Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “We did go to the scene of the shooting to pick them up.”

  Acton frowned. “I forgot about that. You’re right, anything’s possible. But we don’t have time to worry about that.”

  Giasson nodded. “You’re right. The longer those phones aren’t on your persons, the more chance there is for them to get suspicious.”

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  Giasson turned to Father Albano, who had sat at his desk, saying nothing the entire time. “Sorry for the intrusion, Father.”

  The old man simply raised his hands and shrugged, still saying nothing as they left his office, closing the door behind them. Jenny and Terrence took their phones, heading down the stairs to the catacombs, Terrence talking about his soon to arrive pasta, the talk of food seeming to set him at ease.

  Acton pocketed his phone. “Listen, we found the body but we need to cut some wrappings.”

  “So do it.”

  “Father Albano won’t give his permission. He says he doesn’t have the authority.”

  Giasson smiled. “I’ll make a call.”

  “I’ll be downstairs.”

  Acton had all of the necessary tools prepared, the lights positioned properly, and the order of his cuts already planned when Giasson descended the steps. “You have permission.”

  Acton grinned, Jenny and Terrence as giddy as he was. He took the small scissors, gently slipping the bottom blade under his choice for the first bandage to cut.

  He snipped.

  The cloth was dry, almost brittle, and cut easily, little flecks of fibers bursting in all directions, mini-eruptions of time giving way to his necessary curiosity. It didn’t take long to cut through the several dozen strands, the bony hands of whom he presumed would be Tiberius revealed, clasped around a small stone tablet about the size of an iPad though about an inch thick. Reaching for the top corners, he gently wiggled it free, careful not to shift any of the bones unnecessarily.

  “Got it!” he hissed as he stepped back, placing the tablet on the surface of the alcove, replacing the scissors with a brush. Clearing away the dust, he shone his flashlight on the surface, the words causing him to grab Terrence by the shoulder and shake him in excitement. “We were right!”

  “You were right, Professor,” said Terrence, hugging Jenny.

  “What does it say?” asked Giasson, looking over their shoulders.

  “It’s in Latin. Translated, it says, ‘Here lies my father, Tiberius of Mantua, a Christian and friend to the great Longinus. May God forgive our deception.’ This is it! This is the proof we’ve been looking for!”

  Giasson’s eyes narrowed. “Proof of what? Where’s Longinus?”

  Acton grabbed him by the shoulder, waving the tablet. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “He’s in Mantua!”

  Mantua, Italia

  62 AD, Fifteen years later

  Tiberius looked up at his son, the grief on the young man’s face heartbreaking. He wasn’t supposed to be dying, not yet, not so young, but no one could have predicted what had happened that night. Roman soldiers had arrived in the city and attacked their small church, killing or maiming anyone who resisted and hauling several away for crucifixion, he was certain. He himself had been sliced open badly, the village doctor having already given his verdict.

  No hope.

  “My son, you must do something for me.”

  “Anything, father, anything.”

  He reached up and took his son’s hand in his, squeezing it. “You heard the edict from the Emperor. All Christians are to be killed, all their icons and graves destroyed.”

  His son nodded, his eyes darting toward the ichthys over his bed, the symbol of a fish used among fellow Christians as a secret sign of their faith. “I saw the edict.”

  “My body is unimportant.”

  “Yes it is!”

  Tiberius smiled, patting his son’s hand. “I know, I know. But the body of Longinus is far more important. His body must be preserved until such a time as the followers of Jesus’ teachings no longer have to cower in fear.”

  “But how?”

  “Nobody knows I’m a Christian. Move Longinus’ body to my grave where he may rest in peace, then treat mine as his, moving it should it become necessary. Should it be found and burned, then so be it; Longinus will have been saved. And should it be preserved until a day in which Christianity thrives, the truth shall be revealed should it be God’s will.”

  A shooting pain shot up his side causing him to gasp and wince. He felt his son’s grip tighten. “Father!”

  He took several slow, tentative breaths, then when he was confident the pain had gone, tried to forget the jolt of reality, his body rapidly weakening as he continued to bleed. He pulled his son closer. “Did I ever tell you of how I first met Longinus?”

  His son smiled, sitting on the side of his bed. “Many times, Father, but I’d love to hear it again.”

  Tiberius brought his son’s hand to his mouth and kissed it.

  “One last time then.”

  Outside the Basilica of Sant’Agostino, Rome, Italy

  Present Day

  Kaufman rarely felt fear, but he had to admit there was a slight tightness in his chest that some might interpret as such, but he thought it was more likely disappointment.

  Disappointment in himself.

  He had screwed up, there was no other way to put it, and now his employer, a man he only knew as Dietrich, had called for an update.

  “Something’s wrong, sir. The phone went quiet for almost five minutes, absolutely no sounds. The Vatican Inspector General, Giasson, read our last text message and knows something is going—”

  “You mean your last text message,” replied Dietrich. “You were foolish to send it.”

