The Templar's Revenge (A James Acton Thriller, #19) (James Acton Thrillers)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “Then we need to get the hell out of here.”

  Jacques motioned toward the True Cross not three feet from Acton’s mouth. “Language, Professor, please.”

  Acton’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh shit, sorry!”

  Laura placed a hand over his mouth. “He’s truly sorry. Now, we obviously can’t go out the front entrance, because that road is a deathtrap until you reach the town. Is there another way out?”

  “Yes, we have several escape routes that have been built over the centuries for just such an occasion, but they are all known to my son.”

  “But he’s after the cross, not us, correct?”

  “Again, I would have said yes, but I’m at a loss as to why he would try to target you tonight if that were merely the case.”

  Laura chewed her cheek. “What happens to the cross when you die?”

  Jacques paused. “Responsibility for it would be handed down to my first born son, Pierre.”

  “And then he can do with it as he pleases.”

  “Correct.”

  “So he can keep it in the family, rather than return it to the Vatican, despite your wishes.”

  “Correct.”

  “And”—Laura lowered her voice, bowing her head slightly—“you said you only have perhaps a few days left.”

  Jacques nodded. “Again correct.”

  “Then could this all be a delaying tactic? He must assume you plan to hand the cross over to us. By killing us, or at least preventing our meeting, he might have hoped to stop you from returning the cross long enough that you would die, solving his problem.”

  “Sounds pretty damned heartless to me,” muttered Acton.

  “My son, I fear, has no love left in his heart for me. He is consumed by a lust for glory and power. What you say, could very well be true. If I cannot hand off the cross to you tonight, then I will surely die before I can find someone else.”

  Acton’s eyes narrowed. “Why not just have some of your people return it for you?”

  Jacques sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I’m afraid I don’t know who I can trust. Though my brothers and cousins who are here with me are loyal to me, they don’t all agree with my decision. I fear should I give it to the wrong one, they may either not deliver it, or delay its delivery long enough for me to die, allowing my son to then rescind the order.” He shook his head. “No, I need an outsider, such as yourselves, to fulfill my wishes. Only then can I be assured the cross is returned.”

  Acton frowned. “Well, as much as I’m honored you chose us, I think now that we are targets, we’ll have to bow out.”

  Jacques sighed. “I was afraid you might say that. And now I fear all is lost.”

  30

  Approaching the Ridefort Residence

  Saint-Pierre-la-Mer, France

  Schmidt held up his phone. “You lied to me.”

  Pierre’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

  “This cross. It isn’t just some piece of wood, it’s a fragment encased in gold and covered in jewels.”

  Pierre tensed. “I never said it was a piece of wood. You did.”

  “You said its value was spiritual, not monetary.”

  “It is! This is the most important Christian artifact known to exist! No price can be placed on it.”

  “Oh, I think I can come up with a price.”

  Pierre’s heart hammered. “We had a deal.”

  “Yes we did, a deal based on a lie.” He pointed to a second helicopter that had joined them. “And my expenses just went up.”

  “I know, and I will compensate you for it. Say, double what we agreed?”

  Schmidt shook his head. “No, I want a piece of the action. Half of whatever you sell it for.”

  “But I’m not selling it! I’m trying to save it from my idiotic father returning it to the Vatican before he dies. I’m trying to keep it in the family, like it has been for eight hundred years.”

  Schmidt’s eyes shot up. “The Vatican, huh? Now they have deep pockets.”

  “No! Don’t even think about it! I’ll triple what I was going to pay you.”

  “Now you’re getting closer.”

  “Quadruple. But that’s the best I can do.”

  Schmidt agreed, the others smiling at their increased payday. “Good. We have a deal. But if I find out you’ve deceived me in some other way, I may find it necessary to renegotiate.” He slid open the door, peering outside as wind howled through the cabin. “We’re here. This is your last chance to change your mind.”

