Reading had to think for a moment what he meant. Kraft Dinner. KD. Kane, Dylan. It was Acton’s code name in his phone for his former student, now CIA operative. And if support of that nature was on the way, it opened up new options that might actually help them.
These guys don’t wait for warrants.
Kruger Residence, Outside Paris, France
Dietrich sat in a chair at his father’s bedside, his mother lying beside him, holding her husband gently, the turn his father had taken not improving. The doctor had suggested he had days, perhaps only hours.
It was the most gut wrenching experience of his life.
They were all waiting for Dr. Heinrich to report on the latest relics. It never took very long to determine if there was anything usable on the objects he retrieved, and so far, including the relics from Paris, nothing had shown any blood or DNA. He didn’t understand the process, it wasn’t his job, that’s why they had Heinrich. The man was a genius in his field, and if he said the relics so far were of no use, then he believed the man.
But even if Heinrich did find usable DNA, it might still take days to replicate enough blood to save his father.
And he was certain the man didn’t have that kind of time left.
Science would be what ultimately saved his family, not religion, of that he was certain. Once his father passed he would give up what he feared was a fool’s errand, there no reason to continue it. He hoped he had at least another twenty years in him, and his own son, only two now, would have another fifty. Fifty years for modern medical science to find a cure.
Surely they can do it by then!
A cure for his son and future grandson.
It’s what drove him.
It’s what had driven them all over the years. To be as successful as possible in life so that the next generation could build on that success, for even one hundred years ago they knew money was the key to everything. Without money no doctors would help them, and as modern medicine came into being, they knew money was needed in order for doctors to research a disease as obscure as theirs, and to research why in his family it never seemed to skip a generation.
They had the money, medical science had reached the point where finding a cure was at least possible, meaning now was the perfect time.
But not for his father. His time was rapidly running out, there no cure for him.
Except for the Blood Relics.
He had been raised Catholic and believed in it all, deeply. There was something comforting about his faith, especially living his entire life with an hourglass quickly draining him of healthy years. He believed in Christ and that His blood could heal all man’s ailments, but he didn’t have his father’s faith that His blood could be found.
The spear was the only thing he fervently believed would have blood on it and could have possibly survived. In his mind the cross would have been reused by the Romans, not left for the mourners to take with them. And how could they take it with them? It was massive and heavy. To claim to have actual pieces of the cross seemed ludicrous to him.
He could at least understand the Crown of Thorns. It made sense that someone might take that with them, but for it to survive two thousand years? Then there was the collected blood, the sponges, the cloths. None of it made sense to him, though he had never been witness to the death of someone he believed was the Son of God.
But the spear, the spear did make sense to him.
It was the one thing referred to in the Bible that irrefutably would have His blood on it and could conceivably survive. The tip that would have pierced His side was metal, which meant it would survive unless it was melted down for some other purpose, and if the legends were true and Longinus, the man who had stabbed Jesus, had actually converted to what was now known as Christianity, he would most certainly have preserved the spear.
But they had stolen all the purported copies of it, and none had tested positive.
It was lost to history.
As his father soon would be.
Maybe the other objects do make sense.
If the people with Jesus when he died truly believed he was the Son of God, then they knew that the occasion was momentous, historical, important. They would have treasured anything that remained of him, whether it be the Crown of Thorns, a sponge or a jar of his collected blood. Many ancient religious artifacts had been preserved for hundreds if not thousands of years.
Why not these?
What many people didn’t realize was that after the Jewish-Roman Wars, the first of which happened within a few decades of His death, the Roman’s slaughtered the Jews, destroying their towns and cities, decimating their populations and persecuting those who survived, forcing them to scatter from their homeland, not to return successfully until the mid-twentieth century.
And it had meant much of the written record was destroyed from that era, as it was for most cultures that were conquered.
But a spear would survive.
One of hundreds of thousands of spears probably made during that era.
But it wouldn’t matter soon.
Soon his father would be dead, the Blood Relic search would be over, and he would put himself back into the hands of medical science in the hopes they could save him and his descendants from this curse.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” he said and the door opened, Dr. Heinrich stepping inside, his face telling them everything he needed to know.
“Any luck?” asked his mother, but he could tell she already knew.
Heinrich shook his head. “I’m sorry, but the only DNA I found was from the fresh blood of the woman who was shot. Some of it contaminated several of the objects.”
Dietrich jumped to his feet, beginning to pace at the foot of his father’s bed. “You’re certain?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be rechecking everything just in case, but I’m not confident.” Heinrich paused. “Are there any other objects to be tested?”
Dietrich shook his head. “No. The only ones that remain are ones even the Vatican doesn’t believe are real otherwise they would have had them moved like the others.” He cursed, his shoulders slumping. “It’s over.”
