James Acton 03 - Broken Dove (17 page)

“Agreed. I’ll start here, you go back to the start and begin there.”

“I think we should stay together.”

“If we split up, we’ll be done in half the time.” She stepped away then came back, grabbing his arm. “And only look at texts. I don’t want some ancient curse or demon possessing you.”

He laughed and turned toward the first shelf in the distance when she pulled him closer and whispered in his ear. “I mean it.”

He embraced her head in his hand, pushing it against his chest and kissed the top. “We’ll be okay.” He let go and she walked away without saying anything, probably, knowing her as he did, to hide a fresh set of tears. He walked briskly to the first stack of shelves and quickly began scanning them with his flashlight for anything resembling a book or parchment that might contain the Gospel in such high demand. His flashlight fell upon a small, leather-bound tome, gilded writing glittering slightly under the glare of his flashlight. He blew the dust off and translated the Latin on the cover. “The Word of Mary”.

“I found it!” he yelled, picking up the book.

Laura screamed.

Not in excitement, but fear.

Acton rushed out from between the stacks, and saw Laura’s flashlight roll across the floor, highlighting two figures who spun toward him. He flicked his flashlight off and dove to the right, two shots ringing past where he had just been moments before. He raised his weapon and squeezed off two rounds at the figure on the left. They dropped as he rolled again, his muzzle flash having revealed his position. An ancient pot exploded with a gasp as whatever was inside experienced freedom for the first time in over a thousand years. He fired again, and the second figure dropped. He rushed forward, and flicked his flashlight on, revealing a third figure, leaning over Laura who was unconscious on the floor.

“Let her go,” said Acton, pointing his weapon directly at the masked figure. “I have your book.”

The figure looked at him, then Acton saw his eyes shift momentarily, as if looking behind him. Acton began to turn when he felt cold metal pressed against his neck.

“What book, Professor Acton?”

Entrance to Hidden Chamber

Apostolic Palace, The Vatican

Reading heard gunshots and grabbed at the handles. The doors wouldn’t budge. He threw his shoulder against them to no effect. He tried pushing the large wardrobe aside, but it wouldn’t give. He pulled his weapon and shot out the lock. He yanked the doors open and stepped inside and through the hidden door that stood ajar. His flashlight out, he raced to the stairs his friend had described earlier, and rushed down the steps, the spiral construction leaving him almost dizzy by the end. He skidded to a halt just as he was about to burst into the open. Flicking off his light, he listened, then poked his head out. Nothing. But in the distance he could see what appeared to be several flashlights, some moving. He quickly, but quietly, pressed forward, weapon drawn, pointed at the distant beams of light. As he approached he slowed, trying to still the drumbeat in his chest.

He stepped on something, the scraping then cracking sound echoed through the chamber.

The beams of light shone his way, and several gunshots rang out as he jumped between the shelves. He fired two shots in the air, not willing to risk hitting his friends.

“Let’s get out of here!” yelled a voice, the accent thick but intelligible.

Reading peered around the shelf. The lights were no longer pointing in his direction. He moved quickly forward, his weapon searching for a target. One of the flashlights was lying on the floor, illuminating the scene, but he was still too far to take a safe shot.

“Take him, I’ll take care of her,” said another voice in perfect Queen’s English. He saw one heave something over their shoulder and start running, their flashlight bouncing off into the distance as they struggled with their load.

The other one raised his weapon and pointed it at the body lying on the floor. Reading stopped and squeezed off two rounds. The man dropped in a heap, the beam of the other’s flashlight disappearing in the distance. Reading raced forward, turning on his flashlight as he made sure no one else was there. All he found were two other bodies and Laura, lying in a heap, her would-be assassin bleeding out next to her. He dropped to his knees and checked her pulse. It was strong. He ran the beam of his flashlight across her body, looking for wounds, and found none. He then jumped up and sprinted after the other light which he could no longer see. He followed the prints in the dusty floor, and soon found them disappear into a tunnel, a heavy door ajar, as well as a metal grate, several feet in, opened, the heavy chain that had kept it closed for generations unlocked.

