“You did good, hon. Two weeks ago I would have been carrying you up half that.”
She nodded, pointing at the door. “Let’s go before I have time to think about taking you up on that offer.”
Reading went ahead and joined Giasson, already at the doors and talking to an Italian State Police officer, one of two at the doors. As they entered the building, Giasson joined them and they made their way to the lab, Rinaldi having already made it to the doors and back at least twice, urging them forward like a child desperate to get his mother to the ice cream truck before it pulled away.
Acton looked at Giasson, motioning toward the doors behind them and the two officers. “Problems?”
Giasson shook his head. “Not at all.” He nodded to the doors ahead of them. “Four more. See, perfectly safe.”
Acton looked to find four more State Police stationed outside the lab. One of them approached Giasson. “Inspector General, it is good to see you.”
“Likewise. Where is Chief Inspector Riva?”
“He has been unavoidably detained and placed me in command. I assure you we are quite secure.”
Mario nodded, smiling slightly as Rinaldi opened the doors. “I have no doubt. Carry on.”
They entered the lab and Acton flashed back to the last time he had been at the university, examining what had been found in a Templar knight’s sarcophagus. It had touched off worldwide chaos. He couldn’t possibly imagine how this portrait could compare, however four were already dead because of it.
It simply made no sense.
“Oh my!” whispered Laura in awe as she pointed to one of the large displays showing an enlarged image of the drawing. It was a rather plain self-portrait by some standards, though the deftness of the chalk lines showed a steady, practiced hand at work, an artist who knew exactly what he wanted to put on paper, there nothing extraneous in his delivery, every line serving a purpose.
And the eyes.
The eyes were incredible. There was something about the way da Vinci did the eyes in his masterpieces that Acton could always feel at his core. Deep, pained, wise.
“Incredible.”
Reading nodded as he stared at the monitor. “How old is it?”
“About five hundred years if it’s genuine,” replied Acton.
“I think it is.”
Everyone turned to Laura, Rinaldi jumping up and down on his toes. “You see it, don’t you?”
She nodded, pointing at the bottom right of the image. “It’s his signature.”
“Exactly! I read your email last night and checked for it, and sure enough, it was right where you said it should be.”
“And right where it wasn’t in the one I examined in 1998.” She glanced at Rinaldi. “And the paper?”
“It appears genuine, however a sample has been taken for carbon dating. But I’m optimistic.”
Laura nodded, peering through one of the scopes to get a closer look, one of the displays changing to show everyone else what she was seeing. She rose. “I agree.”
Rinaldi looked at her, holding his breath, then turning away, as if he were afraid to ask the question he was about to ask. “Didn’t you, I mean…”
“Didn’t I authenticate the portrait in Turin as genuine?”
A burst of air escaped Rinaldi’s mouth as he nodded. “Yes.”
Laura glanced at Acton who shrugged. “I think it’s safe to break your confidentiality agreement now.”
She smiled. “I guess so.” Turning to Father Rinaldi, Acton could see the relief sweep over his wife as she visibly relaxed, as if a weight she had been carrying for years had just been lifted. “Actually, I didn’t. In fact, none of us did. We declared it a forgery almost immediately.”
“Then why has it been publicized as genuine? I mean, they’ve spent millions preserving it!”
“I was just a student, but we had all signed non-disclosure agreements. When we discovered it was a fake we were sworn to secrecy otherwise we’d all be sued. Being young and naïve, I went along with what my professor dictated. Believe me, Father, it’s something I’ve been ashamed of for most of my adult life.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He pointed toward the drawing sitting under a high-resolution camera. “But now the truth can be told.” He turned to Giasson. “You realize how much this is worth? It’s priceless!” Father Rinaldi began to pace. “If this falls into the wrong hands, it could be worth millions, perhaps tens of millions. Especially if someone believes the legend.”
Giasson’s eyes narrowed. “What legend?”
“That if one stares into the eyes of the portrait, one is imbued with great power.”
“Ridiculous.”
Reading snorted. “I find it impossible to accept that people would believe in such nonsense.”
Acton spun toward the door as shouts erupted from the other side. Gunfire shattered the calm of the university and he instinctively reached out and drew his wife behind him as he put himself between the woman he loved and the violence he knew was about to descend upon them. Reading leapt to his feet, positioning himself beside Giasson who was now standing between them and the doors.
They burst open and Acton closed his eyes, allowing a held breath to escape, two police officers entering.
Thank God!
Clearly, whatever had happened outside these walls had been thwarted, Giasson’s precautions seeming prescient now that it was over. He had been right to be nervous all along. Four were dead already, so somebody felt this drawing was worth killing for, and with the Keepers of the One Truth involved, he knew these men were capable of anything.
The two police officers raised their weapons, pointing them at Giasson and Reading.
Laura drew in a quick breath behind him and he took a step back, feeling her body press against his.
Footsteps outside the doors echoed through the halls and into the lab, the pace slow and deliberate, as if the person had no concerns of being caught.
And why should they. The police are on their side!
