Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “I don’t understand. ‘Once thought’?”

  “I don’t have time to explain, but it’s the closest anyone has ever been to finding it. I’m leaving for Rome now.” He strode over to his father, placing a hand on the man’s forehead, brushing away some stray hairs. “I love you,” he whispered, there no response other than a moan, his father’s dreams tormented.

  He hugged his mother then left without saying anything else, afraid he’d once again lose control. Quickly covering the distance from his father’s chambers to Dr. Heinrich’s lab, he took a moment to compose himself before entering. Heinrich was changing the woman’s bandage when he entered.

  “One moment,” said Heinrich, the woman nodding, staring at him for a moment then turning away.

  “How is she?”

  “Her wound is infected. She needs more care than I can give.”

  “That isn’t an option.”

  “Your father wouldn’t want her to die.”

  Dietrich glared at Heinrich. “My father is almost dead. I’m in charge now.”

  Heinrich took half a step backward, bowing slightly. “I understand.”

  “The authorities might be closing in on this location. Can my father be moved?”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  “It may become necessary. In fact, it will become necessary.”

  “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “I want him and my mother moved as soon as you’re ready.”

  “And what of her?”

  Dietrich looked over at Laura Palmer, the wound on her stomach exposed and inflamed.

  “If my father dies, she dies.”

  Basilica of Sant’Agostino, Rome, Italy

  James Acton was almost giddy with excitement. The Vatican had arranged to have several large, battery powered lights brought into the catacombs, and once they had arrived, his slow progress had become rapid. With a notepad and pencil he had mapped out the catacombs, his practiced diagramming skills put to work as he sketched each section, indicating where the bodies were and which ones were labelled.

  Some were, but many weren’t.

  But that hadn’t been his concern. He was more interested in discovering the organization of the catacombs, if there even was one, and with many of the caskets engraved with dates, especially the more “recent” ones, he was able to find the section that appeared to have bodies from the fourteenth through sixteenth centuries, the rest of the catacombs appearing to be much older, very little newer.

  And that had led rather quickly to his shocking discovery.

  “Hello, Professor.”

  Acton jumped, spinning toward the voice to find Terrence and Jenny coming down the stairs, Terrence in the lead with a hand held out behind him to help Jenny. He was torn between continuing with what he had just discovered, and his curiosity in how things had gone.

  He chose to be polite.

  “Did everything go well?”

  They both nodded. “I won’t be charged with anything.”

  Acton breathed a sigh of relief at Jenny’s words. “Thank God! That must be a huge weight off your shoulders.”

  She nodded, though she still seemed uneasy.

  “Something wrong?”

  She shook her head, a little too quickly. Terrence pointed at the wall where several lights were focused. “Did you find something?”

  “Yes!” He beckoned them toward his find, only minutes old. “Look at this.” In one of the alcoves dug out of the wall there was a casket, many centuries upon centuries old, but still intact. “There’s a nameplate here that identifies the occupant.”

  “It’s been scratched out,” said Jenny, leaning closer, the awe in her voice suggesting whatever had troubled her a moment ago had been forgotten. “As if by a nail or something.”

  Acton nodded vigorously. “And look. That’s an L, isn’t it? And a G?”

  Terrence got up close, squinting. “I think so. That’s definitely an L. The rest of it I can’t tell.”

  “None of the rest of them have had their nameplates tampered with like this. Now mind you I haven’t looked at them all, but I’ve looked at probably a hundred, and this is the only one I found so far.” He pointed at a box of tools he had brought down earlier. “Grab me the chisel and hammer.”

  Terrence complied, handing the tools over to Acton who quickly went to work, sticking the chisel between the top of the coffin and the side, gently tapping until he was in about an inch. He lightly pushed up on the handle, the top of the coffin rising slightly. As he worked around the edge, the work painstakingly slow, he had to resist the urge to simply rip the top off and get at what was inside, the repetitive, deliberate task leaving him with far too much time on his hands to think about Laura and the race against time he was in.