“No.”
He spun toward his father, the voice the strongest he had heard it since his return from Rome. “Father, I’m not sure what else we can do.”
“Find the spear.”
“But we’ve got three already and they all tested negative.”
“They weren’t the real spear.”
Dietrich grabbed his hair, pulling hard, trying to stop himself from saying something he might regret, his exasperation with his father about to send him over the edge. He needed to shout and scream and cry, but instead he was supposed to be the dutiful son who would immediately take over the moment his father died.
He walked over to the wall and punched it.
Immediately regretting it.
“Let me look at that,” said Dr. Heinrich, walking over to him. Dietrich held out his hand, taking a deep breath.
“Father, I don’t know where else to look.”
“That’s because we’ve been going about this all wrong.”
Dietrich pulled his hand away from the doctor. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t look for the spear. Look for Longinus himself.”
Dietrich’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “You mean—”
“He’s a saint. He was well respected in his time, and only his head was brought back to Jerusalem when he was finally captured. I guarantee you his supporters gave him a proper burial, and I also guarantee you he would have been buried with his spear.”
Dietrich’s head was bobbing up and down slowly as his father spoke. He was right. Countless soldiers from that era were found buried with their weapons, and someone like Longinus, who had become a leader among the newly born religion, would have been revered after his death. If they could find his body they might very well find the genuine spear.
The only Blood Relic he truly believe
d might have the blood of Christ on it.
“But how do we find him?”
His father smiled. “Don’t we have an archeologist as a guest?”
A smile climbed up half his face.
Kruger Residence, Outside Paris, France
Laura opened her eyes, the pain killers she was on having knocked her out hours ago. The dull ache in her stomach continued, but a glance down seemed to show little blood seeping through the bandages.
She was going to live.
At least for now. She still had no idea what the endgame was. Her captors had clearly demonstrated their willingness to kill for their cause, and when religious causes were involved, fanatical believers quite often committed unspeakable atrocities.
But rarely were these things committed by Christians.
But there’s always the exception.
Her conversation with the doctor that had saved her—a man she had learned was named Heinrich—suggested this man Dietrich, the son of the man behind it all, might be just crazy enough to kill her in a blind rage.
She spotted a man staring at her from the doorway and flinched.
“Dr. Palmer, I think it’s time we spoke.”
She nodded, pressing the button to raise her bed so she could at least feel like she was in a little less vulnerable position. She had been in situations similar to this before and she knew the key to survival was keeping her wits about her, to not panic, and to observe everything.
The young man crossed the room, stopping at the foot of her bed. She recognized him as the man from Paris who seemed to be giving all the orders.
Which ironically meant he was the man who had saved her life.
Perhaps only to take it away.
“My name is Dietrich, my last name is unimportant.” She sighed silently, knowing that if the man gave his full name it was yet another reason to kill her to tie up loose ends. “I assume you’ve figured out what has been going on?”
She adjusted herself in the bed, wincing as the stitches stretched. “You’re trying to recover Blood Relics in an attempt to extract Christ’s DNA so your doctor here”—she nodded toward Heinrich, still working in the lab—“can use it to create blood to cure your family of a genetic disease.”
Dietrich smiled slightly. “I see Dr. Heinrich is lonely again.” He looked at the man, the doctor seemingly more preoccupied by his work than a moment before. “No matter, it simply saves me time. My father is dying, and will die soon. As I’m sure the talkative Dr. Heinrich has already told you, none of the artifacts we have managed to recover have any DNA on them.”
“I’m not surprised,” replied Laura. “Most of what you’ve stolen has either been shown to not be from that era, or never been tested at all.”
Dietrich sat on the edge of her bed. “Do you mind?” he asked after the fact.
She shook her head.
Like I have a choice?
“We’re a desperate family, Dr. Palmer. For over a century the males of my family have been born with an incurable genetic illness that seems to never skip a generation. I’m told it’s an autosomal dominant disorder, a variation of Huntington’s. Incurable. Once the symptoms start, we’re dead within no more than twenty years, usually closer to ten.”
“Do you…”
“Yes, I have recently begun to have spasms in my leg.” He paled slightly. “I will be dead before I’m fifty, perhaps even forty.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He looked at her, chewing on his bottom lip. “Yes, I think you actually are.” He sucked in a deep breath. “My father may only have days. Which is why I need your help.”
She wanted to laugh. My help? You almost killed me and now you’re holding me prisoner!
She said nothing.
“We need to find Longinus.”
Laura’s archeological side’s interest was irresistibly piqued. “The Roman soldier who legend has it pierced the side of Jesus with a lance?”
Dietrich nodded. “I see your reputation is well-deserved.”
“What makes you think he can be found?”
