Saint Peter's Soldiers (A James Acton Thriller, Book #14)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Approaching Malpensa International Airport, Italy

  “What are these massive heat signatures?”

  Dawson and the others were examining satellite images of their target, sent to them by Langley. A senior analyst they had dealt with on several occasions, Leroux, was briefing them on the latest. “We think they’re extremely powerful computers. This facility is a medieval castle in outward appearances only. Inside it’s state of the art. They have their own generators plus a massive tap into the local grid, large data pipes plus satellite uplinks, along with quarters for several hundred, most of which appear to be occupied.”

  Dawson frowned, exchanging glances with the others. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  “As near as we can determine a significant proportion appear to be working at desks, so might not be trained in combat.”

  “Uh huh, somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better.” Dawson leaned back in his chair, pointing at the laptop. “This basically makes my idea a necessity.”

  “You’re a genius, BD!” cried Jimmy.

  “Tell the world!” shouted Niner.

  “What’s your plan?” asked Leroux.

  “I intend to use a scalpel rather than a sword.” He looked at the large heat signatures occupying almost half the structures within the castle walls. “Do we have any idea what these computers are doing?”

  “No, but we’ve been tracing shipments to the area and they’ve had an incredible amount of medical equipment shipped in over the years. Whatever it is, it’s probably biomedical in nature.”

  “Really?” asked Niner. “Then what the hell would they want an old painting for?”

  “We’re not sure, but my guess is this costs a fortune to run, and we can’t find any source of funding for whoever they are.”

  “So they’re financing it through art thefts?” Dawson pushed his lips out, drawing in a deep breath through his nose. “Possible, but I’ve got a feeling there’s more going on here than just art thefts.”

  “It’s the only thing we’ve been able to come up with. The owner is a mystery. It’s as if the man has never left the castle. His father is even more of a mystery. We can’t find any record of him before the end of the war. He paid for the castle with cash and he too was never seen since. All we know is he was apparently a German, based on his last name and a record scanned into the archives of a meeting between him and the town council at the time of purchase. It described a man who spoke near perfect Italian, with a Bavarian accent.”

  Dawson’s head bounced. “Uh huh, the birthplace of the Nazi Party. So what we’re probably dealing with is a man who was a Nazi, escaped with a new identity, well-funded, and is now doing something biomedical.”

  “His son.”

  “Right. A dynasty.”

  Niner shook his head. “That usually means zealots.”

  Spock sighed. “Which usually means a fanatical willingness to die for one’s cause.”

  Dawson frowned. “Lovely, that’s all we need.”

  Giasson Residence, Via Nicolò III, Rome, Italy

  Giasson sat upright in his bed. He had sent Marie-Claude and the children to the neighbor’s, just in case something went terribly wrong. Both groups he was dealing with were capable of killing, and what he was about to do could backfire horribly.

  The doorbell rang.

  Chief Inspector Riva rose from his chair at the foot of the bed. “That must be him. Ready?”

  Giasson nodded.

  Riva went swiftly to the front door, opening it, the alarm panel in the bedroom chirping.

  “Oh, hello, Chief Inspector, I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

  Giasson could barely hear his friend of many years, but enough carried for him to follow what was being said.

  “There’s been a break in the case. The Inspector General wanted to bring you up to date since he’s out of commission for a few days and you’ll be taking over.”

  “Of course, of course!”

  Mario swung his legs from his bed, pushing himself to his feet, his shoulder protesting slightly, though not much. He straightened himself and forced a smile on his face as the footsteps echoed through the halls and into the bedroom.

  His second-in-command, Gerard Boileau, appeared in the doorway, his face immediately one of surprise and concern, this the first time he had seen Giasson since the shooting.

  “Sir! How are you feeling?” He stepped forward and shook Giasson’s hand. “I took a moment to say a prayer for you last night. All of us did.” He looked at his boss, then the shoulder. “Should you be up?”

