Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Acton looked up at her. “Give us a minute.” He looked at the two altar boys who were in the hole with them. “Let’s take it easy now. Hands and buckets only.” They began scooping handfuls of dirt into buckets that were then pulled out of the hole, it too deep to throw it out with the shovel. Within minutes they had revealed the outer edge of a stone sarcophagus, Terrence and Acton exchanging excited grins as the brushes appeared, every speck of soil quickly cleared off the top.

  Revealing nothing.

  “Odd,” observed Acton. “No engravings, nothing.”

  “Maybe on the sides?” suggested Terrence.

  “Could be, but that’s going to take a lot more digging. Let’s get this top off first and see what’s inside.”

  Crowbars were handed down along with several two-by-fours. Acton and Terrence each jammed their crowbar into the seam as all six altar boys lifted the one edge with all their might.

  Acton’s bar slid in. “Got it! Now let’s get that board wedged in there.” He pushed down on the bar, the top lifting slightly, two of the boys pushing the board into the opening. “Not too far! Watch your hands!”

  They quickly let go of the board and Acton let up on the crowbar, the heavy lid biting into the wood, a musty smell of more than a millennia of rot escaping.

  He loved that smell.

  It meant untouched ancient wonders, unplundered by thieves, unspoiled by mother nature.

  It meant hope.

  They made quick work of propping up the other end, then the other side, heavy ropes slid through either side, the ends tied off and handed to those standing above.

  “Okay, everyone out except for Terrence. I don’t want to risk this thing slipping on anyone. Terrence, stay at the far end, watch your feet. We’re going to let those on the ropes do the heavy lifting, then when they’ve got the one side up, we’ll push it over so that it rests against the dirt. Be careful, it might come sliding back at us and this thing is heavy enough to do some serious damage.”

  “Be careful, Terrence!”

  “I will, love, I will.” He lowered his voice. “If I get hurt, I’ll never hear the end of it. ‘You should have let me do it, you’re the clumsy one!’.”

  Acton chuckled, the Jenny impression spot on.

  “I heard that!”

  “Of course you did, love!”

  Acton looked up at those on the ropes. “Okay, we need to do this together, evenly. On the count of three, I want you all to heave. If anyone thinks they’re going to lose their grip, speak up right away, and everyone gently ease off and let the lid lower again. We don’t want any sudden drops. Understood?”

  Giasson was translating and a chorus of si’s responded.

  “Okay, one, two, three, heave!”

  The ropes became taught as a chorus of grunts erupted from above, the heavy stone slab not moving at first, then finally, ever so slightly, it rose an inch, then another, Acton shoving several more boards in the gap just in case it had to come back down.

  But it didn’t.

  The long edge closest him rose in a jerking motion, tilting toward the opposite side, and in less than a minute was past the 45 degree mark. “Okay, now,” he said to Terrence, both of them taking a hold of the lid and shoving toward the other side. It tipped quickly now, the extra bit of manpower sending it sliding over the lip and falling against the earthen wall of the hole with a thud. “Okay, that’s enough!” He surveyed the walls towering above them, making sure nothing was going to cave in on them, when Terrence cried out.

  “Professor!”

  Acton looked down at the now open casket, his mouth agape, his heart slamming in his chest with excitement at the sight before them. A man, wrapped from head to toe just like Tiberius had been, was laid out in the sarcophagus, his left hand clasped over his chest with the distinctive outline of a stone tablet underneath.

  And tucked into the sarcophagus on his left side was an earthenware jar, a wax seal on the top, the legends suggesting that if this were indeed Longinus, then this container may very well hold the sponge he helped clean the body of Christ with.

  And on the other side, gripped tightly in his wrapped right hand was the shaft of a spear, and near the head of the former soldier, the metal spearhead, still intact.

  The Spear of Destiny!

  He grabbed Terrence by the shoulder, shaking him several times, saying nothing. He pulled a pair of scissors from his pocket and carefully cut the wrappings as everyone above lay down on the ground, their heads hanging over the edge as they watched history unfold, the lights set up earlier supplemented now by the flashes from cellphones as the young boys documented the experience.

  The tablet revealed, he gently removed it from the two thousand year old grip, brushing the dust from it, making sure his eyes didn’t focus on the writing, he wanting to preserve the moment of discovery for when it could be completely read.

  He held it up so Terrence could see it as well and translated the Latin loudly so all above could hear.

  “Here lies Longinus, Christian martyr, witness to the crucifixion of our Lord, healed by the blood of our savior, and friend to my father Tiberius. May God forgive our deception.”

  Cheers erupted from above, hands clapped and Acton put his arm around Terrence, squeezing him sideways, it the best hug he could give. He placed the tablet in a bucket and it was gently pulled up, then the jar which he left unopened.

  Leaning over, he carefully cut through the bandages holding the spear in the right hand, then with a silent prayer of forgiveness, opened the fingers, one by one, until the spear could be slid free. He felt an electricity flowing through him, an overwhelming rush of faith renewed as he held in his hands what had until moments ago been mere myth, legend, a single-line reference in a text written almost two millennia ago, an oral tradition not written down for centuries now proven true.

