Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  And Professor Acton would never do that.

  He was on a mission to save his wife, and the only way he could do that was to find the body of Saint Longinus, which he was then going to hand over to Professor Palmer’s captors.

  It makes no difference.

  He kept telling himself that, but the fact he had to repeat it over and over meant he wasn’t convinced. On several occasions he had wanted to whisper the full truth to Acton but he couldn’t be certain they weren’t being listened to.

  Somehow they knew what Jenny and I were talking about.

  They must have been reading their lips from a distance, or had some sort of parabolic microphone. They obviously had a line of sight on them because they were able to aim a laser scope at her.

  Twice.

  Which meant that here, in this dingy old storage room, they should be perfectly able to converse with nobody eavesdropping.

  But for some reason he just felt they couldn’t.

  These people are good. Maybe they’ve planted a bug of some type.

  He instinctively began to pat himself down but stopped.

  Focus!

  The best way out of this situation was to actually succeed, and amazingly enough, he actually thought they might. The Nazi records had indeed been in the crates, tucked neatly into a pouch on the inside of each, itemized lists of all the documents and artifacts confiscated decades before. There were almost two dozen crates and they had only gone through a few of them so far, none of the documents helpful as of yet, but as Acton had said, it was going to save them probably days if not weeks of searching, especially considering the state of so many of the documents, scrolls of paper now so brittle they couldn’t risk opening them.

  A concern the Nazi’s didn’t appear to take as seriously.

  Their haste is our gain.

  He looked over at Jenny, her head lying on the table top she had been working at, a gentle snore emanating from her exhausted form. Professor Acton had left several hours ago to get some sleep in the sparse guest quarters Father Albano had provided for them. Terrence had been too wired at the time to join him, it clear the poor professor hadn’t slept properly in days.

  He rubbed his eyes and flipped to the next page of the manifest, his list of Google translated document types opened on his laptop. Tracing his finger down the list, he didn’t find the words he was now reading. Flipping over to Google Translate, he entered the words and felt a surge of excitement at the result.

  Interment Certificate.

  It was the closest they had come. He scanned across the page to the date.

  May 3, 1482 AD.

  He smiled.

  It’s the right timeframe!

  Even if it had nothing to do with the body they were looking for, it was an indication that records of the proper type had indeed survived from that period.

  Which meant their search may not be futile after all.

  “Have you found something?”

  He turned to see Jenny looking at him, her eyes half closed, head still on the table.

  “An interment certificate from the fifteenth century.”

  She sat up, clearly picking up on his excitement. “Is it for him?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, I just started looking at it.” He began to type the text from the Notes field of the manifest, the translation updating with each press of the spacebar. He frowned. “Just some priest who died a few weeks before.” He quickly scanned down the page and saw several more Interment Certificates. “There’s more here, though.”

  Jenny joined him and together they began the painstaking process of translating each one, and it wasn’t until several dozen failed efforts that he paused, looking at the translation.

  “Woah.”

  “What?” asked Jenny, leaning over to look at the screen.

  “This is dated fifteenth century, but it indicates the body is for a ‘first century monk’.”

  “That wouldn’t be the first we’ve found.”

  “No, but listen to what it says. ‘Note in margin indicates mistaken identity’. It says his actual name was Quintus.”

  “So not Longinus.”

  “No, but remember, somebody went through all this paperwork in the early twentieth century and found no mention of Longinus.”

  Jenny frowned. “I know. That’s why I think this is a waste of time.”

  “Don’t you see? They were looking specifically for a reference to Longinus. But what if he was moved here, and the record was changed for some reason?”

  Jenny’s tired eyes narrowed slightly. “You mean he actually is here, but the record was changed for some reason, by mistake perhaps?”

  “Exactly. We’re seeing lots of records of interment here, and I’m sure we’ll find many more in these boxes. And I’m equally sure we’ll find no references to Longinus.”

  “Thank you!” she said, throwing her hands out at him. “I’m glad I’m not alone in thinking this. I didn’t want to say anything to Professor Acton, but I think this is a complete waste of time.”

  Terrence frowned. “I think you’re missing my point.”

  Jenny sighed. “I’m too tired not to.”

  “What I mean is this: if we assume that the records are complete, and we assume that Longinus was indeed brought here as history suggests, then his record must have been altered in some way.”

  “Interesting theory.” Terrence spun toward the voice to find Professor Acton standing in the doorway. “What prompted it?”

  Terrence nodded toward the translation on the screen. “There’s reference to a monk named Quintus being interred here in the fifteenth century, but it says there was a note in the margin of the document suggesting a mistaken identity.”

  “And Quintus was the actual identity?”

  “Yes.”

  Acton pursed his lips. “If we assume our priest from ninety years ago was diligent, then we should find no reference to Longinus in these records.” Terrence opened his mouth to mention he had said exactly that when Jenny punched him in the leg under the table, cutting off his boast. “So we should be looking for anomalies.”

