Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) (6 page)

Longinus
grimaced. It was one way to certainly hasten death. By breaking the knees the
men couldn’t use their feet to hold their body weight, which meant they’d be
forced to literally hang from their hands, soon taking away their ability to
breathe as the muscles lost strength.

“Please
no!” cried the prisoner to the left, almost immediately followed by the
gut-wrenching sound of bones crushing beneath the large mallet kept here for
just these occasions. Whimpers of pain could be heard as footfalls approached
the body of Jesus.

“He’s
dead already,” said the man.

“We have
to be sure. Break them anyway.”

Longinus
felt an overwhelming sense that this was wrong, that this final indignity
shouldn’t happen. “No!” he shouted, stepping forward, once again inexplicably
certain of what he was doing and where he was going. He held out his hand,
blocking the shadow from approaching the cross.

The man
backed off.

Longinus
raised his spear and thrust upward, the feeling of flesh being pierced, the
blade going deep yet not hitting bone, telling him he had once again hit his
mark.

Then
something unexpected happened.

Something
wet hit his face, splashing in his eyes and he cried out in pain, releasing his
grip on the spear, it clattering to the rock beside him as his hands rubbed at
his eyes, trying to rid it of whatever was burning at them. He dropped to his
knees, Albus rushing to his side, exclaiming, “It’s water! It’s water and
blood!”

And as
the pain began to settle, the words sinking in, he opened his eyes and gasped
as he looked up at the body.

A body
he could see in all its tortured glory, as clear as the day he was born.

And he
began to sob as he watched the water and blood flow from the wound, something
he had never seen in all his years.

“Surely
this was a righteous man!”

Acton Residence, St. Paul, Maryland
Present Day, Two days before the Paris assault

Professor James Acton raised his wine glass and smiled at those
gathered around him at the dinner table. These were his friends, his loved
ones, the people he cared most about in the world, the only people missing his
parents who lived far enough away that last minute dinner invites weren’t
usually accepted, and his friend Interpol Agent Hugh Reading who, living in
England, definitely wouldn’t be accepting an afternoon invite.

“To good
food and good company.”

“Hear!
Hear!” replied his best friend, Professor Gregory Milton. They had known each
other since their college days, Milton a graduate student who had taken a young
Acton under his wing over twenty years ago in New York City. They had been
nearly inseparable since. Acton watched as his friend took a sip from his glass
then returned it to the table, adjusting himself in his chair, something for a
while Acton thought would never be possible again. Milton had been shot in the
back a few years ago while trying to help Acton escape some people hell-bent on
killing him. He had been paralyzed from the waist down, but fortunately the
paralysis turned out to be temporary and he was slowly recovering. It was hard,
torturous work, but he knew his friend well, and he knew he had made a
commitment he would never break—to dance at his young daughter’s wedding,
whenever that might be.

Since
she wasn’t even ten yet, he had plenty of time.

Those
who had shot his friend were people he surprisingly now called his friends, or
at least good acquaintances—he certainly no longer feared them. Delta Force’s
Bravo Team had been told he and his students were a domestic terrorist group
and were given orders to eliminate them. It had been the most terrifying experience
of his life, but it had brought him to London, England where he had met
Professor Laura Palmer and the police officer pursuing him, Hugh Reading.

His
wife, Professor Laura Palmer, sat at the other end of the table, smiling at
him. She was the most gorgeous woman he could imagine, someone he found to be
more beautiful with each passing day, his love for her growing with every
moment they spent together. They had met by accident and had been a couple ever
since. Though his work and hers often had them on opposite sides of the globe,
her recent decision to take a job at the Smithsonian rather than her college in
London meant they were now spending much more time together, finally settling in
a single house rather than splitting their time between her London apartment
and the home he had bought over a decade ago.

“Laura,
you’ve outdone yourself tonight,” said Sandra, Milton’s wife. “This beef
wellington is to die for.”

Laura
smiled, nodding toward her husband. “Though I’d love to take credit, all I did
was prepare the salad and set the table. James is the chef in this house.”

“If I
let Greg be the chef we’d be eating nothing but grilled cheese sandwiches and
Kraft Dinner.”

Acton’s
eyes flared slightly as he signaled appreciation for two of his college staples
with a moan and pat of his stomach. “Nothin’ wrong with those.”

“Exactly,”
agreed Milton, turning to his wife. “I survived on my cooking just fine before
I met you.”

Sandra
dropped her chin slightly, giving him the stink-eye. “Are you saying you could
live without me?”

Acton
laughed as his friend tried to backpedal before the hole got too deep.

“No! Of
course not, that’s not what I meant.” He paused, then placed a hand on her leg.
“You know I can’t live without you.”

“Damned
right.”

Everyone
at the table laughed, including a polite giggle from the entourage’s newest
member, graduate student Mai Lien Trinh. She had been forced to leave her
native Vietnam during the incident in Hanoi that he and his wife had found
themselves entangled in, and Milton had agreed to allow Acton to hire her as an
assistant while she completed her studies. She had lived with them until just
recently, finally saving enough money to get herself a decent apartment just
off campus, but since her arrival he and Laura had almost come to think of her
as an adopted daughter, she painfully shy and completely unfamiliar with
Western ways.

It was
almost like raising a child in a compressed period of time.

Though
there was no teaching the American sense of humor.

Sandra
turned to Mai. “So, Mai, Laura tells me you’ve got your own apartment now?”

Mai
nodded, her eyes directed at her plate. “I moved in last week.”

“Settling
in?” asked Milton.