A tall man appeared, quite tall to be seen over the imposing figure of Reading, Giasson himself no small man. The man appeared Scandinavian. Blonde, blue eyes, chiseled features.
With a slightly maniacal look in the eyes.
I wonder what da Vinci would make of him.
The new arrival pointed at the portrait on the lab table and snapped his fingers, one of the officers moving toward it. Giasson blocked him, holding out his arms. “This is the property of the people of Italy.”
A slight smile broke out on the blonde man’s face then he suddenly drew a weapon from a shoulder holster and shot Giasson. The Vatican Inspector General spun then collapsed to the tile floor with a cry, Laura moving to help him, Acton holding his arm out, keeping her in place.
“You are mistaken. It is the property of the Führer.”
Führer!
Acton’s mind reeled as Reading placed himself between the man and Giasson, who lay on his back, gripping his shoulder. “Take it, it’s not worth dying for.”
The man raised his weapon, conceding Reading’s point with a slight bow. He flicked the weapon and the guard resumed his track for the portrait. This time Acton’s feet carried him almost irresistibly forward, blocking the guard’s path.
The gun was aimed at him.
“Another fool?”
Acton shook his head. “No, but it’s priceless. At least let me package it properly. It will only take a minute.”
The weapon was raised again and the man nodded, Acton hiding his sigh of relief as he and Laura rushed to the table. The paper it had been wrapped in was to the side, awaiting analysis. He grabbed it and wrapped it around the unframed portrait, using the creases that had lasted seventy years. Laura held up the crate as he carefully slid the portrait inside.
Then he did something that he couldn’t believe.
With his back to their assailants, he fished his cellphone out of his front pocket and slid it into the crate, Laura’s eyes bulging slightly bef
ore she caught herself. She handed him the top of the crate and he tacked it in place. He lifted the package and handed it to the police officer who immediately headed out the door.
The blonde man’s heels clicked together and he bowed slightly.
Just like Acton would expect a good Nazi to do.
The man looked at each of them, his eyes finally coming to rest on Reading.
“I bid you good day. But should you follow us, more will die.”
Outside Sapienza University, Rome, Italy
Obersturmbannführer Franz Hofmeister climbed calmly into the passenger seat of the awaiting Audi A8, the engine already revving as his driver waited for Hofmeister’s boot to clear the pavement.
It did.
And the car leapt forward, the door shutting itself from the force. An SUV ahead of them with his two accomplices peeled right as his driver turned left. The sound of a siren had him peering in the side view mirror to see if they were being pursued when the driver spoke.
“Ahead of us.”
Hofmeister looked to see a police car, lights flashing, careen onto the street ahead of them, racing toward them. He held his breath as his driver pulled over to the right along with the other traffic.
And the squad car blew past them.
They were safe.
He turned in his seat, looking at their passenger in the rear. “It was exactly as you said.”
“I have never lied to you.”
Hofmeister frowned. “But you have failed us.”
The man shook his head. “No, your men failed. I told you exactly where and when the drawing would be and your men were late, then overreacted. All they had to do was wait for them to leave the Vatican grounds, then take them quietly as was the original plan. If they had, then we could have avoided all this nonsense and the involvement of the authorities. Idiocy! Incompetence!”
Hofmeister felt his blood begin to boil. “You forget your place.”
“My place is at God’s side, and his is more powerful than your Führer ever was.”
“We will see.”
“An abomination of science is still just a man, not a god. I serve our Lord and savior. The only reason I’ve agreed to help you in your own mission is your promise to me.”
Hofmeister checked his emotions, the fire in the man’s eyes clearly enough for both of them. “And it is a promise we will honor.”
The man raised a finger, a finger Hofmeister would have broken off if it were anyone else. “You better, or you will face the wrath of our organization and the Church itself.”
Hofmeister smiled. “Do not worry, my friend. When the Fourth Reich is established, the Catholic Church will stand by its side, the only permitted religion in the new world order.”
“And St. Peter’s soldiers will ensure you keep your word.”
Sapienza University, Rome, Italy
Reading had already called 112, the Italian equivalent of 911, as Acton and Laura leapt to Giasson’s side. Reading hung up the phone and stepped out into the hallway to check on the four officers down in the hallway. Acton was pretty sure the two who had betrayed them were the two stationed at the front entrance to the building. They had clearly ambushed the four at the door.
They never stood a chance.
“How do you feel?” asked Laura as she pressed Acton’s handkerchief over the wound.
“I’ll live.” Giasson winced at the pressure.
Acton rolled up his jacket and placed it under Giasson’s head. “This is starting to become a habit with you.”
“Only when you two are around.”
Acton laughed, as did Laura, Giasson starting to join in before he decided the pain wasn’t worth it. Acton patted his shoulder. “Take it easy. No more comedy.”
Sirens sounded outside and Reading returned, going to the window and peering outside. “Police are here.”
Acton frowned. “They were here before and that didn’t help us.”
“We’ve been betrayed,” said Giasson through clenched teeth.
Reading grunted. “Yes, but by who? Who knew?”