  He was overwhelmed, and for a moment forgot why he was here, what had driven him to this discovery.

  Instead, he was lost in the excitement, and it wasn’t until he turned to Terrence and realized it wasn’t Laura, that the excitement was pushed aside and the resignation set in that this incredible discovery was about to be handed over to a madman in exchange for the life of his wife.

  But did he have that right?

  As he handed the spear up to Giasson, who handled it with equal reverence, he realized that this was a piece of history, a piece of history important to billions of people around the world, something that might be a direct link to the Son of God. He had little doubt this was the Longinus of legend. Carbon dating would help resolve some of the questions, at least confirming he was from the right era, and mineral testing of his bones might be able to show he was in Judea for an extended period of time, and when the wrappings were removed, it would definitely reveal whether or not he had been beheaded.

  The question that would remain was whether or not Longinus was actually there on that fateful day, though at this moment Acton had little doubt. If the carbon dating confirmed he was from the first century AD, then the tablet would predate any written reference to him, meaning it couldn’t be based upon any lore created centuries later.

  And it would be one of the earliest references referring to the crucifixion.

  But now wasn’t the time to debate what this discovery meant. He climbed up the ladder and into the fading sunlight, hands clapping him on the back as the celebrations continued, a group of people having already dropped to their knees, their hands clasped in prayer at the miraculous proof of their faith. Acton desperately wished Laura was here to take part, this something she would have loved, and the fact she wasn’t cast a pall over the entire proceedings as his internal debate raged on whether or not he had the right to give this spear to a madman who might destroy it.

  “We found it!” cried Terrence, hugging Jenny as he climbed out of the hole.

  “Yes you have.”

  Acton spun toward the voice, the German accent immediately recognizable. Two men stood not ten feet aw
ay, weapons raised, the man from the security footage in Vienna standing between them with a smile on his face.

  “Congratulation, Professor Acton. I have to admit, I never thought you would succeed, but it would appear that with the proper motivation, anything is possible.”

  “What is this?” asked Father Ricardo. “Who are you?”

  “Who I am is unimportant. What you have there, is.” He held out his hand, beckoning. “Hand it over.”

  Giasson looked at the spear then Acton, it clear he too was torn. Acton nodded slightly, there no choice now, his self-doubt at his right to decide the destiny of this spear solved for him at the point of a gun.

  Giasson stepped forward with the spear when Father Ricardo jumped in front of him. “No! You can’t do this! This belongs to the church, to Christians everywhere! It is a direct link to our Lord Jesus Christ, proof that He existed! It has the power to unite all those who have ever doubted His existence and bring peace to this world divided by competing beliefs.” He pointed at the spear. “This has the power to unite the divided, to save thousands of lives. Imagine what tomorrow will be like when the world learns of our discovery here today. If you give this sacred relic, this Blood Relic, to these men, nobody will believe what we found here, all that could be gained will be lost and evil will have triumphed once again.”

  The German began to clap, slowly, deliberately, an amused smile on his face. “I’ve never been described as ‘evil’ before. And though I admire your faith, I doubt this one spear will change the world.” His smile disappeared. “But it just might change mine.” He pulled his own weapon, aiming it at the priest, looking at Giasson. “If you want him to live, hand it over, now.”

  “I’m sorry, Father.” Giasson put a hand on the man’s shoulder, looking him in the eyes for a moment, Father Ricardo’s shoulders slumping in defeat as he stepped aside. Giasson held the spear out in front of him and the man stepped forward, taking it carefully then handing it to one of his men who immediately placed it into a case, sealing it inside.

  At least they seem to be treating it with care.

  “What about my wife?” he asked, stepping forward. “You promised me you’d free her if I found the spear.”

  “I will, once we’ve confirmed that this is indeed the genuine spear.”

  “But how will you do that?” asked Acton, exasperation entering his voice. “How can you possibly know?”

  The man smiled. “If it’s genuine, then it will have the blood of Christ on it. And if it has the blood of Christ on it, then it will heal my father.”

  His father!

  Now he finally knew what this was all about. This man’s father was the reason behind everything, a motivation he could understand, though not condone—the deaths of so many inexcusable.

  “But what if it doesn’t work?”

  “Then, Professor, I’m afraid your wife’s time will have run out.”

  Outside Paris, France

  Dawson looked at the laptop and shook his head. They had been roaming the countryside surrounding the cellphone tower for about an hour with no luck. They had successfully pinged the phone when they first arrived, but that had been the limit of their success.

  “Still nothing.”

  “Maybe it’s been turned off?” suggested Reading from behind the wheel.

  “Could be. If they have any inkling we’re getting close they might have implemented additional security protocols and shut down their unsecured communications.”

  Reading frowned as he made a turn. “Then this whole effort will be in vain.”

  Niner shoved his head between the seats, looking at the laptop. “Yeah, but at least we’re out of that damned hotel room.”

  Dawson’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He fished it out and took the call.

  “Speak.”

  “Mr. White, this is Leroux. We’ve identified the suspect!”

  Dawson smiled. “I’m going to put you on speaker.” He tapped the button. “You’re on with Mr. Reading and Mr. Green. Repeat what you just told me.”

