Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) (28 page)

Kessler
lowered his voice. “What are you thinking?”

Renner
ignored him for a moment as he contemplated the consequences. If one of his men
had used a Swiss or Cayman account instead of a regular account at a German
bank, he might also be using that same account for the off-the-books work. And
if he had, then the CIA might be able to track who they were actually working
for.

Which
might mean they’d actually catch the moneyman and possibly tie his company to
half a dozen murders.

And that
meant prison time.

He
looked at Kenner.

“We need
to talk.”

Kienestrasse, Stuttgart, Germany

Niner looked at the postcards on display, one with a large Porsche
logo catching his eye. He plucked it from the rack and flipped it over.

Porsche
Museum? Cool!

He returned
it to the rack and casually glanced over his shoulder as the chimes over the
door rang, a new customer entering the tiny kiosk filled with souvenirs. Dawson
looked at his watch. “It’s time.”

Dawson
pulled open the door and stepped outside, looking both ways as Niner nodded to
the store owner behind the counter then followed. Dawson turned left, the
rendezvous just around the corner, as Niner looked right, a black sedan
rounding the corner, travelling just a little too slow to be natural. He
reached out and grabbed Dawson, yanking him around and into his arms as Niner
planted his lips on his commander’s.

Dawson
did the same, not reacting like he might at The Unit, instead going along with
the only cover Niner could think of on the fly, for there was one thing he knew
ex-Special Forces types wouldn’t want to pay too much attention to, and that
was two men making out.

He
slowly turned their intertwined bodies so he could see the car slowly make its
way past them, the two occupants eyeballing everyone on the street, including
them for a moment before continuing on and around the corner.

Niner
let go. “Mmm, Maggie’s a lucky girl.”

Dawson
wiped his lips. “I’m assuming you had a reason for that other than the
desperate desire for an ass whooping.”

Niner
nodded toward the corner where the car had turned. “Friends of Herr Renner’s, I
believe.” They resumed their walk toward the rendezvous point. Niner looked
over at Dawson. “Can I ask you something?”

Dawson
grunted. “I’m already terrified. What?”

“How was
I?”

“Huh?”

“How was
I? You know, as a kisser. It’s not something you can ask a girl. I’ve been told
I’m a good kisser, but you can’t always believe what a girl’s telling you,
sometimes they’re just trying to get into your pants so they’ll tell you
anything.”

“That
ass whoopin’ might just be back on the agenda.”

“Aww,
come on, BD, tell me, if you were gay, would you have been turned on by that
kiss?” Niner grinned. “I know I would be. You’re a
very
good kisser!”

Dawson
shook his head then looked up at the sky. “Why God hast thou forsaken me?”

A parked
car flashed its lights ahead ending Niner’s fun. “That must be them.”

Dawson
looked and nodded, tapping his watch twice with his right hand. The lights
flashed again. “That’s them. Thank God.”

Niner
grinned and clasped his hands behind his back, skipping the final few steps to
the car. He opened the back door, motioning for Dawson to get in.

“After
you, sweetheart.”

Dawson
climbed in then backhanded Niner’s balls causing him to double over in pain.

“If I
had of known you were going to go all Fifty Shades on me, I’d of tried kissing
you sooner.”

He
climbed in and closed the door as Dawson cursed.

“I can’t
win.”

Basilica of Sant’Agostino, Rome, Italy

“I trust everything has been resolved?”

Acton
nodded at Father Albano as they took their seats in the cramped rectory. “For
now, at least.” Precious time had been lost, too much time, but he knew Laura
would never have forgiven him if he had left Terrence and Jenny, two of her
favorite students, to twist in the wind with the Italian authorities. And the
bottom line was he needed them. Their extra sets of eyes would save him far
more time than had been lost.

He was
just thankful that Giasson had been able to grease the wheels, assuring the
Italian authorities that he would take personal responsibility and make certain
they showed up for full depositions in the morning.

It’s
good to have friends in high places.

Money
greased the wheels outside the Western world, but within it, it seemed to only
grease political wheels, and that usually in the form of some sort of donation.

It never
really expedited those things that needed extreme haste.

But
power did, and Giasson had it, at least in Rome, the deeply religious community
giving the Vatican a lot of respect. And latitude.

“As you
saw earlier, we have hundreds of remains in the catacombs beneath these
buildings, and they are among many thousands in the city. These catacombs have
been closed off to the public for centuries, in fact, most don’t even know they
exist. Until today, I myself have only been in them twice before. It’s simply
too dangerous.”

