Saint Peter's Soldiers (A James Acton Thriller, Book #14) (11 page)

“You
mean I can violate the agreement?”

He shook
his head. “No.
You
can’t. Become a professor, with tenure, and you can
do whatever you want.”

Which
was what she had done,
after
switching institutions.

But now
her past had caught up with her.

“Yes,
and we had all signed a non-disclosure agreement so we couldn’t say anything.”

“Doesn’t
sound like you.”

She
looked at her husband and smiled. He was the love of her life and her worst
fear in all this was that he’d be disappointed in her, a feeling she never
wanted to experience. “I’m sorry.”

He put
his arm over her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “It’s not your fault. You
were barely in your twenties, what were you supposed to do? The important thing
is you’ve never done anything like that again.” He pushed away from her, turned
in his chair and gave her a look. “You’ve never done anything like that since,
right?”

She
slapped his chest with the back of her hand. “Of course not!” He roared with
laughter, dispelling her irrational fear that he had been serious. “Oh James, I
feel bad enough as it is, don’t toy with me like that!”

He gave
her another squeeze as the pilot of their private jet announced their descent
into Rome. Reading tapped an iPad he had been reading. “They really played this
thing up, didn’t they?”

She
nodded. “It was horrible. They never actually claimed it was genuine, they just
didn’t say anything either way. But they did use it for major new funding to
build a secure, climate-controlled vault to help preserve it, claiming heavy
damage so it could never be properly examined. When it was put on display, the
story was inspiring. A secret operation to hide it from the Nazis, the legend
surrounding it, the mysterious return over fifty years later. It’s the stuff
stories are written about.”

“Quite
often stories are based on fact.”

Laura
nodded. “And in this case it is.”

“And
you’re certain it was a forgery?”

“Yes.”

“How do
you know it was ever real?” asked Reading.

It was a
good question, one she had asked herself during the initial discovery that it
was a forgery, but her professor had convinced her the genuine article did
indeed exist.

“We know
there were at least two versions of the drawing.”

“How?”
asked her husband, turning in his seat despite the seatbelt light being on.

“There
were several photos of the drawing from back then. Three, in fact. Two were of
it framed, one not. The one that hadn’t been framed had da Vinci’s signature in
the bottom right, very near the edge.”

“And the
other two didn’t.” James nodded. “The frame covered it.” He turned to Reading
to explain. “Most likely it had been cut at some point, trimming the excess for
some reason, leaving the signature too close to the edge.”

“That
was our guess as well,” agreed Laura. “We believe—or rather my professor
believed—that the forgers worked from a photo of the framed drawing, so didn’t
know the signature was supposed to be there. The museum knew, but claimed it
had faded due to the degradation suffered from improper storage.”

“Could
it have?” Reading shrugged. “I mean, from what I just read it was in pretty
rough shape.”

“Absolutely,
it was,” agreed Laura. “But the paper was also from the wrong era, off by over
a century.”

“I’ve
never understood that,” said Reading as the wheels touched down. “How do they
get away with that?”

James
leaned forward, entering teaching mode. “Usually they take a painting or
drawing from the same era and paint over it. Something much less valuable,
obviously. You’re not going to destroy one masterpiece to forge another.”

“But
this was a drawing.”

“True.
But there are thousands upon thousands of things from that era that have been
collected over the years, quite often by unscrupulous people simply planning
ahead. There’s an entire black market for blank canvases and paper from all
eras.” James shook his head, frowning. “It’s really quite the disgrace.”

“What
would the world be like without liars and thieves?” bemoaned Laura.

“Well,
I’d be out of a job.”

Laura
smiled at Reading. “Well, we can’t have that, now, can we?”

Reading
grunted. “I’d give it up in a heartbeat if it were somehow possible, but
there’s just as much chance of me fitting into my bobby uniform tomorrow as
that.”

Laura
laughed. “Well, I’ll say this. If this turns out to be the genuine drawing, it
will clear up a seventy year old mystery.”

“And
open up an entirely new one.”

Laura
and James looked at Reading.

“Meaning?”

“Why did
two members of the Keepers of the One Truth have it, and who felt it was
valuable enough to kill them for it?”

Approaching Sapienza University, Rome, Italy

Acton glanced behind them for the umpteenth time, Mario Giasson
smiling at him. He had the distinct feeling the limousine the Vatican had sent
to pick them up was being followed, but his eyes could find no evidence of what
his intuition was telling him.

“Relax,
Jim, no one knows you’re coming.”

Acton
looked at Giasson. “Uh huh.”

Laura
squeezed his hand a little tighter as she too apparently was remembering the
gut wrenching experiences they had been drawn into too often in what should be
one of their favorite cities to visit. And with the Keepers of the One Truth
involved, four dead bodies and a seventy year old conspiracy, he was going to
feel uncomfortable, whether Giasson felt it was warranted or not.

Giasson
seemed to sense his doubts. “Look, the portrait was moved by
my
men to
the university only this morning, just a handful of people know what is being tested,
and Italian State Police are providing security. Nothing will happen like last
time.”

Acton
frowned. “
Which
last time?”

Giasson
chuckled. “Good point.” He started rhyming things off on his fingers. “You
won’t be kidnapped by the Keepers, protesters won’t try to storm the
university—”

“You say
that now.” Acton raised a hand, cutting off Mario’s continued assurances.
“Let’s just get this over with and hopefully break the pattern.”

“What
pattern is that?” asked Giasson as the car rolled up in front of the
university.

“The one
where every time the Vatican calls, someone tries to grass my ass.”

Giasson grinned,
Reading stifling a laugh as Laura winked at Acton. “And such a nice ass it is.”

