Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “Will do.”

  “And Sonya, I want you to try and find out who actually opened that account. That kind of money means they live differently than us. If it was bearer bonds, it was done in person, so find out where. Then find out about any private planes, first class tickets, whatever, for the same period. See if you can find any CCTV footage that might have caught him on camera.”

  “How do we know what he looks like?”

  “We don’t,” replied Leroux. “But I’m willing to bet it’s our mystery German from Vienna.”

  Basilica of Sant’Agostino, Rome, Italy

  “You’re absolutely certain you need to do this?”

  James Acton smiled reassuringly at Father Albano. “Yes, Father, it’s the only way. We need to find the body referred to in the document if we have any hope of finding Saint Longinus himself.”

  Father Albano made the sign of the cross, looking to the stone ceiling of the catacombs dug under the church centuries before. All around them dozens upon dozens of alcoves contained bodies, some wrapped, some in coffins, others simply piles of bones. Acton prayed there was some sort of organization here, at least by era. He wouldn’t know until they started.

  “If you do find him, it would indeed be a great discovery.”

  Acton nodded. “Absolutely.”

  Father Albano glanced at Jenny, lowering his voice. “Should she be here in her condition?”

  “I’m perfectly capable, thank you very much.”

  Father Albano grimaced at Acton, keeping his expression hidden from Jenny before turning toward her. “I meant no disrespect, young lady, I was simply thinking of the safety of your child. There have been several collapses here over the centuries.”

  “Perhaps he’s right,” said Terrence, the words eliciting a scowl from his wife. “Well, love, it is dangerous, and you’re carrying our child, and—”

  “And it doesn’t matter for now, regardless.” They all turned toward Giasson’s voice as he descended the ancient stone staircase. “You’re both due for your deposition.”

  “Can’t that wait?” asked Jenny, a little whine in her voice.

  “I made a promise to the Roma Polizia and I keep my promises.”

  Jenny frowned, Terrence taking her by the arm, a relieved look on his face as he had an excuse to get her out of there.

  And himself.

  Terrence never came across as the brave type, more the reluctant hero at times, his clumsiness preventing him from actually being reliable in a fight, but he had never shied away from danger when it was absolutely necessary, and after his torture in the Amazon, Acton had gained a newfound respect for the young man.

  Despite him having a crush on his wife.

  It was quite plain to anyone, except he hoped Jenny, that Terrence was smitten with Laura. Laura thought it harmless, and Acton was secure enough for it not to bother him, especially after Jenny entered the picture, clearly capturing Terrence’s heart.

  Just not 100% of it.

  He smiled at the husband and wife as they stopped in front of him.

  “Sorry, Professor. We’ll get back as soon as we can.”

  Acton nodded at Jenny. “Do what you need to do. With any luck, I’ll find him before you get back.”

  Jenny frowned. “That would be disappointing.” Her jaw dropped. “I’m sorry, Professor, I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

  Acton laughed. “Don’t worry, I know what you mean. I’d hate to miss a discovery like this too. Now go. The sooner you’re gone, the sooner you’re back.”

  Jenny followed Giasson up the stairs, Terrence behind her, as Acton turned to survey his surroundings once again.

  “Would you like me to help?” asked Father Albano, the trepidation in his voice clearly suggesting the answer he hoped for.

  “No, Father, I’m certain you have more important duties to attend to. I’ll be fine on my own.”

  Father Albano placed a hand on Acton’s shoulder, smiling slightly. “Thank you, my son.” He looked up the stairs, quite narrow by modern standards, shaking his head. “I don’t think it was wise of me to come down here at my age.”

  “Let me help you,” replied Acton as the old man climbed the first of many steps, hugging the wall, any railing that might once have been there long gone.

  “Bless you, my son,” said Father Albano as Acton positioned himself one step behind him, holding up his left arm to act as a railing for the man to push on, his other hand pushing gently on his back to keep him steady and help him up. They took the steps one at a time, both feet firmly planted on each before continuing to the next.

  Acton found himself getting slightly frustrated with the pace, but knew it wasn’t the poor man’s fault. Acton was used to harrowing staircases and tunnels, caves and caverns, it his job to crawl about where none had gone in years.

  I wonder what I’ll be doing at his age.

  Certainly not gallivanting across the globe, crawling around ancient ruins and getting shot at by terrorists, cults and criminals.

  How old was Harrison Ford in Indy 4?

  Father Albano began to take the steps a little faster, leaving only one foot on each now as Acton continued to picture his retirement.

  Kids and grandkids. That’s what I want.

  He could imagine no better reward after a life of hard work than to be surrounded by family with the woman he loved at his side. He’d keep up his academic work but send out the younger generation to get their hands and knees dirty.

  I wonder if my kids will become archeologists like their parents.

  As they neared the top of the stairs Father Albano reached out for a railing, installed more recently, this portion of the structure at least several hundred years newer than the catacombs below.