  “Yes, sir.” There was no point in denying it. He shouldn’t have sent it, but hindsight was always twenty-twenty and he had weighed the risks in sending it when he did, siding with the dramatic chilling effect the text would have on his targets. He hadn’t anticipated the text being read by the man sitting in the front seat of the car. “They refused to answer any questions, and at the time I was confident they weren’t aware of the software we planted on his phone, but now with this unexplained silence, I think they just might.”

  “So we’ve lost our best source of intel thanks to your screw up.”

  “They don’t seem to be shy about talking, sir. In fact, they’ve just discovered where they think the body is.”

  “Why didn’t you inform me?”

  “They just made the discovery moments before you called. I was prepping an email.”

  “Where, dammit, where?”

  “Some place called Mantua. I Googled it and it’s in northern Italy, about four to five hours from here by car.”

  The front doors of the basilica opened and Giasson exited along with several of his men followed by the professor and the students. Two cars pulled up and the entourage climbed inside, Giasson scanning the area, his eyes coming to rest on him.

  “Oh shit!”

  Kaufman shoved in the brake, pressing the button on the dash to start the car as Giasson began to shout, pointing at the car and waving at his men to advance. He slammed his car in gear, cranking the wheel as he checked his side mirror for traffic. Removing his foot from the brake he shoved down on the gas pedal, sending the car surging into the light traffic as he reached for the Uzi 9mm on his passenger seat. Grabbing it, he pointed it out the window and squeezed the trigger, spraying several dozen rounds within a few seconds at the pavement, sending his pursuers scattering for cover.

  Tossing the weapon back on the seat, he made a hard left and lost himself in the traffic.

  Oh shit!

  He grabbed his phone from between his legs and put it to his ear.

  “—is going on?”

  “Sorry, sir, they made me and I had to make a quick exit.”

  “Did I hear gunfire?”

  “Yes, sir. Don’t worry, no i
njuries.”

  “I don’t give a damn about that. You’ve been made and they know about our eavesdropping.”

  “Not to worry, sir.”

  “Don’t tell me not to worry! It’s my father’s life that’s on the line here!”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. What I meant was that they made me. My partner is still in position. They’re not going anywhere without us knowing exactly where.”

  Kruger Residence, Outside Paris, France

  “I have to talk to you.”

  Laura opened her eyes, Dr. Heinrich’s whispered tone suggesting urgency. She felt around the bed for the control, finally finding it and pushing the button to put her in a more raised position as the doctor stepped back outside of the curtains, as if checking to make sure they were alone. “What is it?”

  “I think we’re leaving soon,” he said, checking her bandage. “I don’t know what they intend to do with you, but…”

  He didn’t finish his sentence, but she was pretty sure what he wanted to say.

  He feared the worst.

  He had already expressed his fears that Dietrich was unstable and it was clear he had no trouble with killing.

  And if they’re leaving…

  Was she a loose end that needed to be tied up?

  Heinrich reached into the pocket of his lab coat. “Here’s your phone. I’m going to put it under your pillow.” He held up a set of car keys. “This is the key to my car. It’s parked at the back of the house. A green Fiat. You can’t miss it, it’s the cheapest thing there. If things look bad, go out the door into the hallway. Go to your right to the end of the hall, down the stairs to the ground floor, then turn right. Follow the hall about half way, there’s a door there.”

  Laura shifted her body as a test of her wound and winced. “I don’t know if I can make it that far.”

  “You might have to. I’ve programmed the GPS in my car for the nearest hospital. It’s not far, maybe fifteen minutes. If you can get yourself there, even if you tear open your wound, they’ll be able to save you.”

  Laura’s heart was pounding hard now, his fear infectious. It was clear he truly felt this was her only option, but she didn’t understand why he would be going to such risks to help her. “What will they do to you if they find out you’ve helped me?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve been ordered to move Herr Kruger and I’m not sure he’ll survive much longer. If he dies, I’m probably dead.” He sighed. “This has all come on too suddenly for poor Dietrich. He wasn’t ready.” He pushed the phone and the key under her pillow. “Be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Stay awake if you can.”

  Laura nodded, reaching out to grab his arm as he turned away. “Why are you doing this?”

  Heinrich patted her hand then squeezed it. “Because I took an oath to save lives, not take them.”

  Church of Santa Maria del Gradaro, Mantua, Italy

  “I’m afraid you’ve come a long way for nothing.”

  Acton frowned, the attitude of the priest frustrating, he having made them wait almost half an hour before ‘gracing’ them with his presence.

  He was the complete opposite of Father Albano who had been a joy to work with.

  This one gives priests a bad name.

  “As I tried to explain—”

  Once again Father Ricardo cut him off. “Yes, yes, you’re looking for the body of Saint Longinus. And as I have told you, he is not here. Yes, this church was built on the very ground where he is thought to have been buried two thousand years ago, but I can assure you, if he is here, his body has been long lost. The church was built on top of where it was thought he was buried. On. Top. Even if it were true that he was actually buried here, you’d never be able to get to the body.”

  Acton sucked in a long, slow breath, calming himself. “As I’ve tried to—”

  “I’m sorry, but I really don’t have—”

  “His Holiness sends his regards, and would appreciate your cooperation in this matter.”