  “Like this.”

  “Exactly.” Acton looked at his watch prompting Terrence to glance at the time on his computer.

  3:42am.

  I need sleep.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do. You two keep going through the manifests, looking for anomalies. As you identify them, I’m going to try and find the actual document and examine it. Hopefully we’ll get lucky.” Acton looked at Terrence and smiled. “But first I want you two to go get some sleep. We can’t risk you making a mistake.”

  Terrence nodded. “Thanks, Professor. We’ll see you in a few hours.”

  “Take as long as you need.” Acton paused. “I wonder.” He stepped out into the hallway, Terrence and Jenny following. There were two guards provided by the Vatican standing nearby. “Do either of you speak German?”

  Both men nodded. “Yes, Professor, I do. It’s pretty common in Switzerland.”

  “I do as well. Actually, it’s my mother tongue.”

  Acton smiled at Terrence and Jenny. “How many more of you speak German?”

  The first guard shrugged. “A lot?”

  “Do you think they’d be willing to help?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Translating old German manifests.”

  The man smiled. “Absolutely.”

  Acton sighed, looking at Terrence, a look of restored hope on his face.

  “You two go get some rest. Hopefully we’ll have reinforcements soon.”

  CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  Chris Leroux flinched in his chair at the knock at his office door. He glanced at the time. After midnight. Again. He loved his job, especially when he was making progress, especially when lives were at stake and he had a chance to actually save them, but even he needed rest.

  Which was why Morrison had given him a team that could work nightshifts if needed.

/>   But with an off-the-books project like this he never used official resources beyond himself, though this time Morrison had greenlighted him to do so, so tonight he’d have to plead complete and utter absorption in his work.

  “Enter!”

  The door opened and a grinning Sherrie entered. “Hey, baby!”

  Leroux leapt from his chair, rounding his desk and grabbing the love of his life in his arms, picking her up off the floor in a bear hug. He put her back down then kissed her, long and slow, the way he had learned she liked it, Sherrie pretty much the only girl he had ever kissed more than once.

  She moaned.

  Apparently I’m getting better at this.

  She broke away, placing a hand on his chest and looking up at him. “I had a feeling you’d be here.”

  “You’re home early.” He sat on the edge of his desk, motioning toward one of the office chairs. She waved it off.

  “I’m only here for a minute, I’m exhausted. The op wrapped up a little early so I caught the red-eye here so I could see you.” She nodded toward his computer. “How much longer are you going to be here? I see a team sitting outside twiddling their thumbs.” She lowered her voice. “But don’t tell them I said that.”

  He smiled, knowing full-well that his team was busy though to the untrained eye, it might appear they weren’t. An analyst’s job quite often involved a lot of waiting as databases were scoured by sophisticated algorithms or data requests were actioned by other teams. Too often they were left in a holding pattern while waiting for others.

  But if they’re waiting for stuff…

  “Twiddling their thumbs, eh?”

  “But you didn’t hear that from me.”

  “I think I’ll hand off some of this work, I’m exhausted too.”

  He returned to his seat, quickly whipping off several emails.

  “What are you working on?”

  “Professor Palmer’s still missing. We managed to hack the security company’s network—the one that provided the resources for the thefts—and now I’m trying to track the money. I found one of the guys involved has been using a Swiss account for his regular salary deposits, so I’ll have my guys trace all the activity on that account and see if it leads anywhere.”

  “Are the Swiss cooperating?”

  Leroux grinned. “What they don’t know can’t hurt them.”

  “Don’t you just love working for the CIA?”

  Leroux logged out of his computer and rose.

  “Best job anywhere.”

  Basilica of Sant’Agostino, Rome, Italy

  Professor James Acton massaged the back of his neck, his single, poorly angled hand a poor substitute for the real thing his wife was so expert at giving.

  God I hope she’s okay.

  But praying to God might not be the proper thing to do right now considering the work he was doing certainly wasn’t His. He was on a quest to ultimately find the blood of Christ so that it could be used to save the life of a murderer.

  But surely saving Laura’s life justifies this?

  Carefully examining document after document had left him with plenty of time for his mind to wander during the downtime, and he had twisted his logic to justify his actions, the sad fact of the matter truly being that he felt he needed to. He didn’t truly believe that the blood of Christ could heal—it defied the science he had relied upon his entire adult life.

  But then there was the Vault.

  The Vault had been terrifying, the things contained within it enough to shake the beliefs of the faithful, and to thrust the greatest skeptic into the arms of God.

  It had changed him.

  It had changed them, Laura too never quite the same.

  But as time marched on and the events of those days slowly faded into distant memories, it was easy to forget what had been discovered. And it was moments, like now, alone with his thoughts, that brought those memories back to the fore, renewing his shaky faith.

  And in his mind, no matter what he did today, God would punish those responsible, regardless of whether or not he succeeded in finding the Spear of Destiny and the blood it was purported to be stained with.

  “Any luck?”