  Pierre stared down at the chateau that had been his home for most of his life, filled with his friends, family, and memories. He closed his eyes, his heart hammering, then nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  31

  Ridefort Residence

  Saint-Pierre-la-Mer, France

  Acton placed himself between Laura and the door, as two men burst inside.

  “Sir, two choppers are approaching. We believe it’s an attack.”

  Jacques’ lips thinned and his breathing became more rapid. “Pierre, how could you?” He looked at the men. “Execute the escape plan.”

  “Yes, sir.” They disappeared, and Jacques turned to Acton and Laura. “Will you please take it with you?”

  Acton shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, but this isn’t our fight, and frankly, it’s not fair of you to ask us to risk our lives for this. You have people, have them take it. If you didn’t trust them, you could have called the Vatican yourself and had them come to collect it.” He sighed. “I’m truly sorry, but you have to let us go.” Acton looked about. “Now, where can we find one of those escape routes you talked about?”

  Jacques pointed at the far wall, and his attendant walked over, pushing against it, another dark passageway revealed. “Follow it to the end. It will take you outside, on the coast. From there, just head south and you’ll reach the town within half an hour.” Jacques leaned forward. “Please, I’m begging you to change your minds.”

  Laura shook her head. “No, James is right. This is simply too dangerous. I’m sorry.”

  Acton took her hand and headed for the tunnel. He turned back as the two men returned with others, pieces of a large flat crate carried between them. “Good luck, Mr. Ridefort.”

  But the dying man ignored them, instead staring at the True Cross as it was lifted from its reliquary and placed into the crate, leaving Acton to wonder if he would ever see it again.

  Schmidt leaned out the side of the chopper and aimed his Heckler & Koch MG4 at the chateau’s defenders. He squeezed the trigger, a burst of lead spraying across the courtyard, sending the enemy below scattering, one dropping from what was likely a leg wound. The other chopper circled, laying down fire as well, another defender collapsing.

  The entire complex lit up as emergency lighting flooded the area, inside and out, providing the defenders with a clear view of anyone approaching the walls, but also of themselves to any aerial attack. They apparently had never planned on this, their entire way of thinking geared toward a ground assault.

  As he continued to fire, he watched as these so-called Templar Knights scurried like cockroaches, and he glanced over at Pierre, tears running down the boy’s face. He felt for the kid. These men were, apparently, his family, his friends, people he had grown up with.

  Yet none of that mattered anymore.

  This was war.

  Father against son, and his father would lose. They would retrieve this holy artifact, over the man’s dead body if necessary, then get their payday. Four times their original agreement, though with double the number of men now involved, it was closer to only double. Still a good haul, but this True Cross had him intrigued. From the few minutes of Googling he did, it suggested it was a fairly large artifact, at least eight feet tall, if not a dozen, and was, at a minimum, plated in gold, if not solid gold, with jewels embedded throughout. It was worth a fortune to those who believed in what it was, but melted down, it would still be worth millions, and be easy to fence.

  He contin
ued to fire, short, controlled bursts, most of the courtyard cleared, the defenders that had survived now having found cover. He understood how the conquistadors must have felt centuries before as they confiscated priceless treasures from the Incans, Mayans, and Aztecs. Then melted them down for transport. These trinkets had meant nothing to the Spaniards, yet everything to those they had been stolen from. He could understand how believers would feel this cross in its current form would be priceless, the very idea of melting it down, unthinkable. And he wasn’t even sure how he felt about it.

  He was raised Christian, yet hadn’t set foot inside a church in over a decade, if not longer, and wasn’t a praying man. Did he believe in God? He supposed, though he wasn’t certain. He didn’t buy into the Bible, though the idea that Jesus was real didn’t bother him. He didn’t deny it, he simply didn’t care.

  And this cross, even if it were real, meant nothing to him, again, something he didn’t care about. Yet for some reason, his inner voice kept telling him to just take the payday and forget the cross. Leave it to the believers.

  We’ll see.

  He leaned back, adjusting his headset. “Let’s get down there. Chopper Two, provide cover, over.”

