Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) (15 page)

“Come
inside, son, I won’t bite.”

He
looks so weak!

A lump
formed in his throat as he entered the room, the trepidation he felt at what
was to come almost overwhelming. He approached his father, his mother reaching
out a hand for his. He took it.

“How are
you feeling?”

“Peachy.
You?”

Dietrich
shrugged, a slight smile breaking out for a moment. “Better than you
apparently.”

“I took
a bit of a turn, but I’m feeling better now.”

“Don’t
lie,” admonished his mother.

His
father patted her hand. “Alright dear, I’m feeling better than a little while
ago, but not as good as yesterday.” He looked at the nurse as she took his
pulse manually. “But that’s progress, right?”

The
woman nodded. “Yes, Herr Kruger. Absolutely.”

His arm
returned to him, his father grinned. “See, and that’s a professional telling
you.”

Dietrich
grunted. “Uh huh.”

“Enough
dwelling on the inevitable. Whether it happens today or ten years from now, it
is no matter.”

Dietrich
was about to protest when his father raised a finger, just a finger, the hand
remaining on his chest, cutting him off.

“So what
happened in Paris?”

“We retrieved
the artifacts, they’re being tested now.”

“Excellent.
Any problems?”

Dietrich
desperately wanted to confess to his father what he had done, the sins he had
committed, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t place any more stress on the man. “No
problems.”

“Excellent.”
His father frowned. “Unfortunately the tests on the Vienna relic were
negative.”

Dietrich
wasn’t surprised, it was after all a disputed artifact, previous carbon dating
suggesting it was a thousand years younger than it should be if legitimate. But
they were desperate and testing could be wrong.

“I think
we expected that,” he finally said, his father nodding. “I received word this
morning that the Vatican is moving a collection of artifacts from various
churches to their secure archives late tonight. Artifacts are being sent from
around Europe.”

“That
could be a problem.”

“Or an
opportunity.”

His
mother looked at him. “How?”

“Everything
will be in one place at the same time.”

His
father shook his head. “You’ll never be able to breach the Vatican again.”

Dietrich
smiled.

“I have
no intention of doing any such thing.”

Laucala Island Private Resort, Fiji

CIA Special Agent Dylan Kane flushed the toilet for the umpteenth
time this morning. It had been three days of nonstop drinking, eating, dancing
and sex, but something had set his entire system off, leaving his gut in agony
and his body protesting in ways he didn’t care to think of.

It was
nasty.

He
looked at himself in the mirror and shook his head.

His face
was a gray that belonged on the side of a naval vessel, not a CIA operator.

There
was no way he was going to be able to go on duty tomorrow. He had wrapped up an
op in Pakistan a week ago and after his debrief by his CIA handler in the
region, had come here to be properly debriefed by several lovely ladies he had
come to know over the years.

It had
been an epic bender.

He
stumbled into the hotel bedroom, several bodies strewn about—mostly
naked—copious amounts of liquor bottles and glasses filling almost every
horizontal surface.

He eyed
his bed, two incredible looking women lying in it. He had no choice, he had to
lie down, but the last thing he was up for now was anything that needed him
‘up’.

He
froze.

Please
don’t tell me…

He
scanned the bottles, looking for the distinctive label of his favorite scotch,
Glen Breton Ice, praying he hadn’t been stupid enough to break that out of the
private reserve he had in the basement of the hotel.

He
sighed in relief. While he enjoyed partying with these people, some of whom he
even casually knew, he wasn’t about to waste something as fine as Glen Breton
Ice on them or himself in such an inebriated state.

It was
meant to be enjoyed in civilized company, or alone at the beginning of an
evening when it could be appreciated.

He
crawled into the bed and was greeted with two moaning women who draped
themselves over him but thankfully fell back to sleep quickly when he didn’t
respond.

He
closed his eyes and fell into a restless sleep, the fog of alcohol clearing
enough for his usual nightmare to return, a nightmare he had been living with
for years.

Raptor
One, Sierra Four! Abort! Abort! Abort!

He woke
up, drenched in sweat, wondering what had startled him.

His
phone vibrated on the nightstand.

Gently
extricating himself from the two beauties resting on his chest, he returned to
the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He sat back on the toilet, his
insides demanding a rerun, killing two birds with one stone, and pressed his
thumb against the sensor, unlocking his phone.

He
frowned.

It was
an emergency relay message from his old archeology professor, James Acton. Acton
had helped counsel him after 9/11 when he was debating whether or not to leave
university and join the army. Acton, ex-National Guard, had encouraged him to
follow his heart.

He had.

He had
joined the army, made it into the Rangers then set his sights on Delta. It was
after making The Unit that he was recruited into the CIA, a decision he had
never regretted.

Unlike
the raw oysters he had ordered last night.

That’s
it! The oysters!

He
breathed a bit of a sigh of relief knowing he hadn’t been poisoned, but his
brain having reconciled things didn’t help his digestive system.