She
nodded, pushing her fork through the carrot puree. “My neighbor is noisy
though. He plays his stereo too loud.”

“You can
ask him to turn it down,” suggested Sandra.

Mai
rapidly shook her head. “I couldn’t do that.”

“Then
tell the super.” Laura leaned closer to Mai. “You have a right to peace and
quiet in your own home.”

Mai
shrugged. “Maybe.”

Laura sat
back up. “If you want I’ll send James over to give him a good kicking.”

Milton
jabbed the air with his fork. “Now
that’s
a good idea.”

Acton
wiped his mouth with his napkin, tossing it on the table. “What apartment is he
in? I’ll go kick his ass right now!” Mai’s jaw dropped and her eyes shot wide
open as she stared at him, the horror clear.

Maybe
we’ve gone too far this time.

He began
to laugh, sitting back down and reaching over to pat her on the shoulder.
“We’re just joking, Mai, don’t worry.
But,
if you want me there when you
talk to him, I’m more than willing. It might make it easier for you.”

She
seemed to settle down slightly, her tensed muscles from the threatened
ass-kicking relaxing as her flushed cheeks slowly returned to their normal
light brown. “Maybe.”

It
seemed her favorite word. He knew she missed her home terribly, especially her
brother, but unfortunately her life there was over, at least for the immediate
future.

She
would need to adapt.

Fortunately
she was turning out to be quite the computer whiz and had enrolled in several
classes, most of her free time spent consuming every bit of information she
could on a variety of subjects. Acton had a funny feeling the new opportunities
provided in an open society were going to lead to her changing her major from
archeology to something entirely different.

His
phone vibrated in his pocket.

“Excuse
me,” he said, retrieving the phone, his eyebrows popping. “It’s Hugh.”

Laura
looked at her watch. “It’s one in the morning there,” she whispered.

Acton
swiped his thumb. “Trouble sleeping? Need us to sing you a lullaby?”

Reading’s
deep laugh came through the earpiece and Acton could almost picture the man
smiling, though he already detected a note of grumpiness. “With this new CPAP
machine I’m sleeping like a baby.”

“Good to
hear. My dad has one of those, too. He’s an old bastard like you though, so
that’s to be expected.”

“Respect
your elders.”

Acton
tossed his head back, laughing. “Listen, we’re in the middle of dinner. Greg
and Sandra are here with Mai and Laura. Can I put you on speaker?”

“Nothing
I hate more than speaker except for maybe call waiting.”

“Oh
wait, I’ve got another call.”

“Ha ha.
Put me on speaker, you bastard.”

Acton
tapped the icon and placed the phone on the table. “You’re on speaker.”

“Hello?”

Everyone
replied at once, even Mai murmuring a hello, she yet to meet Reading in person.

Reading
cursed. “Yeah, this is going to work.”

“Why are
you calling at such a late hour?” asked Laura. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m
fine, if that’s what you mean,” replied Reading, the tiny speaker doing little
justice to his voice. “But there’s a problem at the Vatican. They need my help,
and I need yours.”

Acton
looked at his wife, a sense of foreboding shivering up his spine at the thought
of returning to where so much pain had been experienced. “What’s the problem?”
His trepidation was clear in his voice.

“Apparently
a priest was killed in Spain tonight, some cloth stolen, and a team of four
stole some artifact from the Vatican, escaped by helicopter.”

“Jesus,”
muttered Acton, the imagery his mind concocted impressively terrifying.

“Funny
you should mention him.”

Acton’s
eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“According
to Mario both artifacts that were stolen were something called ‘Blood Relics’.”

Acton
sat up straight, his eyes opening slightly wider as he looked at Laura. “Did
you say ‘Blood Relics’?”

“Yes.
Mean something to you?”

“Of
course. They’re any object thought to have come in contact with the blood of Christ.”

“You
mean when he was crucified?”

“Exactly.”

Laura
rose and rounded the table, taking a knee beside Acton. “What was stolen?” she
asked.

“Some
cloth in Spain—”

“Probably
the Sudarium of Oviedo,” interrupted Acton as he pushed out from the table
slightly allowing Laura to sit on his knee.

 “It was
a shroud used to wrap his head after he was brought down from the cross,”
explained Laura as she sat. “What else?”

“Some
spear from the Vatican. The Holy Lance or something like that. Is that the
spear that bloke in Passion of the Christ used to stab him in the side?”

Acton
nodded, putting a steadying hand around Laura. “Yes, it’s also known as the
Spear of Destiny. It’s odd though, that particular spear has never been
authenticated.”

“You
mean it’s a fake?”

“No,”
replied Laura, “just that it’s never been authenticated. The  Church doesn’t
deny it’s the real thing, they just don’t claim that it
is
the real
thing, either.”

“And
this cloth?”

“
That
they claim is real,” said Acton. “Though who knows, it’s never really been
tested. Most of these artifacts aren’t tested because no one wants to have
their claim to fame disproven.”

Reading
yawned. “Sorry, my beauty sleep was interrupted.”

“And you
can ill afford that,” laughed Acton.

“Piss
off. Well, proven or not, somebody out there is willing to kill for these
things.”

“Any clues?”

“Not
yet. I’m catching an early morning flight to Rome. Any chance you two can join
me? I think these guys are just getting started, and rather than try to guess
my way through an investigation, I’d rather have two talking encyclopedias with
me.”

Acton
looked at Laura, his eyes asking the question. She nodded. He grinned. “We’ll
join you as soon as we can.”

“I’ll
have our jet readied and we’ll be airborne as soon as possible,” said Laura.

Our
jet.