  Acton looked up to see Terrence and Jenny standing in the doorway, the room a bustle of forgotten activity around him, half a dozen off-duty Swiss Guards quickly reading through the Nazi manifests and bringing any that raised red flags to Acton for evaluation.

  It was saving them days.

  He nodded, pointing at his computer screen. “Almost a dozen documents so far that indicate changes to the original or ambiguities at least. I’ve been pulling the originals but they’re so fragile they’ll need to be examined in a proper lab.” He pointed at one scroll sitting beside him. “Especially this one.”

  “Why that one?” asked Jenny, leaning in for a closer look.

  “It refers to the body of a Christian martyr from the first century, originally buried in Mantua, eventually interred here in the fifteenth century. It fits the timeframe, and Longinus is considered a Christian martyr since he died for his beliefs.”

  “What’s the name?”

  “Tiberius.”

  Kruger Residence, Outside Paris, France

  Laura woke, her mouth dry, whatever drugs she was on causing some dehydration. She opened her eyes to find curtains set up around her bed and the lights overhead turned off, though the morning sunlight and the lights of the lab were enough to almost overwhelm the thick white sheets. Reaching for her glass of water next to her bed she felt her stitches stretch and she yelped in pain, easing back to her lying position, not willing to risk making things worse.

  Thirst she could live with, a torn open abdomen, not so much.

  The curtain moved aside and Dr. Heinrich greeted her with a smile, the sunlight streaming in from behind almost silhouetting him like an angel.

  Angel of death, maybe.

  “Good morning!” he said, his ever cheerful self not having taken leave despite his apparent continued failure in finding blood on any of the artifacts. She had to admit he did seem like a genuinely nice man, though she wondered how anyone could work for murderers.

  Maybe he’s a prisoner too?

  “Good morning,” she mumbled, her dry mouth making it difficult to talk.

  Heinrich laughed, stepping toward her bed and getting her glass of water, helping her position the straw. She took several long sips, swishing it around her mouth to loosen it up, then nodded. Heinrich returned the glass to the tray table then moved her sheet aside. “Let’s see how the bandages are looking.”

  She looked down and the dressing looked clean, an improvement over yesterday when it had shown thick blotches of dark red having soaked completely through.

  Heinrich nodded, satisfied. “We’ll change those in a few minutes, but it’s already looking better.” He pressed on the wound gently and she winced. “How’s the pain?”

  “Still there,” she gasped.

  Stop pushing, you sadist!

  He immediately lifted his hand. “That’s to be expected, it will take time, but I want to start weaning you off the pain killers, they’re not good for you. Besides, being aware of your pain helps prevent you from doing anything stupid like trying to go to the bathroom by yourself.”

  “Or escaping.”

  Heinrich chuckled, patting her arm. “Now now, you shouldn’t be even thinking of something like that. Not that I care, you being here or not makes no difference to me, though I do enjoy the company. I’m more concerned with that wound reopening before you could get yourself to a hospital. Or worse.”

  “‘Worse’ meaning they’ll shoot me if I try to escape.”

  Heinrich’s face clouded over and he sat on the edge of her bed, lowering his voice. “It wasn’t always this way. In fact, until a few months ago, this was a happy home though with a heavy weight upon it. Herr Kruger, Dietrich’s father, took a rapid turn for the worse triggering Dietrich to follow through on what I thought was a passing fancy, this
entire notion of the Blood of Christ being used to heal his father. We had always hoped that medical science would progress fast enough that a cure would be found, God knows he has the money to put behind the research, but unfortunately time has run out.” He lowered his voice further still. “I don’t think Herr Kruger will last the week.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  She wasn’t.

  Heinrich seemed to sense it. “Herr Kruger, senior, is a good man. So is his son, unfortunately his son loves his father so much he’s lost sight of the values his father raised him to believe in, and now even his father has grown desperate, compromising his own values.” He shook his head, sighing. “Do any of us truly know what lengths we would go to if we were in the same position?”

  “I know I wouldn’t kill anyone.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” Heinrich raised his hand, cutting off her reply. “I know, I know, you wouldn’t. And neither would I. But then, if there was something out there that could have saved my son from his cancer, and someone stood in my way…” He shook his head. “I don’t know, I just don’t know.”

  Laura didn’t say anything as she wondered herself what she would do to save James, or their future children. She would like to think she wouldn’t kill, but she couldn’t be sure. Killing an innocent? Absolutely not, but killing someone standing in the way of her saving someone she loved?

  She too didn’t know.

  “You lost a son?”

  Heinrich nodded, biting his lip.

  “How old was he?”

  “Sixteen.”

  She reached out and squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose a child.”

  Heinrich sucked in a deep breath, the corners of his mouth turning down deeply.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Laura, her chest beginning to tighten in anticipation of something horrible about to be said.

  “I’ve analyzed the scans I took from yesterday and I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

  Laura’s hands gripped the sheets, tight.