He had
given Professor Acton an emergency contact number after they had been reunited,
Acton and his new lady friend seeming to be constantly getting into trouble. He
had helped him when possible, or sent help when not. It was something he was
happy to do, he having few friends, and fewer still who knew what he truly did
for a living.

Besides
the professor and Chris, there’s really no one.

Chris
Leroux was a high school buddy who had tutored him, getting him the grades he
had needed to get into St. Paul’s University. They had lost touch then bumped
into each other years later in the CIA cafeteria, Kane now an operator, Leroux
an analyst.

Leroux
was one of the few people in the world he truly trusted.

As was
Acton.

He
dialed the phone number left in the message. A groggy voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey,
Doc, it’s Dylan.”

The
professor had clearly been asleep and Kane could hear the sounds of someone
struggling out of bed followed by the click of a light switch. “Dylan, thanks
for getting back to me.”

“What’s
the problem, Doc?”

“It’s
Laura. She’s been shot—”

Kane
felt a pit form in his stomach, which was rather remarkable considering what
his rebelling organ was doing to him at the moment. He had met Laura several
times. She was a fantastic lady and it was clear the two professors loved each
other deeply.

He
counted her among the few he trusted.

“Is she
okay?”

“I-I
don’t know. They took her, Dylan, they took her!”

Acton’s
voice cracked, his heartache clear, the fear in his voice palpable. “
Who
took her?”

“We
don’t know. Hugh’s here with me, Hugh Reading, I’m not sure if you remember
him—”

“Interpol.
Yes, I remember him.”

“The
Vatican asked for our help, some Blood Relics had been stolen. We were in Paris
trying to secure the artifacts at the Notre-Dame Cathedral when it was hit.
Several police officers were killed and Laura was shot in the stomach. They
took her with them and there’s been no sign of her since.”

Kane
didn’t dare say the obvious. Stomach wounds could be brutal, deadly, and the
likelihood of her surviving was slim. But until a body was found, he knew the
man would never be at peace.

Which
meant he had to help find her, dead or alive.

“Keep
your phone charged, Doc, someone will be in touch.”

“Thanks,
Dylan, it’s appreciated.”

Kane
killed the call then doubled over, vomiting in the waste basket.

There’s
no way I’m going to be able to help.

Maggie Harris Residence
Lake in the Pines Apartments, Fayetteville, North Carolina

Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson rolled off his
girlfriend, Maggie, both of them gasping for breath.

“My God,
BD, it’s like you were on a mission,” she gasped, rolling half her body onto
his, nuzzling his neck. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that.”

Dawson
grunted, his eyes closing as he battled to stay awake, but it was a losing op.
He was completely relaxed, every muscle in his body having been spent, and this
was their reward.

Rest.

“Don’t
you dare fall asleep on me!”

He
grunted again, forcing his eyes open. “Got toothpicks?”

“For
what?”

“My
eyelids.”

She
slapped his chest playfully. “What do you want to do now?”

“Sleep.”

“You can
do that anytime. I’ve missed you. You were gone for two weeks this time.”

She was
right, it had been a bit longer op, but nothing out of the ordinary. He and the
boys from the Delta Force’s Bravo Team had returned late last night and after a
few hours of rest on post in his own bed, he had paid a visit to Maggie’s as soon
as she had got off work.

She was
right. He could sleep later.

Like
right now, after sex.

He never
understood why men were sleepy and women seemed energized. After such complete
release, it just seemed natural to want to rest, let the body go and drift into
nothingness with your lover in your arms.

Maybe
because they want more?

They had
done it three times, which to him seemed enough. His record had been far more,
but that was because it was his nineteenth birthday and his girlfriend had
wanted to set some sort of record.

It had
stood since then.

At least
with him.

He
wasn’t sure about her.

But at
his age three seemed pretty damned good, and he was spent.

Maybe
she didn’t…

Self-doubt
began to creep in and he pushed himself up on an elbow, turning toward her.
“Was it, you know…”

“Was it
what?”

“You
know…”

“What?
Good for me?”

“Yeah.”

She
laughed, slapping his chest again. “Babe, if you’re not sure, ask the
neighbors.”

He
grinned, dropping back onto his pillow, closing his eyes.

“But I
still want to do something.”

He felt
her jump out of bed, eliciting a groan from him. “Oh come on, Babe, I’ve been
gone for two weeks, had almost no sleep, can’t this wait a few hours?”

“I’ve
been pent up in this apartment for two weeks, waiting for my man to come back
and satisfy me.”

“Which I
apparently did.”

“Yes,
stud, you did.”

“Three
times.”

“More,
actually.”

Ooh,
I
am
a stud!

“Don’t
look so self-satisfied.”

He
grinned, swinging his legs out of the bed, stretching. “I guess I can take my
totally satisfied woman out for dinner.”

“That’s
more like it. Now let’s take a shower.”

“Isn’t
that how round three started?”

Maggie
paused. “You’re right.
I’ll
take a shower,
then
you.” He watched
her fantastic body step into the bathroom, the door closing halfway.