Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) (24 page)

Giasson
tossed his head back with a good belly laugh then climbed in the back seat with
Acton. “Too true! Fortunately in my line of work I deal with very few women so
my wife doesn’t have much opportunity to get jealous.”

“I teach
at a university. Lots of opportunities. Luckily Laura isn’t the jealous type.”
His face clouded, Giasson picking up on it immediately.

“Has
there been any further word?”

“From
her or the kidnappers, no. I’ve enlisted some help though that will hopefully find
her soon, but just in case, I have to start my search.”

“Do you
think they’re watching you?”

Acton
paused, the thought having not occurred to him until just now. “I suppose they
could be.” He felt his spine tingle. He turned in his seat, looking out the
rear window, seeing nothing but heavy traffic. “Do you think they could be?”

Giasson
shrugged. “It’s possible. They’ve been in Rome twice before so we know they
have a reliable way in and out, probably a private plane just like the one you
flew in on. They don’t attract the same type of security, and from within
Europe, almost none.” He looked at his watch. “Where would you like to go
first? Your hotel—”

“No,
there’s no time to waste. Let’s go to the basilica right away.”

Giasson
smiled. “I thought you might say that. Father Albano is expecting us.”

“Excellent.”
Acton looked out the window again, his heart leaping into his throat as he saw
a black car with tinted windows directly behind them as they began to pull away
from a red light. The car turned and he shook his head, letting out the breath
he had been holding.

You
have to focus! Even if they
are
following you,
you’re safe as long as you’re looking.

He just
hoped that was true.

These
people seemed desperate, as if whoever they were trying to save didn’t have
much time.

And if
that person should die?

Laura
might be next.

Konigstrasse, Stuttgart, Germany

Dawson found himself admiring the beauty that was Europe, pretty
much every street having a building on it older than America. It was the
history he loved, the stories behind the buildings, the towns, the castles that
dotted the hilltops. He just wished he had more time to play tourist when he
was here.

I’m
going to have to bring Maggie to Europe on an actual vacation.

He
couldn’t remember the last time he had been on a real vacation. In fact, he
couldn’t remember actually
ever
being on one. Visiting family didn’t
count, decompression leave after an op didn’t count, and weekenders in Atlantic
City
definitely
didn’t count.

Maybe
Dylan’s idea of bringing her here after we’re done isn’t such a bad idea after
all.

“Watcha
thinkin’?”

Dawson
closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. “None of your business.”

He felt
Niner’s arm curl around his elbow. “But honey, communication is the corner
stone to any good relationship.”

“Don’t
you dare start your gay couple act like you did in France that time.”

“I’m
hurt.”

“Remove
your arm before I break it.” Dawson continued to admire the timber frame
buildings lining the pedestrian mall they were waiting in. Niner’s arm worked
its way loose.

“You’re
not getting any tonight, Mister.”

“Thank
God for small miracles,” muttered Dawson as he tried to keep a straight face.
Going on an op, especially one like this, was always fun with Niner.

You’re
never bored.

He
shivered.

But
you can get cold.

“See,
you’re cold, we should snuggle.”

“I could
gut you and climb into your still warm corpse.”

“Ooh, I
love it when you go all Jedi on me.”

Somebody
bumped into him and he felt a hand reach briefly into his jacket pocket.

“Entschuldigung,”
said the man as he stumbled past, slipping slightly on the cobblestones lightly
dusted with snow.

Dawson
said nothing, instead reaching into his jacket pocket, his fingers wrapping
around a small package. “I’m getting cold. Let’s head back to the car.”

Niner
nodded, swinging a shopping bag filled with some souvenirs they had bought as
part of their cover of two tourists out shopping for their girlfriends back at
the hotel. It hadn’t been part of their plan, but plans always seemed to change
on ops like this, and when the CIA analyst Leroux had called him with an idea,
he had immediately agreed.

Niner
climbed in the driver side, firing up the still warm engine, heat immediately
beginning to pour out. Dawson looked at the pedestrian traffic, waiting for
Niner to pull out into traffic before removing the package from his pocket.

Leroux
had informed him that Renner Security’s computer network seemed to be
completely isolated so there was no way to access the data he needed to trace
the former employee’s financial data.

He
needed them to tap the network.

A brush
pass had been arranged.

Moving
now, he pulled the small package out of his pocket. It was a tiny envelope,
something newly cut keys might be placed in. He tore it open, dumping the tiny
device into his hand.