He heard footfalls splashing through what looked like several inches of water further in. Reading charged forward, and as he came around a bend saw the flashlight for a moment in the distance, then nothing. He ran headlong toward the next bend then saw a strong light cut through the darkness, as if a door to the outside had been opened. A shot rang out and he dropped to the floor, his mouth filling with the rot of the storm sewer he appeared to be in. He looked up and saw nothing. Climbing to his feet, spitting his mouth clean, he struggled forward, his body aching from the fall he had just taken. As the kinks worked themselves loose, he picked up speed, and quickly arrived at the opening his adversary, and friend, had disappeared through.

He poked his head out and saw a city street, the lights blazing. A shot ricocheted off the stone near his head. He dropped to one knee and pointed his weapon out. A car engine roared, tires squealing as they gained traction. He rose and rushed outside, his weapon tracing the path of the vehicle, but not shooting.

He looked behind him and saw a taxi. He waved it down and jumped in the passenger seat. “Follow that car!” he yelled.

“Eh?”

Reading held up the gun, then pointed at the car as it raced away from them. “Follow!”

“Okay, I understand!” yelped the driver, putting the car in gear and flooring it. The car leapt forward as Reading yanked his cellphone off his hip, dialing Giasson’s number. It was answered on the first ring.

“I’m in pursuit of a car, late model sedan, possible dark green, partial plates Charlie Zulu One Four. They’ve got Jim. See if you can get me some local backup.”

He could hear Giasson yelling orders, then his voice cleared. “Where are you?”

“Here, talk to the driver. He doesn’t speak English.”

He held the phone up to the man’s ear as he turned a corner. He started talking, hopefully naming off streets as they passed them. Within minutes however it was obvious even to Reading where they were going. He looked up and saw a massive Airbus pass overhead, and he removed the phone from the driver’s ear. “I think we’re headed toward the airport!”

“I agree. We’ve contacted local authorities, but they won’t be able to set anything up on time.”

“Then it’s up to us. Laura is down in that chamber. You’ve got to go get her.”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Giasson. Reading could hear the reluctance in his voice. “I’m going to pass you on to Greco, one of my men. I’ll tend to Professor Palmer myself.”

The call was handed to someone and Reading pushed his phone against the driver’s ear. “Rapido!” he yelled. The driver gave him a quick glance then a sputtering of Italian burst forth as he pointed at the speedometer. Reading looked. 105kph. He nodded and watched the other car in the distance. They hadn’t lost them, but they hadn’t gained on them either. They raced into the airport, the traffic light, it now being well past midnight. The vehicle ahead weaved in and out of the few cars, heading deeper inside the massive complex, then suddenly screeched to a halt.

Two people ran up to meet the car with a wheelchair. The rear door burst open and a man jumped out, dragging a body behind him that was unceremoniously dumped into the chair. The rear backup lights activated, and the car raced backward, directly at them, as Reading watched the three men disappear with Acton into a building to their right. The cab driver slammed his brakes on as the car flew toward them. Reading threw his door open and stepped out, raising his weapon and emptying it into the rear window of the car. It suddenly veered to the right, jumping the curb and impaling itself on the concrete posts designed to prevent car bombs from being driven into the terminal.

Reading ran forward, reloading his weapon, and as he rounded the driver side, found him to be slumped over the wheel, a hole in the back of his head where Reading had shot him. Reading raced toward the building where Acton had been taken as curious onlookers and airport security began to gather. He heard yells behind him, in Italian, then some in English, ordering him to stop, but he ignored them. He darted into the building, and out of the line of fire, and rushed through what appeared to be a terminal aimed at the well-heeled, private charter kiosks lining either side. He rushed past, and out onto the tarmac, security having shutdown for the evening. A Gulf V’s engines whined as the steps were retracted and it began to taxi.

Reading raised his weapon in desperation and fired several shots at the cockpit to no effect. He stopped, not wanting to risk hitting the fuel tanks.

It was over.

He had lost his friend.

He lowered the weapon in defeat, his shoulders slumping as he was quickly surrounded by dozens of armed security officers.

His radio squawked three times.

