Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) (9 page)

Dietrich
pointed in the opposite direction as his man quickly walked away. “I saw a man
run that way,” he said, the guard and several new arrivals immediately rushing
in the direction he had indicated. Heading for the entrance, he caught sight of
his man approaching the doors just as they were sealed shut by security.

No
matter.

He
pulled the Beretta from an inside pocket, placing it against the head of a
young female tourist. “Open the doors now or she dies!”

Screams
erupted as the few remaining tourists bolted in every direction, security
running toward the scene, those with guns drawing them.

He
didn’t care.

Wrapping
an arm around the woman and dragging her toward the doors, he repeated his
demand.

No one
complied.

He
nodded toward one of his men who pulled a weapon, grabbing a female tour guide
cowering in the corner.

“Nobody
has to die here today! But if you don’t open the doors in thirty seconds, she
dies!” He pressed the gun against his hostage’s temple harder. “If anyone gets
any closer, she dies.” The guards inching forward froze, but the doors remained
locked. He raised his gun and fired into the ceiling, plaster raining down on
them, a fine mist of dust slowly wafting its way to the marble floor. “Now!”

“Open
the doors!” shouted someone and he heard a buzzing sound behind them, the red
lights over the doors turning green. One of his men pushed on the door and it
opened. He slowly backed toward it, the gun back against the woman’s head. He
cleared the doors as the guards slowly moved forward, their weapons still
pointing at him. Firing two shots at the ground, he let go of the woman,
rushing down the stairs and jumping into the waiting car with the others, the
tires already squealing as the driver floored it, sending them careening toward
the exit and the traffic maze that was Vienna.

Taking a
sharp right they blasted past several police cars obviously responding to the
emergency call at the museum. Dietrich turned in his seat and cursed as they
locked up their brakes, pulling one-eighties as they began their pursuit. His
driver took another hard right into an alley and came to a screeching halt, all
of them jumping out as one of their outside men beckoned them, a manhole cover
lifted from the street. Dietrich climbed into the hole, quickly sliding down
the metal ladder as the others followed, the cover replaced overhead as he hit
the bottom with a splash.

Sprinting
forward, he rounded a bend in the storm drain and smiled.

Six dirt
bikes were waiting as promised.

He
jumped on the lead bike, kick starting the engine and activating the specially
programmed GPS. He gunned the motor, the front tire lifting slightly as he sped
away from the access point, the other engines roaring to life behind him.

As he
climbed the curved walls while taking a bend to the left, he smiled knowing one
more relic had been retrieved, and nobody had been hurt.

I’ll
save you yet, father.

The Temple Mount, Jerusalem, Judea
April 10
^th
, 30 AD

“His body was clearly stolen.”

Longinus
looked at the rabbi, the man’s withering stare intimidating, one of the
negatives of having his eyesight returned being the effect of such
things—especially now accustomed to merely hearing someone’s displeasure rather
than seeing it as well.

Sweat
dripped down his back, his segmented armor hot as he, Albus, Severus and a
young soldier named Tiberius, all guarding the tomb of Jesus earlier, stood at
attention in front of their commander and several Jewish leaders.

“Surely
you must realize that this insane notion being spread by his followers of resurrection
is blasphemous lunacy!”

Nobody
said anything, lowly soldiers never speaking unless asked a direct question.

And this
didn’t count.

“None of
you have anything to say for yourselves? A tomb you are sent to guard is opened
and the body stolen under your very noses?”

Again no
one said anything, for they all knew the truth.

The
earth had shaken once again and the stone had rolled away, a spirit of some
sort appearing, proclaiming the resurrection. It had been terrifying, and even
he had run away with the others in fear. One of them had reported the events
and they had all been summoned, questioned for hours once the tomb had been
confirmed empty.

The rabbi
snapped his fingers and out of the shadows several men appeared carrying cloth
covered trays, each containing what appeared to be generously filled purses.
The rabbi picked up one of the purses, the tinkle of coins inside music to many
a poor soldier’s ears. He stepped in front of young Tiberius, taking his hand
and dropping the heavy sum in his palm, closing the man’s fingers over the
cloth.

He took
another purse, then another, moving down the line, all the while explaining the
price of this reward. “You are to say, ‘His disciples came by night and stole him
away while we were asleep.’ And if this should come to the governor’s ears, we
will win him over and keep you out of trouble.”

The rabbi
stepped in front of Longinus, turning to take the final purse from the final
tray. He reached for his hand but Longinus, the spear he had pierced the body
of Jesus with gripped tightly in one hand, clasped his free one behind his
back, shaking his head.

“I will
not lie.”

The rabbi’s
eyebrows rose slightly, his friends shifting slightly, clearly uncomfortable.

“You
want more?”

Longinus
shook his head, firmly. “There isn’t enough silver or gold in the Empire to
make me lie about the miracle I witnessed today. I was blind and now can see.
That cannot be denied. You murdered the son of God, the messiah you have all
been waiting for, and now you want to cover up your mistake.” Longinus squared
his shoulders. “I will have no part in it.”

