James Acton 03 - Broken Dove
Read James Acton 03 - Broken Dove Online
Authors: J Robert Kennedy
Table of Contents
From the Back Cover
With the Triarii in control of the Roman Catholic Church, an organization founded by Saint Peter himself takes action, murdering one of the Pope's operatives. Detective Chaney, called in by the new Pope to investigate, disappears, and, to the horror of the Papal staff sent to inform His Holiness, they find him missing too, the only clue a secret chest, presented to each new pope on the eve of their election, since the beginning of the Church.
Interpol Agent Reading, determined to find his friend, calls Professors James Acton and Laura Palmer to Rome to examine the chest and its forbidden contents, but before they can arrive, they are intercepted by an organization older than the Church, demanding the professors retrieve an item stolen in ancient Judea in exchange for the lives of their friends.
All of your favorite characters from The Protocol return to solve the most infamous kidnapping in history, against the backdrop of a two thousand year old battle pitting ancient foes with diametrically opposed agendas.
From the internationally bestselling author of
Depraved Difference
and
The Protocol
comes
Broken Dove
, the third entry in the smash hit
James Acton Thrillers
series, where J. Robert Kennedy reveals a secret concealed by the Church for almost 1200 years, and a fascinating interpretation of what the real reason behind the denials might be.
Praise for J. Robert Kennedy
If you want fast and furious, if you can cope with a high body count, most of all if you like to be hugely entertained, then you can't do much better than J Robert Kennedy.
Amazon Vine Voice Reviewer
Broken Dove
A James Acton Thriller
by
J. Robert Kennedy
Published Internationally by J. Robert Kennedy, Ottawa, ON Canada
Copyright © 2012 J. Robert Kennedy
Cover and Inside Artwork Copyright © 2012 J. Robert Kennedy
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, J. Robert Kennedy, is an infringement of copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2
For Brent, the "brother" it took me years to realize I always had. We are all very proud of your dedicated service to your country.
Broken Dove
A James Acton Thriller
Table of Contents
FORWARD
The bulk of the events in this book take place after those in
The Protocol
and
Brass Monkey
, Books #1 and #2 in the James Acton Thrillers series. Reading the earlier novels is not necessary to enjoy
Broken Dove
as it is a wholly self-contained novel, however it is recommended to fully understand how many of the characters met and those relationships developed.
PREFACE
Before the ninth century, all Papal processions from the Patriarchium, the Pope’s residence, to St. Peter’s Basilica, would travel a route known as the Via Sacra, the most direct route between the two points. After the death of Pope John VIII, a Pope later stricken from the records, the Via Sacra, or “Sacred Road”, was renamed by the locals, “the shunned street”, and since then, no papal processions have taken this road.
After the death of Pope John VIII, for over six hundred years, during the papal consecration ceremony, the newly elected pope would sit on the
sella stercoraria
, a seat with a hole in the middle like a toilet. The newly elected pope’s genitals were then examined, and after being confirmed male, the examiner would announce, “Mas nobis nominus est", or, "Our nominee is a man”. Once this announcement was made, the new pope would receive the keys of St. Peter.
In 1276 AD, Pope John XX, after ordering an exhaustive search of the records, renamed himself Pope John XXI, in recognition of two Pope John VIII’s.
To this day, the Roman Catholic Church denies the original Pope John VIII existed, and denies a female pope ever existed.
“Even while living in the world, the heart of Mary was so filled with motherly tenderness and compassion for men that no-one ever suffered so much for their own pains, as Mary suffered for the pains of her children.”
Saint Jerome, circa 380 AD
“I hope that real love and truth are stronger in the end than any evil or misfortune in the world.”
Charles Dickens
Outside Tyrus, Judea
342 A.D.
Berenice gripped the book, hidden beneath her robes, tight to her chest with one hand, the other grasping the seat of the cart she sat in. Flanked on either side by two of her sisters, she waited for word from the advance scouts sent ahead almost thirty minutes before. It felt like she had been holding her breath the entire time. Her heart pounded in her chest, her palms sweat profusely, and her cheeks she knew were flushed, their warmth like fire upon her face.
The snort of a horse ahead stirred them all, her companions sitting with her, and the guards surrounding them on horseback. Hooves pounded, echoing through the pass they found themselves about to enter.
This cannot be good.
She closed her eyes and prayed to the Blessed Virgin as the thunderous sound neared.
“Prepare for attack!” yelled one of the guard. “Protect the Word at all costs.”
