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

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “James, wait!”

  He glanced back to see Laura running after him, Reading and Verde behind her. She wasn’t as quick on her feet as she used to be, and he wanted to slow down for her, but there was no time.

  “I’ll meet you at the car!”

  He slammed through the doors to the stairwell and took the steps two at a time, bursting through the doors and into the small lobby, shocked guests staring in his direction. He pushed through the doors and out onto the street, pressing the button on the fob, the Dacia’s lights flashing as the doors unlocked. Yanking open the door, he jumped inside and fired up the engine, rolling the window down, urging the others to hurry as they finally emerged from the hotel.

  As they piled into the car, he activated the built-in GPS, a map of the city appearing, then floored it when the last door slammed shut. He turned left, there no choice, the police funneling everyone in that direction, which meant the man responsible for all this had the same lone option.

  He glanced at Reading.

  “Where would he be heading?”

  Reading looked at the GPS. “He’d be leaving town.” He scrolled the display and pointed. “Keep going straight. I’ll tell you when to turn left. That road will take us down to the highway. At that point we have no way of knowing where he went.” Reading twisted in his seat, looking at Verde. “Can you see if your guys have any eyes on him?”

  Verde nodded, immediately dialing, Acton laying on his horn as he blasted through the quiet town, passing the few vehicles, everyone holding on for dear life as the driving lessons Laura’s ex-SAS security team had taught him, paid off. Reading, a seasoned veteran of the police force, was checking right, calling out when it was clear and when it wasn’t, Acton paying attention to the left.

  They were making incredible time.

  “Is that him?” he asked, a car at the bottom of the hill they were on turning left.

  Reading nodded. “Same type of car, could be.”

  Acton hammered on the brakes, cranking the wheel hard, the traction control helping him hold the turn as he steered them onto the same road as the man responsible for so much misery over the past few days. He floored it, the car leaping forward, quickly gaining on the obviously unsuspecting target when he saw the man’s brake lights come on, speed quickly being trimmed.

  He hit his own brakes, not sure what was coming around the blind curve, and his jaw dropped as he rounded it, pushing the brakes to the floor. Ahead, a row of men on either side of the road, all in dark brown robes, hoods over their heads, were firing on the car ahead of them.

  “Jesus Christ!” exclaimed Acton as they came to a halt only inches from the bumper of the car they were pursuing. The car was stopped, all its tires flattened from the bullets, its driver apparently unscathed, his arms raised.

  Two of the monks—for that’s what they appeared to Acton to be—rushed forward, one smashing the driver side window then unlocking the door. They hauled the blonde man out and onto the pavement, quickly disarming him. The remaining monks redeployed, half moving farther down the road, half moving toward where Acton had just come, bringing traffic to a halt in each direction, just out of sight of the action.

  One of the two holding the blonde man motioned for Acton to get out of the car. Acton nodded, opening his door.

  “Are you sure?” asked Laura, reaching forward and grabbing his shoulder.

  Acton nodded, looking back at her. “This ends here, one way or the other.”

  She pursed her lips, nodding. “Okay. Be careful.”

  Reading opened his door and climbed out as Acton did. Acton looked at him, about to tell him to get back inside, when Reading gave him a look. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Acton nodded, walking over to the two men.

  “Professor James Acton?”

  He nodded.

  The man, his face cloaked by the hood of his robe, pointed to their prisoner. “He is yours to do with as you please.” He turned to walk away when Acton held out his hand.

  “Wait! Who are you?”

  The man turned back to face him then reached up, opening his robe at the top, revealing some of the tattoo Acton had come to know far too well.

  “Why are you helping us?”

  The man shook his head. “Everything will be explained later.”

  He turned and walked farther down the hill with the other, the blonde man on his knees, looking up at them.

  “We meet again.”

  The man smiled slightly, then pushed himself to his feet. “Yes, Professor, but you have signed your own death warrant. The, shall we say, administrator, of the castle has ordered your death.”

  Acton smiled. “And you, of course, will convince him otherwise.”

  The man smiled broadly, as if amused at Acton’s statement. “And why should I do this?”

  This was his chance, probably his one chance, to put an end to this. His one piece of knowledge was now useless. He had to convince this man of that so he could convince his superiors.

  There was no option for failure.

  “You know why. You’ve seen what I’ve been able to do. Do you think those who helped me will ever stop if you harm me? You brought this on yourselves when you messed with my family and friends. You wanted to ensure my silence, now you have it. I know nothing about you. I have no idea who you are or what you were doing. All I know is that the one piece of information I had, your location, is no longer of importance. My contacts have flooded the Internet and news channels with footage of this castle and what happened here today. Before the day is out, everyone in the civilized world will know the town of Angera and what happened here today.” He stepped closer to the man, staring in his eyes. “You know you can never return, therefore I have no leverage over you.”

  He stepped back, pointing up the hill toward the castle, partially visible, dust still rising into the sky. “You’ve seen the resources at my disposal. Should anything happen to me or anyone I care about, they will find you, they will kill you, and they will expose any secrets you may have.” Acton pointed a finger at the man’s chest. “Do we have an understanding?”