  Giasson smiled. “I appreciate that.” He stepped forward and tore open Boileau’s shirt. The man jumped back, shocked, his eyes wide, his jaw dropped.

  “What the hell is this?”

  Giasson jabbed a finger at the man’s chest, the discoloration obvious, the shape circular with four segments that jutted out, it obvious to him it was the scars from the Keepers’ tattoo being removed with a laser. “Explain that.”

  Boileau flushed, grabbing both sides of his shirt as he began to button it up. “A youthful indiscretion. I had it removed before I took the job with you.”

  “What was it?”

  “A cross. I was very religious. I am very religious. I thought I was going into the seminary but much to my mother’s disappointment, I liked girls too much.”

  Giasson held out his hand and Riva handed him the photo of one of the victims. “It wouldn’t happen to match this.”

  Boileau’s eyes narrowed as he leaned in to examine the photo. “Only in that it was a cross.”

  “Interesting.” Riva handed him the photo of the grandfather. He held it up. “And your grandfather?”

  Boileau paled noticeably.

  Giasson shook the photo in front of Boileau’s face. “We know it was you. We want to know why you did it, and who they are?”

  Boileau took a step back, looking about the room. Riva’s hand was resting on his gun. He tapped the grip. Boileau’s shoulders collapsed and he dropped into a chair, grabbing his head as he stared at the floor. He looked up at Giasson. “I’m sorry, Mario, I never thought I’d have to betray you, but they insisted.”

  “You could have said no.”

  Boileau shook his head. “No, I swore an oath to them long before I ever met you.”

  “The Keepers of the One Truth.”

  Boileau nodded.

  “And what do they want with the portrait?”

  “Nothing.” Boileau sat up, his eyes wide as if he were desperate to be believed. “The portrait was put under our protection during the Second World War. We thought it had been returned in 1998, but it turns out one of our members, the older victim, switched it out with a forgery that had been made as a decoy. He was dying of cancer so we assume was handing it off to a protégé he could trust.”

  “Why would he hide it from your organization?”

  Boileau shrugged. “I don’t know, I haven’t been made aware of everything. I just know that when they were killed, I received an emergency communique.”

  “Where you betrayed me. I was shot!”

  Boileau shook his head emphatically. “No, that wasn’t my fault. You have no idea how sorry I am for that, but nobody was supposed to get hurt. In fact, I don’t think any Keeper knew what was going to happen. You see, we had no plan for this. No one knew the portrait existed until that day.”

  “Somebody obviously had different plans.”

  Boileau nodded, his eyes returning to his shoes. “I know. All I did was tell my contact where the portrait was going to be taken, and when. That’s all I know. Remember, there was some doubt as to whether or not it was even real, and if it were, then why would we care? We thought we had returned it years ago. If that wasn’t the case, then it didn’t matter if you had it, since it meant it would eventually end up in the proper hands and we’d be done with it.” He looked back up at Giasson. “Sir, Mario, we had no reason to try and steal it back!”

  Giasson sat on the
bed, his energy spent. What Boileau was saying made sense. Too much sense. So much sense it seemed to him that there was no way the Keepers were responsible for the theft and murders at the university.

  But Boileau was clearly the source of the leak.

  Which meant only one thing.

  “You’ve got a mole within the Keepers.”

  Boileau’s eyes popped wide, his jaw dropping. “It—it would appear so.”

  Giasson drew in a breath, squaring his shoulders as he tried to appear as intimidating as he could from his seated position. “I want a meeting.”

  Boileau’s eyes narrowed. “With who?”

  “Your leader.”

  Boileau paled by several shades. “I—I don’t think that’s possible.”

  Giasson’s head dipped as he glared at Boileau.

  “Tell him I insist.”