Ciampino Airport

Rome, Italy

Reading sat in the back of a squad car, handcuffed, as his identity was verified. His mind was unfocused, jumping from one crisis to the next. Jim had just been abducted aboard a private plane. They could be anywhere by now, and as far as he knew, nobody was looking into it. Laura was unconscious in an ancient hidden chamber, and he had no idea if Giasson had found her yet. Chaney was gone, most likely injured, and perhaps even dead, as he couldn’t see them cutting off the Pope’s ear first.

Is Chaney on the plane?

That was a good question. All three of them could be on the same plane, heading to jurisdictions unknown. He slammed the back of the seat in front of him.

There was a tap on the window.

Reading breathed a sigh of relief as he saw a smiling Giasson, his arm around Laura. Some words were said in Italian to the officer watching the car, and the door opened. Reading climbed out and his cuffs were removed. Rubbing his wrists, he looked to Laura who burst from Giasson’s arms and into his. She quietly sobbed for a few moments, hugging him tight, then gently pushed away, wiping her eyes.

“Sorry, sometimes I’m such a girl.”

Reading chuckled. “No need to apologize, most men couldn’t handle what you’ve been through today, let alone the past couple of years.”

She smiled appreciatively at him as she wiped her eyes. Reading was almost twenty years her senior, but her natural beauty wasn’t lost on him. She rarely wore makeup, not needing it, and when she did, it was only a slight application, unlike his ex-wife who would paste it on like icing. He smiled at the memory. He still loved her, but wasn’t
in
love with her. She had given him a wonderful son whom he didn’t see nearly enough, and enough bitter memories to cure himself of any thoughts of a reconciliation. In fact, she had remarried years ago, but luckily for him, long after his son was old enough to ever call the man ‘Dad’. That was reserved for him.

Laura finished drying her eyes as Giasson handed Reading his credentials. “Everything’s been straightened out with the local authorities and you are free to go.”

“The plane?”

“It’s being tracked, but unfortunately has already left Italian airspace.”

“Any idea who owns it?”

“It’s a charter, apparently stolen.”

“Stolen?”

“That’s what the owner is saying. We’re having him checked out. Apparently he’s known to police. It’s just as likely that he took a large payment to say the plane was stolen.”

“At least we know one thing though,” said Laura.

“What’s that?” asked Reading.

From behind her back she swung a satchel hanging around her neck and opened the leather flap. Inside was what appeared to Reading to be an old book. “Is that”—he stopped himself, looking around—“
it
?”

She nodded, concealing it once more. “James found it just as I was attacked. When Monsieur Giasson found me, it was lying by my side, which means the Order doesn’t have James.”

“What makes you say that?” asked Giasson.

“Because, if it was them, they would have taken the book, not James,” said Laura.

Reading agreed. “They were more concerned with taking Jim out of there than they were with any book. In fact, I don’t believe the one I shot was even holding the book.”

“
If
we assume that is true, then we can ignore the Order. But, it’s just as likely Professor Acton dropped the book without them knowing.”

“You’d hear a pin drop in that place,” said Laura. “If he dropped a book, they’d have noticed.”

“You’re most likely right, but I’m not yet willing to rule them out.”

Reading had to agree with Giasson. His years of training as a cop told him not to jump to conclusions. Evidence could be misleading. His cop gut however told him they were dealing with two groups, as they had previously suspected, and he said so. “Regardless of who took Jim, we know we have two groups. The Order had no clue who the Triarii are, and we know their symbol was pasted on the walls after the Pope’s disappearance.”

Giasson pointed to a nearby car with Vatican plates. “Let’s return to my office, I don’t want to be away for too long. But to your point about two organizations, you may be right. On our way here we received word that the ear belonged to our driver that was sent to pick up the professors. They were bluffing, hoping we would act before we knew the truth.”

“So either they didn’t want to harm their prisoners, or they have no prisoners.”

Reading helped Laura into the rear of the car and then joined her, Giasson in the front passenger seat and one of his men driving. Giasson turned to face them as they pulled away. “Considering they have killed, I see no reason why they wouldn’t cut an ear off of someone like your former partner. I can understand not wanting to hurt His Holiness, but a police officer from London? I can’t see them hesitating.”