Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) (36 page)

“Could
they have a transmitter on them?” asked Niner.

“I don’t
think so. I had one of my men bring a scanner and they were clean. The only
transmitting devices on them are their cellphones.”

“That’s
probably it,” said Dawson. “These guys knew they were coming; they had a driver
there waiting to pick them up at the airport. All they had to do was lift one
of their phones for a few minutes, install a special app or insert a modified
SIM card then return it. If I’m not mistaken Mr. Mitchell is fairly, shall we
say, awkward? It would have been easy to bump into him once or twice to pull
the phone then plant it again.”

“What
could they do if they modified the phone?” asked Giasson.

“They
could set it to transmit everything the speaker picked up. They’d know
everything being said within earshot of the phone.”

“Then
that’s probably it. I’ll confiscate their phones immediately.”

“I wouldn’t
do that,” said Reading. “If you do, they’ll know we’re onto them and we can’t
risk them panicking and killing Laura. It’s best to just let things go on as
they are, but making sure nothing is said about our progress in front of them.”

“Do you
think they could have compromised the Professor’s phone?”

Dawson
shrugged. “Anything’s possible. You’ll need to let them all know what’s going
on somehow without tipping off our suspects.”

Reading
leaned closer to the phone. “Be discrete, Mario. Laura’s life just might depend
upon it.”

Basilica of Sant’Agostino, Rome, Italy

Mario Giasson reentered the Basilica, scribbling a note on his pad.
He spotted Acton coming out of Father Albano’s rectory, his eyes widening as if
he had been looking for him. Acton opened his mouth to speak when Giasson held a
finger to his lips.

Acton
stopped, his eyes narrowing as he followed the mimed instructions. Giasson
approached, holding up the pad.

Don’t
talk. You may be bugged. Give me your cellphone.

Acton
nodded, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

“So,
Professor, hungry yet?” he asked, scribbling another note and holding up the
pad.

Terrence?
Jenny?

“Getting
a little peckish now that you mention it.” He pointed toward the entrance to
the catacombs.

“Maybe
we should get the others and find out what they want for lunch. I’ll have it
brought in.”

Acton
nodded as they approached the entrance. He descended a few steps then called
out. “Jenny, Terrence, can you join us up here please?”

“Yes,
Professor!”

It took
a couple of minutes for the two to climb the steps leaving Giasson and Acton to
continue their forced small talk about lunch. “Well, since we’re in Italy, I’m
guessing you know a place with a good lasagna?”

“Isn’t
that a little heavy for lunch?”

Giasson
held the pad up to the arriving couple, their shocked expressions thankfully
not accompanied by any outbursts. They handed over their phones. “What do you
two feel like for lunch?” asked Acton as Giasson handed the three phones to one
of his men, indicating he should be quiet.

“Perhaps
a salad?” Jenny didn’t sound certain, her mind clearly not on food as her eyes
followed her cellphone’s handoff.

Terrence
almost seemed oblivious to the situation, his stomach taking over. “I’m
starved. I’m thinking fettuccini alfredo with grilled chicken and some garlic
bread.”

“I’ll
have someone order it,” replied Giasson, handing off a scribbled note to
another one of his men with their lunch orders. He then pointed to the rectory,
leading the way to Father Albano’s office. Glancing back, he shook his head as
Terrence tiptoed, Pink Panther style, Acton rolling his eyes with a smile. The
door was open and before Father Albano could say anything, he held his finger
to his lips, ushering the others inside then closing the door.

“Okay,
we don’t have much time,” said Giasson. “We believe one or more of your phones
may have been bugged, for lack of a better word.”

“How?”
asked Terrence. “They’ve never been out of our sight.”

“Are you
sure? Nobody bumped into you at some point, the airport perhaps?”

Terrence
turned beet red, Jenny taking his arm. “In fact, there were quite a few
such…umm…encounters?”

“Then
it’s possible. This means that since then they’ve heard every single word
said.”

“Which
means they know what we’ve found!” Acton shook his head. “But why should we
care? We have to tell them when we find it anyway.”

Giasson
nodded toward Terrence and Jenny. “Why don’t you tell us what’s been going on?”

Acton
looked surprised at the question, his head swiveling between Giasson and the
students, then locking on Terrence when he began to speak.

“They
told us we had to report back to them if you found anything, or if you tried to
trick them. If we didn’t, they’d kill Jenny.”

Acton’s
jaw dropped as he looked at Jenny’s stomach then her scared face. “Oh, Jenny.
Are you okay?”

She
shook her head. “I’m terrified. I’ve been on pins and needles ever since we
arrived. I’m sorry we lied to you, Professor, but…” She cradled her stomach,
looking down at it.

Acton
placed a hand on her shoulder. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You did the
right thing. Your baby comes first.” He turned to Giasson. “What do we do?”

“I’ve
spoken to Hugh and the others and their recommendation is we do nothing. If
they suspect something, it might put your wife or Mrs. Mitchell in danger. But
we need to be very careful about what we say around the phones. There can be no
references to what is happening in Paris. If they get wind of any progress
there…well, we just can’t risk it.”