  Please God, take care of her!

  “Give me a hand here.”

  Terrence grabbed one end of the top, Acton the other, and they both gently rocked it back and forth until it came loose, thankfully in one piece, Acton a desperate husband but also a trained archeologist with a duty to preserve the past.

  Unlike those barbarians in Mosul.

  He felt a spark of anger ignite at the thought of anyone arrogant enough to believe they had the right to destroy artifacts thousands of years old because they felt they insulted their religion. How insecure in your beliefs did you have to be to feel a sculpture, handcrafted five thousand years ago, was an affront to your God?

  He shook his head.

  I don’t have time for this.

  He crouched down, squeezing himself into the alcove barely big enough to hold the casket, looking inside. A breath caught in his throat at the sight. The body inside was intact, at least from all outward appearances, it carefully wrapped in bandages from head to toe, the skeletal structure plain, any tissues long having decayed.

  “Flashlight.”

  Somebody slapped one in his outstretched hands, his eyes not leaving the body, something having caught his attention. He flicked the light on and shone it near where the hands appeared to have been clasped over the person’s chest.

  “These bandages have been opened.”

  “What?” Terrence poked his head in, trying to get a look.

  Acton pointed. “Look, see the discoloration here? These wraps are newer around the chest.” Acton reached over and gently ran his fingers along the bandages, tracing a rib then pausing when he felt something else, something on top of the ribcage. Running his finger along the straight, hard line, he came to a corner and continued to trace out what felt like a stone rectangle.

  A stone rectangle gripped in the person’s hands.

  “I think it might be some sort of tablet.”

  “Underneath the wrappings? Why would they do that?” asked Jenny, she having replaced Terrence.

  “They might have been trying to hide something, or it might have been some sort of private message, meant for God, not to be seen by man.” Acton shrugged, stepping back from the alcove and stretching the kinks out. “Whatever the reason, we need to see what it says, if anything. Clearly somebody discovered it, probably when transferring the body to this newer casket, cut through the wrappings, read it, then rewrapped the body. I’m guessing that’s when they discovered this wasn’t Saint Longinus.”

  “Then let’s do it!” Terrence began to root through the toolbox, triumphantly holding up a set of scissors.

  Acton held up his hand. “I promised Father Albano I wouldn’t disturb anything without talking to him first.” Acton turned and rushed up the stairs, the excitement of imminent discovery fueling his tired frame, his worries over Laura almost pushed to the background as he sought out the elderly priest.

  “Father, I think I’ve found him!”

  Father Albano looked up from some papers he was reading, momentarily startled. “Found who?”

  “Longinus. Rather, Tiberius.”

  Father Albano rose, a smile on his face. “Congratulations, my son. But all you have done is find the body of a
man you weren’t looking for, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Acton smiled. “True, but it may contain a clue as to where the real body is.”

  “How so?”

  “We think there’s a stone tablet concealed underneath the bandages used to wrap his body. It may contain information that could lead us to him.”

  “How can you be certain?”

  “Without examining it, I can’t.”

  “What are you asking me, my son?”

  “I need your permission to cut open the bandages so we can see the tablet.” As soon as the word ‘cut’ was spoken Father Albano’s jaw dropped and Acton knew he was going to have a problem. He pressed forward, reminding the priest of why they were here. “My wife’s life is depending on my finding Saint Longinus. I need to see that tablet.”

  Father Albano shook his head slowly, his eyes dropping to the floor for a moment before returning to Acton’s. “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow it. To desecrate the dead, it’s…” He seemed at a loss for words, instead shaking his head. “I…don’t…know.”

  “Perhaps if we consulted a higher authority?”

  Father Albano looked up. “God?”

  Acton smiled. “I was thinking someone a little closer to Earth.”

  Hotel Astor Saint Honore, Paris, France

  “It’s still a huge area.”

  Reading nodded as he, Dawson and Niner looked at the overlay provided by the CIA showing the cellphone tower’s range based upon topographical and meteorological data at the time of the call. “Over three thousand square kilometers.”

