Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) (17 page)

With
their faces all pixelated.

And a
caption underneath.

Congratulations on your nuptials.

We’re really happy we failed.

(To kill you that is.)

He shook
his head. Niner was hilarious. Red was his best friend but Niner was definitely
among his closest. All the guys were to varying degrees. He would die for any
one of them, even the newer guys.

They
were his brothers in arms.

His
family.

And the
head of that family was Colonel Thomas Clancy, a man he trusted implicitly, a
man he knew always had their backs even if things were a total Charlie-Foxtrot
and they were being disowned by their government.

Clancy
would never give up on them.

He
believed in loyalty, deeply, which was why Dawson was confident Clancy would
give him the greenlight to head to Europe.

As long
as the Colonel didn’t already have plans for him.

He
knocked on the closed inner office door.

“Enter!”

Dawson
opened the door, stepping inside. “Good afternoon, Colonel.”

Clancy
grunted, jabbing toward a chair with an unlit cigar, his battle to give up his
habit still ongoing.

It’s
going to get even tougher now that relations with Cuba are normalizing.

“What
can I do for you, Sergeant Major?”

“I need
a favor,” replied Dawson, sitting in his chair. “Or rather, I need a green
light to do a favor.”

Clancy
tore his eyes away from his computer screen. “Explain.”

“I
received a message that Professor Laura Palmer was shot and kidnapped in Paris
just a few hours ago. I’d like to head over there, on my own time and dime, to
see if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Clancy
jammed the cigar in his mouth. “Those two are in trouble again?”

Dawson
shrugged. “Their files make for entertaining reading.”

“True. Someone
should make a movie. We’ve got nothing in play at the moment for your team, but
be prepared for recall just in case.”

“Of
course.” Dawson started to stand then paused. “I hate to go on vacation alone.”

Clancy
shook his head. “Niner’s newly single, isn’t he? Take him, it’ll keep him out
of trouble.”

“Thanks,
Colonel.” Dawson quickly rose, heading for the door. “Enjoy the rest of your
weekend, Colonel.”

Another
grunt. “Cheryl’s sister is in town visiting. If I could find a reason I’d be
here ’til Monday.”

Dawson
chuckled. “Good luck, sir.”

He
closed the office door behind him and fished out his phone, putting an end to
Niner’s weekend.

Rome, Italy

Vatican Inspector General Mario Giasson watched as the last
reinforced metal case was loaded into the back of the armored car. Half a dozen
priceless relics had been flown under tight security to Rome, held under heavy
police guard at the airport until they had all arrived. It would be a single
transport to the Holy See, with an armed police escort.

Nobody
would be stealing this shipment.

Not
tonight.

He had
been devastated to hear from his friend Hugh Reading that Laura Palmer had been
shot and kidnapped. His heart went out to her poor husband and he had taken a
moment to say a silent prayer. They were good people and unfortunately God
seemed intent on testing them repeatedly.

But they
were strong people, and he knew they would persevere, though his optimism
relied heavily upon the hope Professor Palmer was still alive.

Unfortunately
he had seen too many good people taken before their time, and though it hurt
those who remained behind, he felt confident that it was the Lord’s will every
time.

“Let’s
go!” he shouted, the truck secure. He climbed into the passenger seat of his
escort vehicle, young Francesco Greco driving. Two police vehicles pulled out
first, lights flashing, the armored car next followed by their car and two
trailing police escorts. The six vehicle procession was soon leaving the
airport and moving through the streets of Rome.

He
squeezed his phone in his hand as his fingers tapped on his knee.

“Relax,
boss, there’s no way they’d dare hit us. There’s too many police.”

“That
didn’t stop them in Paris.”

“They
weren’t expecting them. That was an ambush.”

Giasson
grunted. “Until we’re through the gates and back home…”

Traffic
was light, it almost three in the morning, but he couldn’t help but eyeball
every vehicle they passed, or that passed them. The tension was killing him,
his chest tight, his muscles contracted, his stomach protesting with a bit of
acid reflux.

He
reached for his antacids.

A light
ahead changed and the procession slowed, Greco stopping just shy of the bumper.
A horn honked ahead and Giasson leaned against his window to see what was
happening.

And
cursed.

“What
the hell is that?”

He could
see a man walking down the middle of the road, some sort of wide spray emitting
from a nozzle he had aimed at the lead police car. He spun around, his side
view mirror having revealed another man coming up from behind them, doing the
same thing to the rear police cars.

Reaching
for the door handle, he stopped as somebody jumped on the hood of their car,
then hopped off.

“Get
down!” shouted Greco, grabbing Giasson by the jacket and yanking him forward.
Giasson caught a glimpse of something on the rear doors of the armored car just
as his head dipped below the dash, a terrific explosion rocking the car. He sat
up, taking stock of himself for a brief moment, then turned to Greco.