  The pilot banked hard to the left, dropping their altitude rapidly before righting them. His team rappelled out the sides, and he followed suit, leaving Pierre in the chopper with his wounded man, staring down after him. His feet hit the ground and he unclipped his rope, surging toward the outer wall as his men spread out. He reached it, not having fired his weapon, and in fact, hadn’t heard a single shot since they had landed. All-clears sounded through his comm.

  They must all be inside.

  He glanced at a few bodies in the courtyard.

  Or dead.

  “Chopper Two, begin your insertion, over.”

  “Roger that.”

  The second chopper hovered over the courtyard, the rest of his team jumping out and scattering to the edges. “Chopper One, bring our VIP, over.”

  The pilot acknowledged, and Schmidt stepped into the courtyard as the chopper landed. He urged Pierre out, and his wounded man waved at him. “Kill that sonofabitch that shot me, okay?”

  Schmidt grinned. “Consider it done.”

  Acton led the way, a flashlight found on the wall when they first entered the tunnel, lighting the way. They could hear the dull thuds of gunfire through the stone walls, but there was no way of knowing who was winning. He hoped, of course, that Jacques and his forces would prevail, yet he had his doubts they would. Whoever had ambushed them in the car was well-equipped and well-trained, the only thing ruining their plans the fact the chauffeur had activated the cruise control, allowing the built-in safety features to take over when he was shot.

  And if Jacques’ people managed to secret the cross away, then in his rage, the man’s son just might kill everyone left, in an attempt to find out where it had been taken.

  They came to a fork in the tunnel, with no indication as to which way to go, both routes still descending. “Umm, what now?”

  Laura took the flashlight and aimed it at the floor of one tunnel, then the other. “Neither looks like they’ve been used in years, if not centuries.”

  Acton pointed to the left. “That one seems a little steeper. We’re on the coast so they can’t go below the water table. Let’s just hope they both come out somewhere, and it doesn’t matter where.”

  Laura led the way in silence, their footsteps echoing in the confined space, the gunfire either stopped, or whatever medium had been carrying the sounds through the ground, was no longer near them. Laura cursed as they rounded a bend, their path blocked by a cave-in that didn’t appear recent. “Well, we’re not getting through that,” she muttered. “Let’s try tunnel number two.”

  They backtracked, then made their way down the second tunnel, walking for several minutes, Acton about to express his doubts as to the sanity of Jacques Ridefort, when Laura held up her fist. He stopped, and she turned around.

  “Do you hear that?” she whispered.

  He cocked an ear and at first heard nothing. He opened his mouth to say so, when he finally heard it.

  Water!

  He nodded, and they proceeded onward, slower this time, tiptoeing, not sure if they were about to walk into someone working for Jacques’ son, or a drop-off into some water-filled pit with no hope of escape.

  Laura held up a fist again, and Acton stopped, straining to hear what had her concerned. Voices. Two men, speaking in French. Laura inched forward, light reflecting off the shiny slick stonework surrounding them. As they continued, it became brighter, though not much more, the light artificial and dim.

  Acton pointed at a channel of water ahead, their path coming to an end at its edge, a wall on the other side. This was some sort of hidden dock underneath the chateau, carved out by Mother Nature and the hand of man.

  Laura peered around the corner and her shoulders relaxed as she sighed. She stepped out, her hands up slightly. “Gentlemen.”

  Acton quickly followed, not pleased at her foolhardiness, yet breathed his own sigh of relief as he recognized Jacques’ attendant Vincent, and two of the men who had helped package the cross. Acton’s eyes bulged slightly as he saw the crate in the back of a boat, bobbing gently in the cavern they now found themselves, along with several others, the hidden cavern large.

  “I see you found your way.”

  Laura nodded. “Yes, but how did you get here quicker? The other route was blocked.”

  “We took a shortcut.” Vincent jerked a thumb over his shoulder, and Acton cursed at the sight of a freight elevator. “And you couldn’t have let us use it?”

  “No, it’s reserved for the cross.”