Berenice opened her eyes. She knew there was no retreat; Roman soldiers were behind them, two hours at most. If they couldn’t go forward, these treacherous mountains would become their tomb, and the Word would be lost. The decision to move it had been hers, and she now realized she had made a mistake. The hope had been to not only escape the never ending searches by the Romans, but also to deliver it to the Coptic monks of Abba Antonious, still sympathetic to their cause, where in a single week, they could make dozens of copies of what she now held, the last copy known to exist. A book so terrible, so blasphemous, so apocryphal, the Emperor had ordered it and all others like it destroyed after the Council of Nicaea had concluded any teachings not fitting their narrow beliefs must be destroyed. Emperor Constantine’s edict had resulted in the destruction of thousands of precious works, some indeed blasphemous, others completely innocent, but burned from ignorance, hate or opportunism.
Including the few dozen copies of this collection of pages she now gripped.
And today, if those pursuing them had their way, the last copy would be lost.
“It’s Sister Joanna!”
Berenice looked up, opening her eyes. Joanna raced to a stop in front of the wagon, breathing as hard as her sweat caked horse. Both looked ready to collapse. “We can’t go that way!” she gasped. “The end of the pass is sealed by a contubernium of soldiers.”
She sucked in some more air. Sister Sapphira, sitting beside her, spoke. “We have double that behind us. If we can’t go forward, and we can’t go back, what do we do?” The panic in her voice was obvious to them all. And they all felt it.
“We fight!” yelled one of the guards on horseback, shaking her fist in the air as those around her cheered, her steed rearing on its hind legs.
“And we die,” said Berenice, calmly. The group immediately fell silent. Berenice looked from face to face with a smile as she remembered how she had met each over the years. She patted the book under her robe. “This is worth more than our lives, is it not?”
Every head around her nodded in agreement.
“Then what happens to us is irrelevant. This book must survive, and be delivered to the monks. If we fail in that mission, all is lost. The Word is lost, and that is something I fear will damage the teachings of our Lord, and the Blessed Virgin, for eternity.” The smile disappeared from her face. “One of us must survive.”
“Let it be you, Sister Berenice,” said Joanna. There were nods of agreement, and a few calls of her name. “You are the best of us, the most learned of us. Should the book be lost, as long as you survive, at least the Word can still be passed on.”
Berenice smiled at Joanna. “I thank you for your faith in me.”
“Then it shall be so!” announced Joanna, raising her sword in the air. “Long live Berenice! Long live the Word!”
The guard echoed the call, thrusting their swords in the air.
Berenice blushed, the shame of their praise at once filling her heart with love, and wounding her with her unworthiness. She raised a hand to quiet them. “There was a farm, not far back, where the farmer seemed a good Christian, and sympathetic to us.”
“The one who gave us fresh milk this morning,” said Joanna, nodding. “Yes, you must return there, hide until the troops pursuing us have passed, then make your own way when it is safe. We”—she circled her sword indicating the others—“will charge forward and attack the troops blocking our way. Should we succeed in vanquishing them, we will return for you. Should we fail, we will have died in the name of our Blessed Virgin, and shall dine tonight in Heaven, at her side!” Her sword thrust in the air, the morning sun glinting off the blade as she closed her eyes, staring up at the heavens, her compatriots doing the same.
Berenice lowered her head in silent prayer.
Should any of us survive the day, it shall be a miracle granted by the Holy Mother herself.
Natanz Nuclear Facility, 20 miles NNW of Natanz, Iran
Present Day
Burt Dawson froze.
Which was difficult, considering he was hanging at the end of sixty feet of rope, held from above by a pulley system and a hulk of a man named Atlas. He gently placed his gloved hands against the sides of the duct work he was hanging in, and waited. Below him, five feet below him, stood two guards, chatting in Farsi, who were not supposed to be there. Intel had said this level was always free from guards, it too sensitive even for them. The Natanz facility, identified over a decade ago, was now one of the main uranium enrichment plants of the Iranian nuclear effort, with over 7000 centrifuges in the one million square foot facility. This level led to the two main centrifuge facilities, each over a quarter million square feet in size, and two of the most secure rooms in Iran, with boots on the ground security provided from above, but not on the same level, at least according to the intel. But for some reason, today of all days, they were here, and he didn’t speak Farsi to know what the hell they were talking about.
But someone at Control did.
“One of them is asking the other how long they think he will be. I think they’re talking about a third person.”
Dawson said nothing. He couldn’t. One sound and they would look up. If they looked up, the mission could be blown. He took deep, steady breaths, but his muscles were starting to scream for relief. He felt a drop of sweat roll down his forehead. The tiny, translucent dot raced along the bridge of his nose, then sat there. He slowly moved his left hand to wipe it away, but he felt his balance shift and he stopped. Raising his head, he stuck out his lower lip, and breathed in, trying to suck the bead into his mouth.