  “That’s insane.” Niner stepped away from the screen, grabbing a bottle of water from the kitchenette. “There’s no way we can cover that area, it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  “True,” said Dawson, “but this waiting is driving me nuts.”

  “I don’t know how we’re going to narrow this down any further.” Reading leaned back and stretched. “But I’m going crazy as well. Jim is counting on us to find his wife before it’s too late.”

  Niner sat back down. “He seems to be making progress.”

  “Yes, but in his own words he’s simply found out why they once thought this soldier was buried there. He hasn’t actually found him.”

  “And may never,” mumbled Dawson who was bent over, his head hanging low between his knees, apparently deep in thought. He suddenly sat upright. “We have the phone number that made the call, right?”

  Reading nodded.

  “Let’s call it.”

  “Wouldn’t that just tip them off?”

  Dawson shook his head. “No, we have equipment that can ping the phone just like the cellphone companies do. It will force the phone to send a signal back. We can then try to trace that signal.”

  “Won’t it just lead to the same cellphone tower?”

  Niner leaned forward, excited. “No, he’s right. We wouldn’t be tracing the cellphone tower signal, we’ll be tracing the phone’s signal. If we can pick up that signal we’ll be able to narrow the area significantly, and maybe even pinpoint the damned thing.”

  Reading smiled. “I’m not even going to ask if we’d need a warrant to do this officially.”

  Dawson shrugged. “No warrants in our business unless we’re operating on US soil.” He looked at the Eiffel Tower through the window. “We’re not in Vegas, are we?”

  “Nope,” replied Niner.

  “Then that must be the real one.”

  Niner grinned. “No warrants.”

  Reading’s phone vibrated on the table. “It’s Mario Giasson.” He swiped his finger, putting the call on speaker. “Hi Mario, it’s Hugh. You’re on speaker with our friends.”

  “Understood. We may have a problem. In fact, we do have a problem that our friends may be able to help with.”

  “This is White. What’s the problem?” asked Dawson.

  “Terrence Mitchell received a text message from our suspects. It says ‘You failed to report your discovery. Next time she dies.’ They refuse to talk about it, essentially claiming they’ve been told Jenny Mitchell will be killed if they do. They also claim that the suspects seem to know everything they’re saying.”

  “Could they have a transmitter on them?” asked Niner.

  “I don’t think so. I had one of my men bring a scanner and they were clean. The only transmitting devices on them are their cellphones.”

  “That’s probably it,” said Dawson. “These guys knew they were coming; they had a driver there waiting to pick them up at the airport. All they had to do was lift one of their phones for a few minutes, install a special app or insert a modified SIM card then return it. If I’m not mistaken Mr. Mitchell is fairly, shall we say, awkward? It would have been easy to bump into him once or twice to pull the phone then plant it again.”

  “What could they do if they modified the phone?” asked Giasson.

  “They could set it to transmit everything the speaker picked up. They’d know everything being said within earshot of the phone.”

  “Then that’s probably it. I’ll confiscate their phones immediately.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” said Reading. “If you do, they’ll know we’re onto them and we can’t risk them panicking and killing Laura. It’s best to just let things go on as they are, but making sure nothing is said about our progress in front of them.”

  “Do you think they could have compromised the Professor’s phone?”

  Dawson shrugged. “Anything’s possible. You’ll need to let them all know what’s going on somehow without tipping off our suspects.”

  Reading leaned closer to the phone. “Be discrete, Mario. Laura’s life just might depend upon it.”

  Basilica of Sant’Agostino, Rome, Italy

  Mario Giasson reentered the Basilica, scribbling a note on his pad. He spotted Acton coming out of Father Albano’s rectory, his eyes widening as if he had been looking for him. Acton opened his mouth to speak when Giasson held a finger to his lips.

  Acton stopped, his eyes narrowing as he followed the mimed instructions. Giasson approached, holding up the pad.