“Indeed.”

Acton
gave Reading a look, the man shrugging. “I’ve been told I don’t hand out enough
compliments.”

“I
wouldn’t be starting with my ass.” Acton pointed at the open door. “You first,
I wouldn’t want to give you a show you’d feel compelled to praise.”

Reading
chuckled as he stepped out into the morning sunlight, Laura’s private jet, part
of a lease-sharing network, having got them to Rome in good time. They could
have been here earlier, however Father Rinaldi had indicated the university
laboratory wasn’t available until regular hours. The elderly man was rushing
down the steps, clearly invigorated by the excitement the discovery of a da Vinci merited.

“Professor
Palmer, so good to see you again!” he gushed as he grabbed her by both
shoulders, giving each cheek a kiss. He did the same with Acton, then moved on
to Reading who caught the man’s right hand with his own, placing his left hand
on the art historian’s shoulder, preventing the kissed greeting.

“Nice to
meet you, Father.”

“Come,
come, you need to see this, it is incredible!”

He
bolted up the stairs leaving the others to look on in wonder, Reading and Acton
grinning at each other as Acton helped his wife up the steps. She had been shot
outside of Paris several months ago and was still regaining her stamina. Stairs
were one of her biggest challenges, and hours aboard a luxury jet might sound
comfortable, though it wasn’t compared to a pillow top mattress.

Reading
looked at Acton then at Rinaldi as he disappeared through the doors ahead.
“Good kisser?”

“Ooh,
the best. If things don’t work out with Laura and I, I might give the man a
call.”

Laura
cleared the last step and took several gasping breaths, Acton fishing a
handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbing her forehead dry. She smiled a thank
you.

“You did
good, hon. Two weeks ago I would have been carrying you up half that.”

She
nodded, pointing at the door. “Let’s go before I have time to think about
taking you up on that offer.”

Reading
went ahead and joined Giasson, already at the doors and talking to an Italian
State Police officer, one of two at the doors. As they entered the building,
Giasson joined them and they made their way to the lab, Rinaldi having already
made it to the doors and back at least twice, urging them forward like a child
desperate to get his mother to the ice cream truck before it pulled away.

Acton
looked at Giasson, motioning toward the doors behind them and the two officers.
“Problems?”

Giasson
shook his head. “Not at all.” He nodded to the doors ahead of them. “Four more.
See, perfectly safe.”

Acton
looked to find four more State Police stationed outside the lab. One of them
approached Giasson. “Inspector General, it is good to see you.”

“Likewise.
Where is Chief Inspector Riva?”

“He has
been unavoidably detained and placed me in command. I assure you we are quite
secure.”

Mario
nodded, smiling slightly as Rinaldi opened the doors. “I have no doubt. Carry
on.”

They
entered the lab and Acton flashed back to the last time he had been at the university,
examining what had been found in a Templar knight’s sarcophagus. It had touched
off worldwide chaos. He couldn’t possibly imagine how this portrait could
compare, however four were already dead because of it.

It
simply made no sense.

“Oh my!”
whispered Laura in awe as she pointed to one of the large displays showing an
enlarged image of the drawing. It was a rather plain self-portrait by some
standards, though the deftness of the chalk lines showed a steady, practiced
hand at work, an artist who knew exactly what he wanted to put on paper, there
nothing extraneous in his delivery, every line serving a purpose.

And the
eyes.

The eyes
were incredible. There was something about the way da Vinci did the eyes in his
masterpieces that Acton could always feel at his core. Deep, pained, wise.

“Incredible.”

Reading
nodded as he stared at the monitor. “How old is it?”

“About
five hundred years if it’s genuine,” replied Acton.

“I think
it is.”

Everyone
turned to Laura, Rinaldi jumping up and down on his toes. “You see it, don’t
you?”

She
nodded, pointing at the bottom right of the image. “It’s his signature.”

“Exactly!
I read your email last night and checked for it, and sure enough, it was right
where you said it should be.”

“And
right where it wasn’t in the one I examined in 1998.” She glanced at Rinaldi.
“And the paper?”

“It
appears genuine, however a sample has been taken for carbon dating. But I’m
optimistic.”

Laura
nodded, peering through one of the scopes to get a closer look, one of the
displays changing to show everyone else what she was seeing. She rose. “I
agree.”

Rinaldi looked
at her, holding his breath, then turning away, as if he were afraid to ask the
question he was about to ask. “Didn’t you, I mean…”

“Didn’t
I authenticate the portrait in Turin as genuine?”

A burst
of air escaped Rinaldi’s mouth as he nodded. “Yes.”

Laura glanced
at Acton who shrugged. “I think it’s safe to break your confidentiality
agreement now.”

She smiled.
“I guess so.” Turning to Father Rinaldi, Acton could see the relief sweep over
his wife as she visibly relaxed, as if a weight she had been carrying for years
had just been lifted. “Actually,
I
didn’t. In fact, none of us did. We
declared it a forgery almost immediately.”

“Then
why has it been publicized as genuine? I mean, they’ve spent millions
preserving it!”

“I was
just a student, but we had all signed non-disclosure agreements. When we
discovered it was a fake we were sworn to secrecy otherwise we’d all be sued.
Being young and naïve, I went along with what my professor dictated. Believe
me, Father, it’s something I’ve been ashamed of for most of my adult life.”

“I don’t
doubt it.” He pointed toward the drawing sitting under a high-resolution
camera. “But now the truth can be told.” He turned to Giasson. “You realize how
much this is worth? It’s priceless!” Father Rinaldi began to pace. “If this
falls into the wrong hands, it could be worth millions, perhaps tens of
millions. Especially if someone believes the legend.”