  The man simply stared at him, his face emotionless, before he finally spoke. “I will take your message to our leader.”

  “Good.” Acton pointed at their car, Verde and Laura now standing beside it. “Take it and go.”

  The blonde man nodded, wasting no time in getting in the car and driving away. Acton stepped to the side of the road, the cars that had been stopped moving again. Laura took his arm. “Do you think it’s over?”

  Acton shrugged.

  “Is it ever?”

  Santa Maria delle Concezione de Cappuccini Church, Rome, Italy

  Giasson stepped out of the car, Chief Inspector Riva having driven. It hadn’t taken long to get here, the drive uneventful, though he had to admit he felt exposed. Now that he knew who the traitor was, he still didn’t know the extent of the damage, or how far the infiltration into the Church went.

  His longtime friend and confidante, Boileau, sat in the backseat, defeated, saying nothing beyond muttered apologies since they had left for the meeting.

  And now they were here, and Giasson wasn’t even certain why he had wanted the meeting. What did he hope to accomplish? If the Keepers were truly a two thousand year old organization, what could he possibly hope to do? Ask them to disband? Ask them to leave the Church alone?

  Foolish notions.

  But he did have questions.

  Important questions.

  He had received word of what had happened in Angera and he was hopeful that the current crisis might be over, but only for Acton and his family.

  Not for him.

  He had to protect the Church.

  So he had to know what he was facing.

  He turned to Riva, then nodded at Boileau. “Stay with him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Giasson nodded, anything but. “I’ll be okay.”

  He headed into the church, it smal
l by the standards of which he had become accustomed, but was surprised to find it completely empty inside. He spotted the confessional and briskly walked toward it as instructed, his shoulder throbbing with his foolishness. Pushing the curtain aside, he took a seat, the screen immediately sliding open, the lattice preventing him from seeing anything on the other side.

  “Inspector General Giasson, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  Giasson frowned. “You know who I am, who are you?”

  “Who I am is no concern of yours. Just know that we are not enemies. We exist to protect the Church, as you do.”

  Giasson grunted. “You kidnapped a Pope and tried to kill him.”

  “A false Pope, as you are well aware.”

  “In your opinion.”

  “Yes, in our opinion, however that is irrelevant now. Just know that we are always watching, always ready to assist should you need us.”

  Giasson shook his head at the gall this man was displaying. “I don’t see myself ever taking you up on that offer.”

  “Indeed. I too hope it never becomes necessary as well, however should you need our help, simply ask Brother Gerard.”

  Giasson wasn’t sure the man had understood his point. “Monsieur Boileau won’t be working at the Vatican before the day is out.”

  “Is that a wise choice? He is a good man, and until today, a good friend to you. His loyalty is as yours is, to the Church. He never betrayed that trust. You cannot blame him for the actions of others.”

  And now was Giasson’s opportunity hopefully to get an answer to the question that all of them had been dying to know. “Who were these others?”

  “Nazis.”

  Giasson’s eyebrows popped, though he wasn’t sure he was actually surprised. “Nazis?”

  “Yes. They call themselves the Congress. They were created at the end of the Second World War, their mission to create the Fourth Reich.”

  Giasson shook his head. “Ridiculous.”

  “Don’t be so quick to dismiss their plans. They were able to influence several members of our order to betray their oath and help them in retrieving several religious artifacts.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “Those that betrayed us believe the chaos in the world today can only be solved by ironfisted rule, and when they learned of the existence of the Congress, they reached out to them, believing that the Fourth Reich is the best way to achieve peace. The one I interrogated just this morning told me he felt that only a modern group of Europeans, willing to exterminate entire races and religions, could bring order, and eventually peace.”

  “That’s madness!”

  “Indeed. Unfortunately, frustration runs deep in our order, the leaders of Christian nations too often apologists for the enemies of the Church. The Congress offered an alliance to our members, promising to give the Roman Catholic Church exclusive dominion over men’s souls in the new Fourth Reich.”

  “I would think that would go against the very teachings of the Church.”

  “Of course it does. Unlike one religion one cannot name without being labelled, Christianity has no imperative to rule the world, despite what some of our believers may have preached centuries ago. We simply want to live in peace, and guide those who choose to believe as we do.” There was a sigh from the other side of the screen. “Unfortunately, several of our order disagree.”

  Giasson winced as a jolt of pain raced up his shoulder and into his chest. “And how does this Congress hope to achieve their goals?”

  “Using modern medicine, they intend to perfect the genome, to create a true Master Race, then clone an army that will conquer the world.”

  Giasson laughed. “Ridiculous.”

  “Actually, not at all. The cloning can be done today, and with recent breakthroughs, modifying the actual genome is now possible.”

  “Really?”

  There was a chuckle from the other side. “Inspector General, you must lift your nose from your security reports sometimes, and see what is going on in the world around you.”