  Hotel Dei Tigli, Angera, Italy

  Mr. Verde’s phone was sitting on the coffee table in the much smaller hotel room than Acton had become accustomed to since meeting Laura, it on speaker, Kane providing them with an update. Several duffel bags of supplies had been in the room facing the castle when they arrived, Acton continually impressed with how efficient Kane and his people were.

  Sometimes it is like the movies.

  Reading was already setting up a camera in the window with a view of the road that led up to the castle and Laura was in one of the other rooms, getting some much-needed rest.

  “Bravo Team is on the ground and on route. They should be there any minute. Do you see the black Dacia Duster across the street?”

  Verde went to the window. “Yes.”

  “That’s yours, keys should be on the counter.”

  Acton stepped over to the counter and picked them up, shaking them so Kane could hear. “Got them. Can you get word to Mario so he’s not worried about us?”

  “Already done. One of our people delivered a message this morning to him after he tried to call Laura’s phone.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That you are secure and will be in touch.”

  “He’s not going to believe that. Not with what’s going on.”

  “It will have to do.”

  Acton exchanged a glance with Reading, who didn’t look pleased.

  “Is he secure?” asked Reading.

  “Yes, there’s several state police at his residence.”

  Acton frowned. “We don’t know if we can trust them.”

  “He requested them, so he must feel confident.”

  Acton’s eyes narrowed, Reading turning away from the camera, staring at the phone. “That’s odd.”

  Acton nodded in agreement. “I wonder if he’s figured something out.”

  Verde interrupted. “Are those your guys?”

  Reading stepped over to the window, Verde pointing at the street below. Reading nodded. “Looks like three of Bravo Team just got here.”

  “Okay, guys, you’re in good hands. I’ll let you go. Keep me posted.”

  Acton leaned toward the phone. “Will do, Dylan. Thanks for everything.”

  There was a knock at the door as the call ended, and Acton opened it, smiling broadly as Dawson, Niner and Jimmy entered the room. Handshakes were exchanged and introductions made, most using an alias it seemed.

  Yet it didn’t matter.

  The cavalry had arrived, and for the first time since this had all began, Acton felt hopeful they might actually succeed in ending this.

  “I thought six of you were coming,” said Acton as everyone tried to find a place to sit in the cramped room.

  “I sent Atlas, Spock and Jagger to recon the perimeter. They’re playing tourist.”

  Niner grinned. “I picked up some pretty things for them to wear at the airport gift shop.”

  Jimmy chuckled. “I still can’t believe Atlas agreed to wear that hat.”

  Acton grinned. “Can’t wait to see it.”

  “No need, Doc.” Niner reached into a plastic bag and pulled out a boater hat, tossing it over, the colors of the Italian flag proudly encircling the top. “Got one for you.”

  Acton shook his head then tossed it on the table with a grin. “I’d pay good money to see Atlas in that.”

  Niner held up his phone, showing a picture of the big man in the hat, appearing none too pleased. “I’ll be charging five bucks a copy when the mission is over.”

  “Put me down for one,” said Jimmy.

  There was a knock at the door, gentle, and Acton knew immediately it was Laura. Verde opened the door and let her in, her smile brightening the room, everyone getting to their feet.

  “I thought I heard a ruckus.”

  Dawson smiled, extending a hand. “Hey, Professor, how are you?”

  Laura pushed it away and gave him a hug. “I think enough bullets have flown past both of us that we can be a little less formal.” Dawson awkwardly returned the hug and she moved to Jimmy, he a little more comfortable.

  Niner jumped to his feet, arms outstretched, an Ed Grimley pose awaiting her. “Lay it on me, Doc!”

  Laura laughed, giving Niner a hug, it returned enthusiastically. He glanced over at Acton and winked. “Never ever let her go, Doc, or I’m calling.”

  Laura leaned back and slapped him on the chest. “You’re too much.” She took a seat and everyone else got comfortable. “So where do we stand?”

  “Well, first, you need to know one thing about BD.”

  Laura looked at Niner. “What?”

  Dawson smacked his forehead.