  “I think I’m good now, my son.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The old man nodded as he pulled himself up the final few steps, much quicker now, Acton backing off to give him space, but keeping a wary eye on him until he cleared the door. “I’ll check on you in an hour,” said Father Albano, looking back down at him.

  Acton smiled. “Just call me from there and I’ll come up to see you, deal?”

  Father Albano chuckled. “Deal.”

  Acton turned and rushed down the stairs, eagerly surveying his surroundings, his flashlight playing across the catacombs.

  I’m going to need more light.

  St. Paul’s University, St. Paul, Maryland

  Mai Lien Trinh opened her eyes, a ceramic Taz coffee mug staring her in the face. She lifted her head off the table, quickly wiping away the small puddle of drool as she looked over at Tommy, sound asleep with an impressive pool of his own. She stared at him for a moment, pondering whether or not she found it disgusting or cute.

  She settled on cute.

  In a disgusting way.

  Something was beeping and she looked at the screen, it flashing a message repeatedly.

  Match Found!

  “Tommy, wake up.”

  Nothing.

  “Tommy, wake up!”

  Still nothing.

  She reached over, hesitating a moment before pushing on his shoulder.

  He grunted but remained asleep.

  She punched his shoulder.

  Tommy jumped up in his chair. “Huh? What?” He looked around, disoriented, then adjusted his glasses, wiping his mouth with the back of his hoodie. “Good morning,” he mumbled at Mai, clearly not a morning person.

  She pointed at the screen. “What does that mean?”

  Tommy scrambled for the keyboard, his fingers flying, his mouse scurrying as he clicked several links before a photo was shown of a group of people, all clearly well-heeled in their tuxedos and evening gowns.

  “That’s him!” exclaimed Mai as she pointed to one of the men tucked into the back, his face barely visible, his neutral facial expression contrasting sharply with the rest of the group.

  “It definitely looks like him,” agreed Tommy. He pointed to the metadata
associated with the photo. “This was taken after the Monaco Grand Prix five years ago.”

  “Where?”

  “I think it’s the palace, which means this was a formal event.”

  “So?”

  “So that means guest lists.”

  “From five years ago?”

  “It’s the best we’ve got. It’s all we’ve got.”

  Mai leaned closer to the photo, not sure what to do. All they had was a photo of a man with no name taken five years ago. How they could possibly find out who had attended that party was beyond her.

  Then she smiled as something dawned on her.

  “What?”

  She looked at Tommy. “We don’t need to figure out who was there.”

  “We don’t?”

  She shook her head. “No, we don’t. The CIA does.”

  CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  “So you were right, boss, Renner’s phone logs were interesting.”

  Marc Therrien handed a tablet to Leroux who looked at the calls, several of them highlighted. “What am I looking at?”

  “That first highlighted call was one Renner made last night to a Voice over IP phone, so pretty much completely untraceable.”

  “You tried?”

  “Yup, no success, but we’re still working on it.” He nodded toward the tablet. “That second highlighted call is an incoming one from another Internet phone number, received this morning, about twenty minutes before he was shot. The final highlighted call is an incoming that he received we think as he was shot.”

  “Probably telling him why he was about to die,” surmised Sonya Tong. “I think I’d rather not know.”

  Therrien nodded. “Me neither.” He reached over and swiped his finger across the display, another set of numbers appearing. “So, we weren’t able to trace where this first VoIP phone was located, but we were able to determine the calls made to it. There haven’t been many and they were all from other VoIP numbers. We think they’re call-forwarding the VoIP numbers to burner phones so nothing can be traced. All that is, except one call.”

  Leroux’s eyebrows rose slightly. “One?”

  Therrien smiled. “Yup. And it was received not even five minutes before the attack in Paris.”

  “And you were able to trace the origin?”

  Therrien’s head bobbed excitedly. “Somebody screwed up, boss. They used a regular cellphone, not redirected. It’s a burner so we can’t trace the owner, but we were able to locate the cellphone tower the call was connected through.”

  Leroux leaned forward, staring at the tablet then at Therrien. “Where?”

  “Just outside Paris, not twenty miles from where the helicopter landed.”

  Leroux felt a smile start to spread across his face as he leaned back in his chair. They finally had a lead, though it was thin. He had no doubt none of the highly trained mercenaries would screw up like this, and the fact the call was received so close to the Paris robbery suggested either someone who had no idea it was about to happen, or someone with information so vital to its success that they had to use an unsecured form of communication.

  Or, like Therrien had suggested, someone had just screwed up.

  “The location might mean nothing,” said Tong as she spun her laptop toward Leroux, a map of Paris and the surrounding countryside displayed, the cellphone tower highlighted with an arrow. “They could have just been in the vicinity of this tower when making the call and be in another country now for all we know.”

  Leroux shook his head, tapping his desk. “I don’t think so. We know Professor Palmer is alive, and according to the medical experts, she would have died if she didn’t receive prompt medical attention, which means she had to have received it within about a thirty to forty-five minute drive of where the helicopter was found. The French police have scoured the country and there have been no reports of any woman matching her description, or any description, having been brought in with a gunshot wound to the abdomen. That means she was treated somewhere private. Also, we know from the conversation that Professor Acton had with her that she was being treated by a doctor named Heinrich—”

  “Thousands of hits, we’re trying to narrow it down,” interjected Therrien.