“Are you
okay?”

The
young man nodded then reached for his door just as two men passed them,
spraying both sides of their car with some sort of foam. Giasson yanked on the
handle and pushed the door open.

It
barely gave.

He
pushed harder, the door only opening about an inch.

“Try
yours.”

Greco
pushed on his door, hard, to no avail.

Somebody
jumped on the hood again then dove into the back of the armored car, the two
officers inside tossed unceremoniously onto the hood of their car, the blast
strong enough to have knocked them out cold. Giasson shoved on his door
repeatedly, getting more and more frustrated with each futile push.

He
roared in rage as the cases containing the priceless relics were handed out and
loaded into the back of a van that had just pulled up.

“Goddammit!”
he shouted, pulling his weapon, immediately beginning to recite a Hail Mary for
taking his Lord’s name in vain.

“Sir,
no!” shouted Greco, grabbing for the weapon. “Bulletproof glass!”

Giasson
bit his tongue, cutting off another curse, then slammed the butt of the gun
into the dash repeatedly as the last case was offloaded.

And to
add insult to injury, the final man out of the truck grinned and waved at them
before jumping to the ground and climbing into the waiting van.

It was
over in minutes, seconds even, the operation carried out with textbook
efficiency, as if those involved were military trained. But it didn’t matter
anymore.

The
relics were gone.

And with
this theft, almost all physical traces of the Lord our Christ were missing,
almost everything thought to trace back to those hours spent dying for our sins
were gone, perhaps forever, for some unknown purpose.

And for
the first time in years, he felt the burning desire to kill.

Hotel Astor Saint Honore, Paris, France

Reading groaned, stretching as he looked about the room. It was
pitch dark, the blackout curtains doing their job, keeping the nighttime city
lights from disturbing him. He looked at the clock, cursing.

His
phone vibrated again.

Yanking
off his CPAP mask—his doctor having told him to never leave home without it—he
grabbed his phone and swiped his thumb.

“Hello?”

“Hi
Hugh, it’s Mario.”

Reading
grunted. “Waking me seems to be a habit with you.”

“Sorry,
mon ami, but there’s been another theft.”

Reading
closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. “Where?”

“Two
meters from my own nose. They hit the convoy transporting the bulk of the
remaining Blood Relics.”

Reading’s
eyes shot open. “You’re kidding me! Any casualties?”

“None.
Not a single shot fired.”

“How the
bloody hell did they manage that?”

“They
used some sort of spray adhesive on the doors of the escort vehicles, trapping
us inside, then blew the doors off the back of the armored car. If I hadn’t
seen it with my own eyes I wouldn’t have believed it myself.”

Reading
shook his head. These guys were good. Too good. They had changed their MO
again, back to non-lethal methods, which made him think what happened in Paris
was an anomaly, there no reason for them to come in shooting like they had.

“These
guys are too good to be just common thieves.”

“They’re
not,” replied Giasson. “We’ve had our first break. Three of the men caught on
camera in Vienna have just been identified.”

“Why the
hell wasn’t I notified?”

“Probably
in your email,” replied Giasson. “I guess they figured you needed your beauty
sleep.”

Reading
grunted. “Details?”

“They’re
all known mercenaries, former KSK Special Forces.”

“KSK?”

“German.”

“German?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.
One of them here sounded German. I think he was the same guy from the video in
Vienna. Was he identified?”

“No,
he’s still a mystery. He didn’t show up in any database.”

Reading
cursed. “So we’ve identified the hired help. I’ll make sure my people are
running down known associates, see if we can figure out how they’re usually
paid.”

“Follow
the money.”

“Exactly.
And these guys are clearly well-funded.”

Giasson
paused. “How’s Jim doing?”

“Not
good. He finally got to sleep a few hours ago, but until we find out what
happened to Laura, one way or the other, I’m afraid he’s going to be a wreck.”

“Completely
understandable. Listen, with pretty much the entire known collection of Blood
Relics now in their hands, there’s not much more that he can do to help us.
This has turned into a criminal investigation. Tell him that we thank him for
his help, and relieve him of any obligation to continue. He should be
concentrating on himself now.”

Reading
laughed. “You don’t know Jim very well. He’ll never rest until he finds her.”

He could
hear Giasson breathe deeply. “If it were my wife, I would do the same.”

“If it
were mine, I’d go for a pint.”

Giasson
chuckled. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m
divorced.”

“I know,
and you’re still terrible.”

Reading
smiled. “I’m going to contact London and get an update. Then some sleep. Be
safe, my friend.”

“You
too. Goodnight.”

Reading
opened his laptop, flipping through his emails then noticed one from Acton.

Kraft
Dinner called. Help on way.

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.