  “He’s engaged!”

  Laura cried out in delight, jumping to her feet and giving the big man another hug, this time with a kiss on the cheek. “Maggie must be excited!”

  Dawson smiled awkwardly, it clear to Acton that Niner and Jimmy were thrilled with their comrade’s discomfort, and equally happy for him. Laura returned to her seat and Dawson held up a hand, his head bobbing, his eyes closed. “Okay, okay, we’ve got a job to do.” He opened his eyes, the boisterous Niner silenced. “In talking with Dylan I get the impression you and I are on the same page. Talk to me.”

  Acton jerked a thumb at the castle out the window. “It seems to me we need to eliminate the leverage we have over them.”

  “The fact you know where they are.”

  “Exactly. And short of erasing our memories, we need to make it so that we don’t know where they are.”

  “By forcing them to move.”

  “We are on the same page.”

  Dawson smiled. “Great minds think alike.”

  “He’s a professor, fool, don’t be getting cocky.”

  Dawson gave Niner a look then ran his finger across his throat.

  Jimmy slugged the wisecracker.

  Acton laughed, Laura giggling. “I’ve missed you guys,” she said.

  Niner was about to say something probably totally inappropriate when Dawson leaned over and slapped a hand over the man’s mouth. “So we need to make the castle no longer attractive for them to stay in.”

  Acton nodded. “Right. If they’re forced to leave, then we no longer know anything about them.”

  Dawson removed his hand from Niner’s mouth. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.” Niner’s mouth opened and Dawson aimed a finger at it. It snapped shut. He pulled out a laptop, handing it to Jimmy who booted it up. “We’ve come up with a plan that could work.”

  “Could?”

  “Could. It partially depends on how much the layout has changed since the last survey was done during the war.”

  “How accurate do you think they were?” asked Laura.

  “Very, at the time. The Germans had it surveyed as a potential regional command headquarters, so the plans are very detailed, but it’s been over seventy years.”

  “And if they’ve changed too much?”

  Dawson’s eyebrows rose, cocking his head to the side momentarily. “Then the plan might fail miserably.”

  “Is it risky?”

  Dawson nodded. “There’s
over two hundred people inside that complex, so I’m thinking, yes.”

  Acton shook his head. “I can’t ask you do to this. There has to be another way.”

  Dawson smiled. “Hey, we’re here.”

  “And I’m already bored,” added Niner.

  Dawson leaned forward. “Look, if it goes smooth, they’ll never know we were there until it’s too late.”

  Acton checked his watch. “I assume you’re planning on going in tonight?”

  Dawson shook his head. “No, for this to work, it has to be done in broad daylight.”

  Laura sat upright. “Really?”

  “Yes. The more eyes the better.”

  Rocca d'Angera Castle, Angera, Italy

  Atlas stared up at the morning sun, the blue sky overhead unmarred by even a wisp of cloud, the only spoiler of the near perfect canvas a contrail high above, a jetliner heading north. It was a beautiful day in a beautiful location.

  Vanessa would love this.

  Things with Vanessa were getting serious. Very serious. They had done the weekend getaways successfully, and were now talking something a little more risky.

  An actual vacation together.

  That meant plane tickets, a hotel room, and no way to escape each other should things go wrong. In the past, he had found it could help decide whether or not a relationship had a future. Couples who didn’t travel well together, didn’t last.

  And this vacation was long overdue.

  Between his job—which she knew nothing about—and her culinary classes, finding an actual week to go anywhere together had proven difficult.

  She had a two-week break coming up and he had already had it cleared with the Colonel.

  He was off.

  He just hadn’t told her yet because things could change so quickly in his line of work.

  Her time off was set in stone, and he was going to surprise her with tickets at the last minute—purchased with trip cancellation insurance just in case—and if all went well, they’d be jetting somewhere semi-exotic. His job meant a lot of the truly exotic was off limits unless parachuting in from the back of a military transport.