  A PA system crackled, an excited voice in French echoing off the stone walls. “Reinforcements to the treasure room! Reinforcements to the treasure room!”

  The three men checked the lines to make sure the boat was secure, then headed for the elevator.

  “Wait a minute, you’re just going to leave it here?”

  Vincent shook his head. “No, you’re with it.”

  “We’re leaving.”

  Vincent frowned, then pointed at the water and the opening to the outside. “That’s your choice. You’ll have to swim for it. You’ll find the beach just a little ways to the right.”

  The elevator door opened and the three men climbed aboard. “Good luck, Professors.”

  The doors closed and Acton cursed, staring at the crate holding the cross. He looked at Laura. “We can’t just leave it here.”

  She frowned. “Normally I would agree, but what can we do? If we stay, we have no idea who’s coming through those doors next. If we go, then aren’t we in effect stealing it?”

  Acton folded his arms and grabbed at his chin, squeezing it tightly as he paced, the timbers of the dock creaking with each step, leaving him to wonder just how old it was. “If we take it, and return it to the Vatican as he said he wanted, then we aren’t stealing it. We’re merely doing what he wanted.”

  “Yes, but then we’re going to have whoever is upstairs after us. We have no weapons, no backup, and no transportation beyond this boat. How the devil are we going to get it to Rome all by ourselves?”

  Acton sighed, scratching behind his ear. “You’re right, of course.” He stared at the water and the opening leading to the Mediterranean Sea. “To hell with it, let’s get our asses out of here and let them deal with it. If they win, the cross is safe, and if they lose, then they would have come after us and probably killed us anyway if they’ve got helicopters at their disposal.”

  Laura’s eyes widened slightly. “I forgot about those.” She jumped into the water, disappearing momentarily from sight. She resurfaced and looked at him. “Coming, dear?”

  Acton grinned then dove in after her. He bobbed up beside her, treading water. “Do you think we can book an earlier flight to Spain? I think we’re probably going to want to be out of France sooner rather than later.”

  �
�I’ll buy the damned plane if I have to.”

  Acton laughed then stopped when more gunfire echoed from overhead, the sounds carried through the elevator shaft or the opening to the outside—which, he didn’t know, nor care. “Let’s get a wiggle on. I have a feeling it’s about to get crowded in here.”

  Pierre directed Schmidt and his team toward the treasure room, the resistance nonexistent. He had counted perhaps half a dozen of his family lying in the courtyard, yet had only seen two inside, both running away. He had ordered Schmidt not to shoot, and, remarkably, his command had been followed, though if one were to return and injure or kill one of his men, Pierre had little doubt Schmidt would take it out on him.

  He didn’t trust him. Hiring Schmidt had been a mistake, though how he might accomplish his goals without him, he had no idea. These mercenaries were supposed to be a scalpel, not a broadsword, and unfortunately, that was what they had become. He should have stuck to the original plan, of secretly infiltrating the chateau and stealing the True Cross. Instead, they had gone with Schmidt’s plan of killing the professors and preventing the meeting they assumed was the handover.

  And because that plan had failed, they had lost their element of surprise, the scalpel approach no longer possible. All because of Schmidt. Pierre’s plan might have resulted in no casualties, yet now half a dozen of his family and friends were dead or dying, and they were about to enter the one room where if a last stand were to be made, it would be there.

  Which would mean even more deaths.

  “Just up on the left.”

  Schmidt slowed their advance, approaching the closed door. His men took up position on either side, two covering either end of the hallway. He reached out and tried the knob unsuccessfully, sending Pierre’s stomach into flips.

  They’re inside.

  Schmidt pointed at the lock, and one of his men quickly placed a small explosive on it. They all stepped back and turned away, the blast making quick work of the lock. Schmidt and one of his men both tossed flash-bangs inside, the roar overwhelming, Pierre gripping at his ears, but too late. Stunned, he stumbled around in circles as the team rushed inside, gunfire erupting as he slowly regained his senses.