  Don’t talk. You may be bugged. Give me your cellphone.

  Acton nodded, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

  “So, Professor, hungry yet?” he asked, scribbling another note and holding up the pad.

  Terrence? Jenny?

  “Getting a little peckish now that you mention it.” He pointed toward the entrance to the catacombs.

  “Maybe we should get the others and find out what they want for lunch. I’ll have it brought in.”

  Acton nodded as they approached the entrance. He descended a few steps then called out. “Jenny, Terrence, can you join us up here please?”

  “Yes, Professor!”

  It took a couple of minutes for the two to climb the steps leaving Giasson and Acton to continue their forced small talk about lunch. “Well, since we’re in Italy, I’m guessing you know a place with a good lasagna?”

  “Isn’t that a little heavy for lunch?”

  Giasson held the pad up to the arriving couple, their shocked expressions thankfully not accompanied by any outbursts. They handed over their phones. “What do you two feel like for lunch?” asked Acton as Giasson handed the three phones to one of his men, indicating he should be quiet.

  “Perhaps a salad?” Jenny didn’t sound certain, her mind clearly not on food as her eyes followed her cellphone’s handoff.

  Terrence almost seemed oblivious to the situation, his stomach taking over. “I’m starved. I’m thinking fettuccini alfredo with grilled chicken and some garlic bread.”

  “I’ll have someone order it,” replied Giasson, handing off a scribbled note to another one of his men with their lunch orders. He then pointed to the rectory, leading the way to Father Albano’s office. Glancing back, he shook his head as Terrence tiptoed, Pink Panther style, Acton rolling his eyes with a smile. The door was open and before Father Albano could say anything, he held his finger to his li
ps, ushering the others inside then closing the door.

  “Okay, we don’t have much time,” said Giasson. “We believe one or more of your phones may have been bugged, for lack of a better word.”

  “How?” asked Terrence. “They’ve never been out of our sight.”

  “Are you sure? Nobody bumped into you at some point, the airport perhaps?”

  Terrence turned beet red, Jenny taking his arm. “In fact, there were quite a few such…umm…encounters?”

  “Then it’s possible. This means that since then they’ve heard every single word said.”

  “Which means they know what we’ve found!” Acton shook his head. “But why should we care? We have to tell them when we find it anyway.”

  Giasson nodded toward Terrence and Jenny. “Why don’t you tell us what’s been going on?”

  Acton looked surprised at the question, his head swiveling between Giasson and the students, then locking on Terrence when he began to speak.

  “They told us we had to report back to them if you found anything, or if you tried to trick them. If we didn’t, they’d kill Jenny.”

  Acton’s jaw dropped as he looked at Jenny’s stomach then her scared face. “Oh, Jenny. Are you okay?”

  She shook her head. “I’m terrified. I’ve been on pins and needles ever since we arrived. I’m sorry we lied to you, Professor, but…” She cradled her stomach, looking down at it.

  Acton placed a hand on her shoulder. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You did the right thing. Your baby comes first.” He turned to Giasson. “What do we do?”

  “I’ve spoken to Hugh and the others and their recommendation is we do nothing. If they suspect something, it might put your wife or Mrs. Mitchell in danger. But we need to be very careful about what we say around the phones. There can be no references to what is happening in Paris. If they get wind of any progress there…well, we just can’t risk it.”

  Acton nodded, his face grim. Giasson knew Acton was a good man, and though he was clearly worried about his wife, he seemed to be equally concerned for Jenny.

  “Okay, here’s what we do,” said Acton, turning to Terrence and Jenny. “You two get your phones and go back into the catacombs. Keep doing whatever you were doing. Talk about lunch, talk about the baby, whatever. If you can’t keep it natural, say nothing at all.” He turned to Giasson. “I’m pretty sure my phone is okay, but we’ll assume it’s not. They didn’t know I was involved until they took Laura, and since then I’ve had no contact with the public. I went from the hotel to the limo, to the private flight here, into your car then here.”