Giasson looked at Reading, shaking his head. “It’s a short list, I assure you.”
Footsteps pounding on the marble in the hallway had them all turning toward the sound, Father Rinaldi rising from saying prayers, as Acton was sure they all wondered whether these police were truly on their side.
Four men burst inside, guns drawn, orders shouted in Italian, the waving of guns the only translation anyone needed to get their asses on the ground and their hands up.
Another man entered, shouting at the officers who immediately raised their weapons. He snapped his fingers, directing two of them to Giasson’s side.
“He needs an ambulance immediately,” said Laura, still on her knees, hands clasped behind her head. Acton watched her, concerned, sweat beading on her upper lip, her entire body trembling.
“Yes, ma’am, one is arriving as we speak.” The man in charge looked at Giasson. “Are you okay, my friend?”
Giasson stared at him, his eyes narrowed slightly, giving Acton the distinct impression he didn’t trust the man. “What are you doing here? I thought you were ‘unavoidably detained’.”
“I’m here now. What happened?”
Paramedics rushed into the room, the police relinquishing their efforts to the trained personnel. The man in charge motioned for everyone to get to their feet. “You aren’t under arrest. Please, stand.” He turned to the paramedics. “How is he?”
“The bullet went straight through, just hit muscle. Lots of blood, but he’ll be okay.”
Acton squeezed Laura’s hand in relief as Giasson was lifted onto a stretcher. He held up a hand. “Wait.” He motioned for Reading to come closer, then whispered something in his ear before dropping back down on the stretcher. “Okay, let’s go.”
The officer in charge turned toward the others as his officers exited the room, kneeling beside their fallen comrades. “I’m Chief Inspector Riva. Who is Agent Reading?”
Reading stepped forward. “I am.”
“Good, a fellow law enforcement officer. What happened here?”
Reading gave him a quick summary of the events.
“And they took the portrait?”
“Yes.”
“And you have no idea who?”
Reading shook his head. “None.”
“Nothing was said that might give us a clue where to start?”
“No.”
Acton hid his surprise, the reference to Führer certainly enough to give the police a starting point. Reading wasn’t cooperating, which was completely out of character for him. Which meant Giasson must have whispered something to him that had him doubting whether or not this man could be trusted.
“That’s unfortunate.” He slapped the side of his leg, shaking his head. “Well, I’ll need statements from all of you, of course, but then you’re free to return home.”
Reading nodded. “Of course.”
“Just as soon as we know Mario is okay,” said Laura, her voice conveying the fact she was going nowhere unless she decided it was time.
The man didn’t hide his displeasure very well.
“Of course.”
Leaving Rome, Italy
Obersturmbannführer Franz Hofmeister sipped his schnapps as he waited for the call to connect, he now occupying the rear seat of the Audi A8, their guest dropped off earlier. Yesterday’s operation had been an unmitigated disaster, yet today’s had gone off perfectly.
“Hold for the Doctor.”
Hofmeister put his drink in a cup holder and straightened himself out of habit.
“Obersturmbannführer, report.”
The man’s voice was curt, rather high pitched, and terrifying. It was a voice he had been hearing since he was a boy, since he had begun his indoctrination. He was the third generation, the Doctor the second, the adopted son of the great Mengele himself.
A man who attacked his work with the same zeal as one of Nazi Germany’s greate
st gifts to medical science.
If only we had had more time!
He often chuckled at the debate over killing civilians in war. Tens of millions had died in World War II, and to the Allies’ credit, there was no shortage of victims at their hands. What people conveniently forgot so many years later was that this war was a race against time. The Allies couldn’t wage a slow war, protecting every civilian. If they had taken just another six months to win, Germany’s scientists would have won the ultimate race.
The race for the atomic bomb.
And the war would have ended just as quickly as it had in the Pacific.
The Allies couldn’t risk losing the race, so innocent people had to die in order that the majority could live.
He respected them for that.
As did Mengele.
He had been privileged enough to have dinner with the man, and he outlined how he would deal with a modern threat like ISIS.
“Carpet bomb the entire area, killing every last man woman and child. The innocents that live there are dying anyway, the women are being raped, the children sold into slavery, the men forced to fight or die. These people would rather be dead than to live another day under that black flag. Kill them all, put them out of their misery, and in the process, eliminate the threat.” Mengele had sliced off a particularly rare piece of his steak, blood dripping onto his plate as he stabbed the air with his fork. “And it will have the added benefit of warning anyone in the future how they will be dealt with should they defy us.”
It had been an exceedingly enjoyable dinner. His excitement at being there had meant he barely appreciated the delicacies served. It wasn’t the food that was the draw. It was the company. Mengele rarely granted audiences, he now quite old. It was his son that directed most of the day-to-day activities, he having followed his father into the biomedical field and was, by all accounts, a genius.
If only we had won, the world would be such a better place.
Men and women would be living in space, on the moon, on Mars even. The world would be at peace, Germania ruling it all.
“Sir, I have the portrait.”
Saint Peter's Soldiers (A James Acton Thriller, Book #14) Page 8