“If we assume he’s real—”
“Which is quite an assumption.”
“—then we can assume those around him would have treated his body with respect.”
“It’s been two thousand years.”
“And older have been found.”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing!” Dietrich ended the debate, his shouted words and change in facial expression suggesting the crazed irrationality Dr. Heinrich had alluded to. “He must be found.”
“Why?” Her voice more subdued this time, deciding confrontation was not the way to go, and as she thought about it, if he needed her, then that meant she’d be kept alive.
Which meant more of a chance for James to find her.
“Because we’re hoping the actual Spear of Destiny will have been buried with him.”
Her head nodded irresistibly. It did make sense, a soldier in those days often buried with his weapons, especially if buried reverently, which if he were the man legend suggested, he would have been. She decided to give him a bone. “That’s quite plausible.”
“Good!” Some sense of optimism returned as Dietrich’s face relaxed, his eyes opening a little wider, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. “Then we’ll need to get started right away, there’s no time to waste.”
Which is when the obvious flaw in Dietrich’s plan was finally articulated. “I’m in no condition to go relic hunting.”
Dietrich stood. “You won’t be doing anything, Dr. Palmer. Your husband will be. And should he fail, and my father die, then so will you.”
Hotel Astor Saint Honore, Paris, France
James Acton poked at his poached egg, moving it around the small bowl, the pierced yoke slowly oozing out, coating the bright white bone china. He knew he had to eat but he had no appetite. In fact, he felt sick to his stomach.
Reading sat across from him at the table, scanning emailed updates on the case, delivering the highlights between bites of heavily buttered croissants. The vehicles involved in the Rome robbery had been found abandoned with no physical evidence obtained and there had been no sightings of any vehicles leaving the helicopter landing site outside Paris.
The only lead so far was the names of several of the men involved, all of whom were known mercenaries.
At least it was something, something that Kane and his contacts might be able to work with.
He was tempted to call Kane right now, to find out if they had learned anything, but he knew that would just be a waste of time. If they had found something, they would have told him.
His phone vibrated on the table sending a ripple through the top of his untouched coffee.
Blocked number.
He answered.
“Hello?”
“Is this Professor James Acton?”
The German accent immediately set off alarm bells, Acton bolting upright in his chair, pointing at the phone to get Reading’s attention. The former detective immediately jumped from his chair, making a call in hushed tones.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“My name is of no importance. What is of importance is that I have your wife.”
Acton collapsed in his chair. “Is”—he hesitated, terrified of what the answer might be, hopeful of what it could be—“is she alive?”
“Yes, Professor, for now.”
Relief swept over him and he forced himself to maintain control, tears of relief welling in his eyes. Then the last two words registered.
For now.
“Can I speak to her?”
“No.”
“Wh-what do you want?”
“I assume you are aware of what we have been acquiring over the past several days.”
Acquiring? Interesting choice of words.
“Blood Relics.”
“Exactly. But there is one relic that has eluded us.”
“Yes?”
“The gen
uine Spear of Destiny.”
“You’ve stolen three of them.”
“None of which are the genuine article as you are fully aware.”
Acton frowned but said nothing, Reading returning to the table, pushing a pad and pen toward him with several words written on it.
Proof of life!
“We want you to find the genuine spear. In exchange, we will give you your wife.”
Acton felt his chest tighten, his fingers gripping the pen tightly, the cheap blue plastic turning white as it threatened to snap. “How am I supposed to find that?”
“Find its owner.”
Acton’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“Find Longinus, the man to whom it belonged.”
Acton leaned back in his chair, his eyes popping wider for a moment in surprise. It was an intriguing idea. Find the body rather than the spear in the hopes that it had been buried with the man. It was at least within the realm of possibility that the body might still exist, preserved somewhere due to his stature among his followers.
Assuming he ever existed.
But at the moment he had to believe he did.
Or at least make this man think he did.
For every minute that he could delay things was a minute Kane and the others could use to find her.
“I’ll need to speak to my wife before I agree to anything.”
There was an exasperated exclamation from the man then the sound of footsteps echoing in what sounded like a large room. He jotted down everything he was hearing.
Footsteps echoing
Large room?
Steps 30/40/50/60
Door opening
Another big room?
“Hello?”
The sound of his wife’s voice destroyed any blocks he had set up, the tears erupting as his shoulders began to shake in relief. “I-it’s me.”
“Oh God, James, it’s so good to hear your voice!”
“Ar-are you okay?”
“Doctor Heinrich says I’m going to be fine. I’m in a really well-equipped lab here and I’m being treated well.”
She never ceased to amaze him. Her voice was strong and he knew she was giving him vital clues, jotting down the doctor’s name and the fact she was in a lab.
Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) Page 12