Just
plug it into any USB port.

Leroux’s
instructions sounded simple, it was the execution that would be difficult. It
was truly a tiny device, the smallest memory stick he had seen, the standard
USB connector actually longer than the rest of the nub containing all the
electronics. Apparently it would be able to bypass any security and establish a
two-way connection with the Internet using the cellular network.

Assuming
they’re not jamming cellphones.

Niner
turned right, glancing in the rearview mirror.

“We’ve
got a tail.”

Dawson’s
lips pursed. “I’m not surprised. These guys are good.”

“Very
good. That means the hotel in Paris was being watched.”

“Agreed.”

“Which
means the professor probably has a tail too.”

“Agreed.”

“He’s
probably safe for now, though.”

“Agreed.”

“You’re
very agreeable today.”

“Agreed.”
Dawson pulled out his phone, firing a text message to Reading to let him know
about the probable surveillance.

Niner
glanced in the mirror. “Tail’s still with us.”

“If
these guys are as good as we think they are, they probably witnessed the brush
pass.”

“Probably.
They’ll definitely search us before they let us into that meeting.”

“True.
Still wearing your special shoes?”

Niner
turned left, accelerating slightly. “Oh yeah.”

“Good.
I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“You
too?”

“Let me
know when we’re out of sight.”

Niner
nodded, making another turn. “Now.”

Dawson
quickly tried to stuff the tiny device in a small pocket embedded in his belt,
behind the buckle. He was doing it blind, not wanting to risk anyone seeing him
look down, giving them a target area to search.

“Need
any help?” asked Niner, raising his eyebrows suggestively while glancing over
at Dawson’s crotch.

“I’ll
break your fingers.”

“Who
said anything about using hands?” Niner clicked his teeth then licked his lips.

“We
definitely have to get you a new girlfriend.”

St. Paul’s University, St. Paul, Maryland

“And we’re off!”

Mai
smiled as Tommy clicked the button on the first machine, the screen jumping to
life as image after image appeared, the software picking out the faces then
mapping the facial recognition points, “No Match” appearing over and over.

She
already felt disappointed but said nothing as Tommy rushed around the lab,
starting up the process on all forty machines. He plopped into a chair beside
hers, slightly out of breath.

“Poor
man’s parallel processing!”

He had
explained it to her. His software would use a centralized database to
coordinate the effort, and the networked machines would poll this database to
see what photo was up next for analysis. With the combined horsepower in the
room, they were able to process far more data than any one machine could. Now
it was up to them to keep plugging in possible sites and search results for the
program to crawl and pull images from.

She had
been at it all morning and afternoon as Tommy prepared the modifications to his
software. She had hit every respectable newspaper site, every type of event she
could think of from polo matches to car races—anything rich people might be at.

She was
ashamed to admit her contributions had been minimal, her experience with rich
people and the Western world so limited, she had never even heard of Formula 1
racing and thought polo was something played in a pool. It was Tommy who kept
shouting out ideas as he worked tirelessly.

He’s
remarkable.

She
caught herself stealing a glance at him as he leaned in to look at the display
on the machine coordinating things.

He
is
kind of handsome.

His hair
was messy, but apparently that was a style here. She had never really found
white guys attractive, but then again her exposure had been limited to the odd
tourist and conference until her arrival in the United States.

Now, in
Maryland, she mostly saw white guys and black guys with very few Asians and
some Hispanics—something she had never seen before.

It was
sort of exciting, seeing all these different types of people in the same place.

It was
also a little scary.

But as
she got to know the professors and their circle of friends, and Tommy along
with other staff at the university, she was slowly learning to shed her
distrust of those different from her—a distrust ingrained by the Communist
Party as part of her upbringing—and expose herself to the new cultures
surrounding her.

Tommy
was looking at her, smiling.

She flushed,
dropping her head, ashamed she had been caught staring.

“You
looked a million miles away.” Tommy turned his chair toward her. “Thinking of
home?”

She
nodded, not unaware it was a lie. She wondered if he knew it was too.

“How
about we get to work?”

She
nodded, turning toward the keyboard, thankful for the opportunity to focus on
something other than Tommy’s smile.

I
wonder what father would think if I dated a white guy?

One side
of her lips curled up in a slight smile.

He’d
kill him.

Leonardo da Vinci Airport, Rome, Italy