  Giasson closed his eyes, nodding slightly. His job was so all consuming he was continually reading threat assessments and the bad news of the day, rather than things like medical breakthroughs that could truly affect the world. “Perhaps I should.” He twigged on something. “When the portrait was stolen, the man said that it was the property of the Führer. What did he mean?”

  “Ahh, that is the most fantastic part of their plan. They have DNA from Hitler himself, carefully preserved. They intend to clone him when the science is perfected.”

  “What good would that do?”

  “I’m not finished. They then intend to use the religious artifacts they’ve been gathering for almost a century, to bring back his soul to occupy the clone, thus restoring him to life.”

  Giasson shook his head, laughing. “That is absolutely ridiculous.”

  “I agree, but never doubt someone’s capacity to believe when they have faith. The technology exists for them to accomplish at least part of their task. Do I believe for one second that they might achieve what they hope to accomplish in bringing the greatest butcher ever known to man back to life?” A sigh. “I fear I do, for it would truly be the work of Satan, and I and my order have seen enough over our two millennia to know that evil does exist in this world.”

  Giasson chewed his cheek, contemplating the man’s words. “I of course believe in evil, but I also believe in good, and I cannot believe that God would allow such an abomination to take place.”

  “I too pray that he wouldn’t. However, would it matter? Imagine, should they clone him successfully, and teach him everything he needed to know to pass himself off as the reincarnation of Hitler, would it be enough to rally a group of people, with a genetically superior clone army at their side, to take back what they think they have lost, then ensure it is never lost again? What would happen should such a man come to power again, especially when facing weak-willed nations? There was a final solution before. Imagine one that extends far beyond just the Jewish people. Their goal would be the purification of Europe, then the world. Something that must not be allowed to happen.”

  Giasson’s mind was reeling as he listened to the man in the shadows. He knew enough to know that cloning and genetic manipulation was happening, and that everything except for the ridiculous notion of reincarnation was possible. And the man was right. There had been false prophets before, and should a man arrive who looked and sounded and acted like the leader you were expecting to return, he could indeed see him quickly gaining followers.

  Hitler had been democratically elected, a fact that so many had forgotten, and it was in a Germany and a world beset by the Great Depression, where people were desperate, their way of life being destroyed. With economies struggling around the world, Western nations being flooded with refugees and immigrants who shared nothing in common with them, could another collapse be far away?

  And if it were to pass, could a man rise once again from the ashes, offering a solution to their problems that today they may find abhorrent, but tomorrow the only terrible answer?

  “How can we stop them?”

  “For the moment, we can’t. We have stopped their infiltration into our order for now, but it may happen again. All we can hope is that when the time comes, for it will come, that humanity has learned enough to know that hatred and prejudice is not the way to resolve our differences. I fear, however, that a price will be paid, a heavy price, before the coming war is finally won. I trust, sir, that you will be on our side should the time come.”

  Giasson merely nodded, not sure of what to say, the entire notion terrifyingly outlandish. Then he thought of what was happening in the Middle East today, a massive swath of territory cut out of it by religious zealots, slaughtering people by the thousands, systematically raping women and little girls, while millions in the West condemned the military attempts to stop them. It made no sense to him, and reminded him of his history. What would have happened if the world ha
d stood idly by and let Hitler have his way? Could he have ever been stopped?

  And should there be a modern day Hitler, who was smart enough not to disturb those powers capable of stopping him early on, could he ultimately win?

  He exhaled, realizing how easily desperate people could be led. In the Middle East, they were being led through fear and dogma, yet in Russia, the people were embracing their leader.

  Much like the Germans did so long ago.

  “Why did you have the painting?” he finally asked, the last of his questions he had planned to ask, the revelations of the last few minutes he was sure to prompt many more.

  “It was entrusted to us during the war. Our man was supposed to return it in 1998, but unbeknownst to us, he instead switched it with a forgery we had commissioned as a decoy. We were unaware of this until his death and your involvement.” There was a pause. “Inspector General, our time is done. I want you to know that we are no threat to you, as long as you do not go against the best interests of the Church. We will not meet again.”

  The screen slid closed with a snap, and Mario jumped up. “Wait!” He shoved aside the curtain, determined to see who this man was, then froze at the sight that greeted him on the other side.

  A row of monks, leading from the confessional to the door, their heads bowed, shrouded by their cloaks, a wall of devout flesh leaving him nowhere to go but outside. He sighed, walking past the monks, pushing the door to the outside open, the sunlight blinding him momentarily.

  He stood on the steps and stared at the crowds passing by. White, black, Muslim, Christian, all going about their daily business, some happy, some sad, all oblivious to the threat they might now face. The idea of a clone army or a resurrected Hitler were simply too fantastic for him to even contemplate, though the notion that there were still groups out there with these insane ideas thought lost to the past, sent a chill rushing through him.

  If the events happening around the world, from Russia returning to its old ways, to ISIS establishing its own country, were any indication of humanity’s future, he wasn’t optimistic.