  “—and that she was in some sort of well-equipped lab. I’m betting that lab is within forty-five minutes of that helicopter landing zone, and that cellphone tower is also within that same radius.”

  “I’ve learned to never bet against you, boss.”

  Leroux looked at Therrien but said nothing, he still not used to having staff that kissed his ass, or being called ‘boss’. Especially when half his staff were older than he was. He pursed his lips. “What’s the range on that tower?”

  “At most forty-five miles,” replied Tong, spinning her laptop back toward her. “But terrain can impact that dramatically.”

  “Find out. I want to be able to get an overlay to our people in France.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Therrien and Tong rose, leaving the office as Leroux began to type an email to the inner circle of this operation. They had a lead, finally, but it wasn’t much. And even if the range of the cellphone tower proved to only be twenty miles, that left an area of over 1250 square miles to search.

  Needle in a haystack?

  Approaching Basilica of Sant’Agostino, Rome, Italy

  Mario Giasson stifled a yawn, hoping no one had noticed, he raised better than to do such a thing in the middle of the day while on the job. But he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t slept more than two hours in the past two days and was quickly reaching burnout.

  And there was no end in sight.

  He turned in his seat, Francesco Greco driving, to look at their passengers, and his charge, Terrence and Jenny Mitchell.

  “I spoke with the prosecutor and he said there won’t be any charges against either of you.”

  Jenny nodded, it clear she was still troubled by what she had done. Killing a man at point blank range had to be psychologically scarring and with their schedule she hadn’t had time to process what she had done, and what had almost happened to her.

  It’s going to take time.

  Terrence jumped in his seat then fished out his phone, reading a text message, his face losing several shades of its usual ruddy color. He showed it to Jenny, her hands instinctively covering her stomach before she looked out the window.

  “Something wrong?” asked Giasson, it clear they were both upset.

  “No, it-it’s nothing.”

  Giasson frowned. “It’s clearly not nothing.”

  “I…I can’t talk about it. Like I said, it’s nothing.”

  “Show me your phone.”

  Terrence’s jaw dropped, his eyes opening wide as Jenny’s head spun toward Giasson. It was clear from both their reactions that the very idea horrified them, and it had nothing to do with an invasion of their privacy.

  They were terrified.

  “Now.”

  He held out his hand and Terrence reluctantly brought up the message, handing him the phone. Giasson cursed as he read the text received only moments before.

  You failed to report your discovery. Next time she dies.

  “Explain this.”

  “We can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “If we say anything, they’ll kill her.”

  “There’s no one here but us, tell me now, it’s perfectly safe.”

  Terrence and Jenny both shook their heads emphatically.

  “They can hear everything. I don’t know how, but they can.” Terrence’s lip trembled. “They probably heard everything you just said.” He looked at his wife’s stomach as Jenny continued to cover her baby.

  “They’re going to kill my baby,” she whispered.

  Kruger Residence, Outside Paris, France

  “Your father is getting worse.”

  His mother’s whispered words caused Dietrich’s chest to tighten like a vise on his heart. He looked over her shoulder at the family patria
rch, the man who had taught him how to be a father, a husband and a business leader. A man who was supposed to be around for at least another decade to continue to teach him.

  “I’m not ready,” he mumbled, a tear rolling down his cheek, self-pity gripping him.

  His mother placed a comforting hand on his chest, his heart slamming so hard he was sure she could feel it. “Yes, you are. He said so himself earlier today that he is extremely proud of the man you’ve become, and that he will die knowing we are all in capable hands.” She took his hand in hers, clasping it to her chest. “You are ready, my son. Don’t forget, your father took over from your grandfather when he was only five years older than you are now.”

  “Yes, but Grandfather lived for another fifteen.”

  His mother frowned. “He did, but I’m afraid it wasn’t much of a life. For most of it he was in pain, and when he wasn’t, it was because the drugs had him barely awake. He didn’t carry on a real conversation for the final five years.” She sucked in a deep breath, covering her mouth as if ashamed of what she was about to say. “When I picture him, his final years, I sometimes think that this is the best thing for your father. If he dies now, he’ll avoid all that suff—” The word caught in her throat, replaced with sobs as she collapsed in his arms, her entire body shaking with grief.

  It overwhelmed him as he fought for control, fought to remain strong for her, but it was no use. The tears flowed. His chest heaved.

  His mother pushed back gently, a lace handkerchief appearing from somewhere as she dabbed her eyes dry. “Look at me, I’m your mother, I should be strong.”

  Dietrich smiled, shaking his head. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be strong.”

  She sighed. “We both must be strong for him.” She looked over at her husband. “Is there any hope of finding this Spear of Destiny?”

  Dietrich nodded. “Yes. In fact I’m leaving shortly. The professor has apparently found a document that proves they once thought the body was there.”