  Giasson’s words took the arrogant wind out of Father Ricardo’s sails. “His Holiness?”

  Giasson nodded. “Yes. He has personally approved this research expedition. I’m certain he would expect your full cooperation.”

  “Oh of course, of course, absolutely. I meant no disrespect, it’s just that I deal with this a dozen times a week, pilgrims finding out on the Internet that Longinus is buried here, when he is not, and it just gets, well, frustrating.”

  “I can understand that,” replied Acton. “What if I told you we’re not looking for the body of Longinus?”

  “But you said—”

  “If you’d let me finish, I’d have told you we were looking for the body of Tiberius.”

  Father Ricardo’s eyebrows rose up his forehead as his jaw dropped. “Tiberius,” he muttered, repeating it several times before spinning on his heel and rushing deeper into the church.

  “Should we follow him?” asked Terrence.

  Acton held out his hand. “I’m thinking ‘yes’.”

  They quickly followed the spry priest through the chapel and out a side door, lush green greeting them, the late afternoon sun still warm on the skin despite the cool temperatures. They found the priest standing in front of a stone marker on the ground, the writing on it almost worn away from years of weather. It was one of about a dozen in a row along the outer wall.

  The priest turned to Acton, all signs of arrogance and impatience wiped clean. “Why do you seek the grave of Tiberius?”

  Acton pulled the rubbing he had taken of the tablet buried with the body in Rome from his satchel. “We found this in the Basilica of Sant’Agostino.”

  The priest eagerly read it, the significance not lost on him as his curled finger tapped against his lips. “Oh my, oh my.” He paused, looking at the marker. “Oh my.” He looked up at Acton. “Basilica of Sant’Agostino, where he was rumored to have been buried?”

  Acton nodded, smiling. “Yes. We found a record that they had the body, but later discovered it wasn’t Longinus, instead it was a man named Tiberius. We found the body in the catacombs. This tablet was in with the body.”

  “And you came here.” His words were whispered, he clearly in awe at the significance of what this discovery might mean. He looked down at the marker. “You’re suggesting that rather than the body of Tiberius being buried here, it is actually Saint Longinus himself?”

  Acton looked down at the marker, the name Tiberius barely visible. He felt his pulse quicken in excitement as he realized he might actually be standing on Longinus’ grave. He looked at the priest and smiled, nodding. “We think so. With your permission—”

  “Of course! Of course! We dig!”

  CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  “I’ve got that guest list, boss!” Marc Therrien waved his tablet as he stepped into Leroux’s office. “I just emailed it to you.” He dropped into a chair, his fingers flying over the screen as Leroux checked his email.

  “Have you begun running them?”

  “Yup. It’s quite the list though. Hundreds.”

  Leroux nodded, scanning the list quickly. “We should eliminate the women.”

  “Never!”

  Leroux looked at Therrien, puzzled for a second at his outburst, then chuckled, turning back to his screen.

  “And he had a German accent, so let’s just see if we can find…” His eyes flew down the list, coming to rest on one of the names. “Here’s one. Dietrich Kruger, Vice President of Kruger Pharmaceuticals.”

  Therrien’s fingers tapped away and moments later he was holding up his tablet. “Kruger Pharmaceuticals, based in Paris, France, moved almost twenty years ago from Germany.”

  “Odd.”

  “According to their Wikipedia entry, tax incentives.”

  Leroux’s fingers were also busy searching for images related to the company. “There!” He pointed at his screen, a photo of some ribbon cutting dated almost twenty years ago showing the Pr
esident of the company with a large group of dignitaries opening the new plant in France.

  And standing beside the man were his wife and young son.

  “Could that be young Dietrich?”

  “Must be.” Leroux isolated the boy’s face, sending it over to an aging program that quickly began its work. As the image slowly morphed in front of them, Therrien rose from his seat, leaning in closer and closer.

  “My God, it’s got to be him.”

  The machine beeped, the final image displayed.

  And if it weren’t for the different hairstyle, it would be a near spitting image of the man in the photo provided by Mai Trinh, and the surveillance footage from Vienna.

  “We’ve got him.”

  Church of Santa Maria del Gradaro, Mantua, Italy

  Acton’s back was breaking, sweat soaking through his shirt, the chill in the late afternoon air making its presence felt every time he paused to take a break. As they dug deeper and deeper Father Ricardo revealed that according to legend the graves and their markers had been discovered when the original church had been built centuries before, and placed on the surface in the exact spots they had been found.

  We might be just digging a hole to China.

  Acton kept his thoughts to himself, not wanting to dampen the spirits of Terrence and half a dozen volunteers, mostly altar boys, who were eagerly shoveling away at the dirt, the excitement of possible discovery fueling them.

  The distinctive sound of a shovel hitting stone caused everyone to stop.

  “Did you find something?” asked Jenny, frustrated at not being allowed to dig, her husband wisely putting his foot down, the risk of the hole, now almost ten feet deep, collapsing in on itself genuine.