The rabbi
returned the purse to the tray.

“Very
well.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “But the truth often comes with a
heavy price.”

Ciampino Airport, Rome, Italy
Present Day, One day before the Paris assault

Professor James Acton beamed a smile at his good friend Interpol
Agent Hugh Reading as he descended the steps of the Gulf V private jet
chartered by his wife. Reading was standing beside the Vatican Inspector
General, Mario Giasson, a man he had come to know quite well when the Vatican
had been overrun by Muslim protesters. He had little contact with the man
outside of the Vatican events, though he knew he was a family man and reliable under
fire.

Reading
on the other hand he knew quite well.

They
gave each other a thumping hug.

“How ya
doin’?”

Reading
exchanged a hug and cheek kisses with Laura as Acton shook Giasson’s hand.

“A
little tired, but I’m out of the office so that’s always good.”

Acton
knew his friend had mixed feelings about his new job. After the events that led
to their meeting, he had become too public to stay at New Scotland Yard as a
detective so he had taken a job at Interpol instead, giving up murder
investigations for international police investigations.

Which
involved too much “bloody” paperwork for his liking.

But
thanks to a few incidents over the past several years, Reading had definitely
seen his share of action. Acton and his wife seemed to have a knack for getting
into trouble, and Reading too often found himself either along for the ride, or
riding in to the rescue.

It was
nice for a change to be coming to help him, though Acton had a nasty feeling
gunfire was in his future.

Laura
climbed into the limo first, the men following. “So what’s the latest?” asked
Laura as they settled in.

Reading
frowned. “They raided a museum in Vienna just a few minutes ago.”

“Let me
guess, the Holy Lance kept in the Imperial Treasury?”

Giasson
nodded. “We’ve put out a warning to all of the museums and churches that have Blood
Relics, but unfortunately the focus is on terrorism right now and religious
icons aren’t a high priority for the police, especially considering the
circumstances.”

Laura
leaned into Acton’s shoulder as they took a turn. “What do you mean?”

“Well,
the theft at the Vatican involved four men on the ground and at least three in
the helicopter.”

“Which
means they’re well equipped with a lot of money behind them,” added Reading.

“And the
theft in Austria apparently involved at least four inside plus a getaway car
and dirt bikes placed ahead of time in the sewer system. They just found those
before we left to pick you up.”

“So no
sign of them.” Acton chewed his cheek. “Surely there’s security footage from
Hapsburg?”

Reading
nodded. “It’s being pulled now.”

Laura brought
them back to the original question. “You were saying that the police weren’t
being overly cooperative?”

“It’s
not necessarily that they’re not being cooperative, it’s that they just can’t
afford the resources. If we’re talking a team of half a dozen well-armed men,
putting one or two officers at a church is almost useless. Reckless even.
Really you need to station at least half a dozen at each of these locations,
otherwise they’re little better than lookouts. Or targets.”

“So you
don’t think it would deter them?”

Giasson
shook his head. “We have over one hundred armed men at the Vatican and that
didn’t deter them.”

Acton
crossed his leg, Laura putting her hand on his knee. “So we don’t know who they
are or what their motivation is.”

“I have
a feeling your theory is right,” replied Reading.

“That
someone is trying to get their hands on the blood of Christ for its healing
properties?”

Reading
nodded. “Basically we’ve got a religious nutter out there willing to kill
because of a fairytale.”

Giasson
cleared his throat. “That
fairytale
as you call it is believed by over
two billion people.”

Reading
blushed, Acton smiling as his friend went into backpedal mode. “I didn’t mean
the whole Jesus thing, I just meant the blood curing the guy’s blindness.
That’s not actually in the bible, is it?”

“No,”
agreed Giasson. “In the Gospel According to John there is reference to a
soldier piercing the side of Jesus, but there’s no mention of him by name, or
of his sight being restored.”

Acton
leaned forward. “But in later accounts, he
is
included. If you read the Biblical
Apocrypha you’ll find mention of him by name, and in other texts that were
rejected as not canon the miracle is referred to. The problem with that era is
if a text contradicted the Gospels in any way, it was rejected, even if the
other ninety percent agreed. This excluded many accounts of the events
surrounding Jesus that might very well be true.”

“Assuming
any of it’s true,” said Reading, immediately holding out his hand to stop
Giasson. “I know, I know, billions believe. I’m not saying I don’t believe, but
wouldn’t it be nice to have proof?”

“Proof
of the miracle or even the resurrection is impossible,” replied Giasson. “Even
if you had a dozen firsthand accounts, they’d all be dismissed as simply
stories.”

“True,”
agreed Acton. “I think however there is plenty of evidence to prove, or at
least strongly support, His actual existence. You can ignore the Bible if you
want, but it is actually considered an historical text, most of the New
Testament written within a century of Jesus’ death. And there are dozens upon
dozens of other texts that weren’t included in the New Testament like I
mentioned. But if you want to dismiss it as a creative writing project, then
simply read the Roman historians of the era. Everyone from Flavius Josephus to
Pliny the Younger refer to Him and to His followers.”