  “We’ve identified the suspect. His name is Dietrich Kruger. Details on him are sketchy, but we’ve got an address for the family home, I’m sending it to your phone now.”

  Dawson read the text message and entered it into the car’s GPS.

  “Christ, that’s not even two minutes from here!” exclaimed Reading, checking his mirror before pulling a U-turn.

  “Excellent work,” said Dawson. “Notify the locals and have backup sent to that location immediately.”

  “Already done. They should be arriving on site within forty minutes.”

  Niner cursed. “Forty minutes? Even Dominos delivers faster than that.”

  “Best they could do, sorry.”

  Dawson grunted. “Forty minutes it is. White, out.”

  He ended the call as Reading drove past a large estate set a good distance back from the road, it well lit in the early evening light. “That must be it.”

  “Don’t slow down, we don’t want to draw any attention.” Dawson pointed to a thick grove of trees about a mile down the road. “Let’s park up there, toss the hood up and recon the area.”

  Reading nodded, keeping his speed steady then pulling over to the side of the road once they were safely out of the direct line of sight of the house. He pulled the hood release as they climbed out, Dawson grabbing a set of binoculars from a duffel bag in the backseat and heading to the trees. Taking a knee behind a thick oak, he peered across the manicured lawn at the house. “We’ve got a good angle on the front and left side.”

  Niner took a knee on the opposite side as Dawson heard Reading cursing at the hood, unable to find the latch for a moment. “Some activity near the two-three corner. Is that an ambulance?”

  Dawson adjusted his binoculars, nodding. “Yup. Looks private. They’re loading somebody in the back.”

  “Looks pretty sick. Definitely not our guy.”

  Reading crept up behind them. “Anything?”

  “We might have found the guy they’re trying to cure.” Dawson handed the binoculars to Reading who looked through them then nodded, handing them back.

  “Any sign of Laura?”

  “Negative. But it looks like they’re bugging out.”

  Niner rose, looking at his watch. “Our backup is still thirty-five minutes away. These guys are going to be long gone by then.”

  Reading nodded. “Either with or without Laura.”

  “If they take her with them, we may never find her again,” said Dawson.

  Niner turned, placing his back against the tree as he inspected his weapon. “And if they’re not taking her, they’re probably not leaving her alive.”

  Reading stood, concealed by the oak. “We have to go in, now.”

  Dawson looked at Reading. “Agreed. But covertly. We don’t know how many hostiles we’re dealing with and we can’t risk them killing Professor Palmer. We have to reach her before we’re discovered.”

  “And a big police operation is probably not the way to do that,” said Niner. He pointed to some hedges, about five feet tall, surrounding much of the house. “It’s almost dark. We can probably get to those trees without being noticed.”

  “Agreed. Let’s gear up.”

  They retreated to their SUV and quickly donned body armor, weapons and ammo. Within minutes they were performing a comm check.

  Dawson looked around, the sun almost set behind them. “Hugh, you and I will head in fast, low, single file. Niner, you’ll watch the upper windows, warn us if there’s any activity. If Niner spots anything, we drop and freeze until we’ve got the all clear, understood?”

  Reading nodded. “Let’s go before the police arrive and blow this whole thing.”

  Dawson immediately set out across the grass at a quick crouch. Reading was close behind, his breathing quickly getting labored as the older man struggled to keep up. Dawson had read his file and had tremendous respect for him, a decorated soldier from the Falklands War and a highly r
espected detective at Scotland Yard for years.

  But he was a little out of shape.

  A desk job and nearly sixty years on the old body will do that to you.

  He glanced slightly behind him but didn’t slow down. Reading could catch his breath once they reached the cover of the hedge, slowing down now only increasing the risk of being spotted.

  “Hold.”

  Dawson dropped to the ground at Niner’s warning, Reading grunting as he hit a moment later.

  “I’ve got activity, second floor, one-two corner.”

  Dawson looked and could see the window, lit, somebody crossing in front of it, then back again several times.

  Packing?

  “They won’t see you with that light on. Proceed.”

  Dawson jumped to his feet, sprinting the final twenty yards, still bent over, then dropped to a knee behind the hedge, turning back to find Reading still another ten yards out but closing fast.

  He dropped onto all fours, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. “I’ve got to get back in shape. Interpol is killing me.”

  Dawson smiled. “You’re doing fine. I do this all day every day and you kept up. Take a moment to catch your breath then we’ll go around to the back, see if we can find a way in there.” He activated his comm as he pulled out his binoculars. “We’re in position. I’ll cover you.”

  “Roger that.”

  Dawson glanced over his shoulder and could barely pick out Niner in the dusk. Raising his binoculars he scanned the windows, watching for any onlookers, finding none. Moments later Niner slid in beside them, barely breathing heavy.

  Dawson looked at Reading. “Good to go?”

  Reading nodded. “What I’d give to be twenty years younger.”

  “And as handsome as me,” added Niner.

  Reading shook his head. “No, I couldn’t stand to be so short.”

  Dawson punched Niner on the shoulder, hard. “Owned.”

  Niner dropped his head. “I need a hug.”