her pleasantly plump frame in front of him he felt a warm feeling rush through him. She was pregnant with their first child and he couldn’t be prouder—he felt like a man.
A terrified man.
What did he know about being a father?
He was barely a man, nowhere near thirty yet. Yes he had a wife, but that didn’t make you a man, especially when she was a career woman herself so didn’t need him to support her.
But a child would be completely reliant on him.
He wouldn’t be alone in it, however. Jenny was an amazing woman, was ecstatic about being a mother, was buying all the books and preparing the nursery and chatting with her two sisters about their experiences, she the last of the three to fall pregnant.
But he was an only child, had never babysat—his parents had been terrified he’d hurt someone with his clumsiness—and was certain he had no parental instincts whatsoever. This was proven to him in spades last year when he had tried to reason with a five year old about why he shouldn’t drop Jenny’s iPhone in the toilet. Ten minutes of the kid holding the phone over the bowl with nothing but his thumb and forefinger, lowering it every time he would try to get closer.
It was when he tried reverse psychology that things took a turn for the worse.
Fine, go ahead and drop the phone.
Plunk.
They had bought a new phone the next day.
Jenny stopped in front of the man holding the sign, giving Terrence a profile shot of her swollen belly.
This baby is in serious trouble!
I’m in serious trouble!
He just didn’t know how to react. He had insisted that Jenny stay at home, it too dangerous for her to come and help out Professor Acton. There had been quite the fight, mostly one-sided, ending with him conceding he was a daft bastard, but it hadn’t really changed his mind.
He was terribly worried about her.
The professors seemed to get themselves into violent trouble over and over, and it wouldn’t be the first time they had been dragged in. In fact, it would be the third time, the last time having them kidnapped in the Amazon.
I should have just told Professor Acton no.
But then he’d never be able to live with himself if anything happened to Professor Palmer.
He loved her.
It was a crush, an infatuation never to be mutual, but it was there, despite his being married to a fantastic woman. He had fallen for Professor Palmer the first day he had laid eyes on her seven years ago. She was why he had become an archeologist rather than taking economics as he had planned. It was a stupidly rash, teenaged thing to do, but he had done it, hadn’t told his parents until his third year, and discovered he not only loved his teacher, he loved the subject matter as well.
It was a decision he had never regretted.
And though his love would always go unrequited, and he was completely in love with Jenny, Professor Laura Palmer, the wife of the luckiest man alive, Professor James Acton, would always have a special place in his heart.
And it was the one secret he could never reveal to anyone, especially Jenny.
It would crush her.
He knew she wouldn’t understand, nor did he expect her to. He could only imagine how hurt and jealous he’d be if she confessed she was secretly in love with Professor Acton or some other man.
But don’t worry, love, because there’s no chance of me ever being with him, our love is secure.
He nodded to the man as Jenny motioned toward her husband. “We’re the Mitchells.”
Those three words caught him off guard, causing a wave of shame to rush over him, a knot to form in his stomach.
The Mitchells.
He was pretty sure it was the first time he had ever heard it said.
And it suddenly struck him, in the middle of an airport in Rome, the reality of his situation.
He was married, married to the most wonderful woman he had ever met, a woman who accepted all his faults and made him feel better about himself than he had ever felt before, because this woman, this woman who he shared the love he had to give with some fool’s infatuation, loved him completely and unconditionally.
This woman, this incredible woman, who was about to be the mother to his first child.
And she deserved his complete and utter devotion.
He sucked in a deep breath.
And that’s what she’s going to get.
“Yes, we’re the Mitchells,” he said. “Were you sent by the Vatican?”
The man nodded. “Yes, let me get your bags.”
“Oh, that’s not nec—”
Jenny cut him off. “You better take his before he kills somebody with it.”
The man nodded, Terrence was certain suppressing a smirk. He was about to protest when Jenny took his bag, rolling it over to the chauffeur.
“Follow me, please.”
Terrence shot Jenny a look but she just grinned at him and tucked her arm in his, rolling her bag in front of him. “Would you, love?”
He took her bag, flipping it over by accident
then righting it with a kick of his foot that stubbed his toe. He winced. She leaned her head on his shoulder as they began to follow their driver and it melted his heart, any anger at her emasculation gone as he realized she had been joking, she now free of the load she had been pulling.
Free to pat her stomach.
“I think he just kicked.”
“He?”
She shrugged. “You never know. If he keeps kicking like that, he could make a good center forward.”
A son!
It would be incredible.
A center forward?
A pit formed in his stomach.
How the devil am I going to teach a boy how to play football! I can’t even kick a ball!
“Or it could be a girl.”
“Could be,” agreed Jenny cheerfully as she rubbed her stomach. “Either way is fine by me.”
Jenny whistled as they walked up to a stretch limo. “Is this for us?”
“Complements of the Vatican,” replied the chauffeur as he loaded their bags in the trunk then opened the rear door. Terrence helped Jenny inside with a held hand, and as he started to climb in himself he heard her cry out. He paused as he felt the grip on his hand tighten, but before he could question what was happening he was shoved from behind. As he tumbled onto the floor the door slammed shut behind him plunging them into near darkness. He pushed himself up and into the seat to find himself sitting across from a man holding a pistol in his lap.
He wrapped his arm around Jenny protectively, his entire being focused on the weapon not five feet from his unborn child. “Wh-who are you? What do you want?”
“You are Terrence and Jenny Mitchell?” asked the man, his voice thick with what sounded to Terrence like a German accent.
“Yes.”
“You have been called here to assist Professor Acton in the search for the body of Saint Longinus.”
Terrence felt his muscles begin to slacken as the terror of the situation overwhelmed him. This man knew everything and memories of the torture he had undergone in the Amazon began to flood back, his mind shutting down to protect itself.
Nails dug into his thigh, yanking him back to reality as Jenny must have sensed what was happening to him.
“Yes,” she replied.
Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) Page 16