Acton
nodded, his face grim. Giasson knew Acton was a good man, and though he was
clearly worried about his wife, he seemed to be equally concerned for Jenny.

“Okay,
here’s what we do,” said Acton, turning to Terrence and Jenny. “You two get
your phones and go back into the catacombs. Keep doing whatever you were doing.
Talk about lunch, talk about the baby, whatever. If you can’t keep it natural,
say nothing at all.” He turned to Giasson. “I’m pretty sure my phone is okay,
but we’ll assume it’s not. They didn’t know I was involved until they took
Laura, and since then I’ve had no contact with the public. I went from the
hotel to the limo, to the private flight here, into your car then here.”

“We did
go to the scene of the shooting to pick them up.”

Acton
frowned. “I forgot about that. You’re right, anything’s possible. But we don’t
have time to worry about that.”

Giasson
nodded. “You’re right. The longer those phones aren’t on your persons, the more
chance there is for them to get suspicious.”

“Okay,
let’s go.”

Giasson
turned to Father Albano, who had sat at his desk, saying nothing the entire
time. “Sorry for the intrusion, Father.”

The old
man simply raised his hands and shrugged, still saying nothing as they left his
office, closing the door behind them. Jenny and Terrence took their phones,
heading down the stairs to the catacombs, Terrence talking about his soon to
arrive pasta, the talk of food seeming to set him at ease.

Acton
pocketed his phone. “Listen, we found the body but we need to cut some
wrappings.”

“So do
it.”

“Father Albano
won’t give his permission. He says he doesn’t have the authority.”

Giasson
smiled. “I’ll make a call.”

“I’ll be
downstairs.”

Acton had all of the necessary tools prepared, the lights positioned
properly, and the order of his cuts already planned when Giasson descended the
steps. “You have permission.”

Acton
grinned, Jenny and Terrence as giddy as he was. He took the small scissors,
gently slipping the bottom blade under his choice for the first bandage to cut.

He
snipped.

The
cloth was dry, almost brittle, and cut easily, little flecks of fibers bursting
in all directions, mini-eruptions of time giving way to his necessary
curiosity. It didn’t take long to cut through the several dozen strands, the
bony hands of whom he presumed would be Tiberius revealed, clasped around a
small stone tablet about the size of an iPad though about an inch thick.
Reaching for the top corners, he gently wiggled it free, careful not to shift
any of the bones unnecessarily.

“Got
it!” he hissed as he stepped back, placing the tablet on the surface of the
alcove, replacing the scissors with a brush. Clearing away the dust, he shone
his flashlight on the surface, the words causing him to grab Terrence by the
shoulder and shake him in excitement. “We were right!”

“
You
were right, Professor,” said Terrence, hugging Jenny.

“What
does it say?” asked Giasson, looking over their shoulders.

“It’s in
Latin. Translated, it says, ‘Here lies my father, Tiberius of Mantua, a
Christian and friend to the great Longinus. May God forgive our deception.’
This is it! This is the proof we’ve been looking for!”

Giasson’s
eyes narrowed. “Proof of what? Where’s Longinus?”

Acton
grabbed him by the shoulder, waving the tablet. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Apparently
not.”

“He’s in
Mantua!”

Mantua, Italia
62 AD, Fifteen years later

Tiberius looked up at his son, the grief on the young man’s face
heartbreaking. He wasn’t supposed to be dying, not yet, not so young, but no
one could have predicted what had happened that night. Roman soldiers had
arrived in the city and attacked their small church, killing or maiming anyone
who resisted and hauling several away for crucifixion, he was certain. He
himself had been sliced open badly, the village doctor having already given his
verdict.

No hope.

“My son,
you must do something for me.”

“Anything,
father, anything.”

He
reached up and took his son’s hand in his, squeezing it. “You heard the edict
from the Emperor. All Christians are to be killed, all their icons and graves
destroyed.”

His son
nodded, his eyes darting toward the ichthys over his bed, the symbol of a fish
used among fellow Christians as a secret sign of their faith. “I saw the
edict.”

“My body
is unimportant.”

“Yes it
is!”

Tiberius
smiled, patting his son’s hand. “I know, I know. But the body of Longinus is
far more important. His body must be preserved until such a time as the
followers of Jesus’ teachings no longer have to cower in fear.”

“But
how?”

“Nobody
knows I’m a Christian. Move Longinus’ body to my grave where he may rest in
peace, then treat mine as his, moving it should it become necessary. Should it
be found and burned, then so be it; Longinus will have been saved. And should
it be preserved until a day in which Christianity thrives, the truth shall be
revealed should it be God’s will.”

A
shooting pain shot up his side causing him to gasp and wince. He felt his son’s
grip tighten. “Father!”

He took
several slow, tentative breaths, then when he was confident the pain had gone,
tried to forget the jolt of reality, his body rapidly weakening as he continued
to bleed. He pulled his son closer. “Did I ever tell you of how I first met
Longinus?”

His son
smiled, sitting on the side of his bed. “Many times, Father, but I’d love to
hear it again.”

Tiberius
brought his son’s hand to his mouth and kissed it.

“One
last time then.”