Acton
nodded. “It did look like there had been some recent cave-ins. I agree it’s too
dangerous to simply search without knowing at least where to begin or what
we’re looking for.”

Father Albano
looked relieved. “I’m glad you feel that way. I would hate to see someone hurt
in what I believe to be a fool’s errand.”

“You
don’t believe in the spear?” asked Terrence.

Father
Albano held up his hands, waving them and shaking his head. “No! No! No! Don’t
misunderstand me. I believe in it, absolutely, after all it’s in the Gospels. I
simply don’t believe that Saint Longinus is buried here. I know there are
rumors that his body was taken here in the fourteenth or fifteenth century, but
a search of church records conducted in the early twentieth century failed to
find any reference to this.”

Acton
pursed his lips as he thought of the reference material Mai had sent him. A
Vatican historian had conducted a thorough search of the archives and found
nothing to suggest Longinus had ever been moved to the basilica, and the body
was considered officially lost, if it had ever existed, though the church would
never admit to that part since there was a prominent sculpture of the saint in St.
Peter’s Basilica.

To them
he was real.

Just
lost.

And for
Laura’s sake, Acton had to assume he was real.

And
findable.

“Can we
assume since your records were gone through less than a century ago that they’ve
been organized in some way?”

Father
Albano shook his head. “They were, but during the Nazi occupation everything
was seized. Hitler was obsessed with finding any and all religious artifacts
including the Spear of Destiny which meant his archeologists came here and
seized all of our records.”

Acton
grabbed his forehead, massaging his temples. “
Please
tell me they’ve
been returned.”

“Oh,
absolutely. After the war the Americans found crates filled with our documents
and relics and they were returned. To be honest, other than removing the
artifacts and returning them to their rightful places, the documents have been
left pretty much untouched, the Nazi’s actually having done a better job at
preserving them than we could.”

This
piqued Acton’s interest. There might actually be manifests associated with them
if the crates were returned complete, the Nazi’s fanatical with their
paperwork. Hitler’s obsession just might help them. He stood.

“It’s
getting late and we better get started.”

And
Laura is running out of time.

Renner Security, Stuttgart, Germany

“Our men weren’t able to find them, sir. They’ll keep looking, but…”

Renner
wasn’t surprised by Kessler’s report. These men were good, most operators were,
no matter what country they were from. He was good too, and so were his men,
but he had been foolish.

Over
confident.

He had
wanted to show that he wasn’t concerned about meeting the FBI—or CIA—about
anything. He had known full-well what this was about, it was the top news story
across the world. It shouldn’t have been, but things had gone off the rails
with the killing of a priest in Spain, then the massacre—for lack of a better
word—in Paris, especially coming on the heels of the cowardly Charlie Hebdo
attacks.

He had
been at home when news broke of the Islamic attacks, arguing on the phone with
his ex-wife over alimony of all things. He had told her to shut up and turn on
the news. After an initial outburst she had turned on her television and they
had both watched it together, over the phone, as the events unfolded live, it
the longest, most civil conversation they had had in years.

It
hadn’t lasted.

The
payday he had received for allowing his men to be used on this relic hunt was
massive. He hadn’t even needed to negotiate, the number offered upfront so
large he couldn’t be bothered trying to get more. The offer had been sent to
him anonymously with instructions on how many men were needed, what they would
be needed for, and where they should show up. His men were all receiving huge
paydays themselves with the understanding they would all be disappearing
permanently after the job was done.

He had
selected single men with no wives, ex-wives, children or surviving parents or
siblings. It was a disturbingly large pool of candidates.

The pool
became much smaller when they were interviewed by him for the job and told they
would have to disappear when it was done.

It was
one thing to live alone, it was another thing to actually
be
alone, to
start over, under the radar, not only giving up everything you had built over a
lifetime, but the work you loved as well.

It
hadn’t taken long though to find enough men motivated by the money, and he sent
them to the rendezvous with the understanding he would never see or hear from
them again.

He
hadn’t expected to see their faces on security footage leaked to the press.

He had
immediately phoned Kessler to make sure everything was in order with their
internal records. There was no point in purging the records, that would simply
raise suspicions, he just wanted to make sure there were no typos in the
termination dates and that all the proper paperwork had already been sent in
the event court orders were to arrive.

Everything
had been done properly and on time, well ahead of their faces hitting the news
services.