Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) (19 page)

“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
genuine
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.

“I’m so
happy to hear you’re okay. I-I thought you were…” He couldn’t bring himself to
say it, her ordeal not yet over, and there no guarantee she would be returned
to him. “I love you and—”

“That’s
enough.” The man with the German accent replaced Laura’s breathing and he felt
the pit return to his stomach for a moment. “You will find us the genuine Spear
of Destiny. Understood?”

“Yes,
but what if it can’t be found?”

“Then, Professor
Acton, your wife dies.”

The call
ended and Acton placed his phone on the table, his mind a flurry of mixed
emotions, terror at the prospect of his wife being killed should he fail, but
elation in knowing she was alive and not dying from the gunshot wound.

“Well?”

He
looked at an expectant Reading, still holding his own phone to his ear.

“She’s
alive.”

“Thank
God!”

“But
they’re going to kill her if I can’t find the Spear of Destiny.”

Reading’s
eyes narrowed. “Wasn’t that one of the items they already stole?”

“Three
of them, actually. And none were genuine.”

“Do you
know where it is?”

Acton
shook his head. “Haven’t a clue, but their suggestion—and I have to say it’s a
good one—is to find the body of Saint Longinus, the man who the spear belonged
to.”

“You
mean the bloke who stabbed Jesus and got his eyesight back?”

“Yes.”

“Any
idea where
he
is?”

“I have
an idea where he was about five hundred years ago.”

“Well,
that’s a start.” Reading’s words dripped with sarcasm.

“I’m
going to need help in finding this.”

Reading
nodded. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

Acton
shook his head. “No, I want you concentrating on finding Laura. Find her and I
don’t need to find the spear.”

“Did
they give you a deadline?”

“No, but
if they’re going to all this trouble I’m assuming whoever they want to heal
doesn’t have much time.”

Reading
motioned toward the pad. “What’s that?”

“What I
was hearing. While I was waiting for him to bring the phone to Laura I heard
about sixty footsteps in what I thought was a large room but I think must have
been a large hallway, then a door open and more steps in another large room.”

“So some
sort of warehouse maybe?”

“Maybe.
Laura though gave me some critical info that I don’t know if the guy picked up
on.”

“What?”

“She
said the doctor who treated her was named Heinrich and that she was in a
well-equipped lab.”

“Interesting.
I’ll run the name, see what we come up with.”

“Good.”
Acton eyed his food, suddenly starving. “I’m going to eat then contact Mai. I
need some research done.” Acton grabbed his fork and tucked into his breakfast,
now cold.

He
didn’t care.

His wife
was alive.

And he
was determined to save her.

Trinh Residence, St. Paul, Maryland

Mai Lien Trinh ended the phone call to her father, tears in her
eyes. It was exactly twelve hours later in her homeland of Vietnam, which meant
many of her phone calls were made in the middle of the night. If she waited
until she got home from the university, either her friends were still asleep,
getting ready for work, or at work. Then by the time they were done their work
day, it was time for
her
to sleep or get ready for work.

The only
way she could keep in touch was to make her calls in the very early morning,
when her friends were getting home from work, or on the weekends.

She
couldn’t wait that long between calls.

In her
culture families were extremely close, often several generations living within
one home, her family no different except for her troubled brother who had left
the family home as quickly as he could.

He had
chosen a path of petty crime, a very dangerous vocation in Communist Vietnam,
though it was that very lifestyle that had probably saved her life during the
Hanoi incident where she first met Professors Acton and Palmer. She found now
that she couldn’t see him she was missing him more than she ever had before,
despite seeing him rarely back home.

Home.

She
wasn’t sure if she would ever be able to call the United States home. She
hadn’t come here willingly, she was more of a political refugee, though she was
grateful for being allowed to stay. The professors had taken her in, given her
a home and a job, and she had to admit, with the exception of the loneliness,
life was good.

She was
working hard to improve her English by trying to only watch American TV and
only surf English websites, though sometimes she yearned to hear her native
tongue.

That was
what the phone calls were partly for.

She
could read and write English quite well, her challenge understanding rapid
conversations and getting rid of her accent, though Tommy, someone she had met
in the computer lab at the university, had said she sounded cute.

She
flushed with the thought.

Cute!

She
never thought of herself as cute. She didn’t think she was ugly, just plain,
though in America apparently there was something called Yellow Fever where a
lot of American guys liked Asian girls.

Even the
bookworms like her.

She
didn’t like the attention, which forced her to be even more bookish.

Her
clothes were baggier, she wore her hair so that when she walked she could just
lower her chin and her long black locks would act as blinders to the world
around her.

She’d
just have to get used to it.

Her
phone vibrated with an email. She bolted upright in bed when she saw who it was
from.

Professor
Acton!

She had
heard the horrible news yesterday, Dean Milton having called her to his office,
plus it had made the late news reports. Professor Palmer had been shot and
kidnapped, the news almost causing her to throw up in Milton’s office, memories
of the horrors they went through in Hanoi almost overwhelming her.

Milton
had told her to go home and take a few days off.

She
simply couldn’t imagine being cooped up in her tiny apartment alone, worrying.

She
needed to be doing something.