The Fourth Bible Read online

  THE

  FOURTH

  BIBLE

  A JAMES ACTON THRILLER

  J. ROBERT KENNEDY

  About the James Acton Thrillers

  "James Acton: A little bit of Jack Bauer and Indiana Jones!"

  Though this book is part of the James Acton Thrillers series, it is written as a standalone novel and can be enjoyed without reading the other installments.

  What readers are saying about the James Acton Thrillers Series:

  “A great blend of history and current headlines.”

  “You stop breathing from the first page.”

  “If you like Indiana Jones then you will love these stories.”

  “The Acton series is one of the most entertaining and enjoyable series I have read.”

  “Non-stop action that is impossible to put down.”

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  BOOKS BY J. ROBERT KENNEDY

  * Also available in audio

  The Templar Detective Thrillers

  The Templar Detective

  The Templar Detective and the Parisian Adulteress

  The Templar Detective and the Sergeant's Secret

  The Templar Detective and the Unholy Exorcist

  The Templar Detective and the Code Breaker

  The James Acton Thrillers

  The Protocol *

  Brass Monkey

  Broken Dove

  The Templar’s Relic

  Flags of Sin

  The Arab Fall

  The Circle of Eight

  The Venice Code

  Pompeii’s Ghosts

  Amazon Burning

  The Riddle

  Blood Relics

  Sins of the Titanic

  Saint Peter’s Soldiers

  The Thirteenth Legion

  Raging Sun

  Wages of Sin

  Wrath of the Gods

  The Templar’s Revenge

  The Nazi’s Engineer

  Atlantis Lost

  The Cylon Curse

  The Viking Deception

  Keepers of the Lost Ark

  The Tomb of Genghis Khan

  The Manila Deception

  The Fourth Bible

  The Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers

  Rogue Operator

  Containment Failure

  Cold Warriors

  Death to America

  Black Widow

  The Agenda

  Retribution

  State Sanctioned

  Extraordinary Rendition

  The Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers

  Payback

  Infidels

  The Lazarus Moment

  Kill Chain

  Forgotten

  The Detective Shakespeare Mysteries

  Depraved Difference

  Tick Tock

  The Redeemer

  The Kriminalinspektor Wolfgang Vogel Mysteries

  The Colonel’s Wife

  Zander Varga, Vampire Detective Series

  The Turned

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Table of Contents

  The Novel

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Acknowledgments

  Don't Miss Out!

  Thank You!

  About the Author

  Also by the Author

  For my mother, my friend, my advisor, my confidante.

  Your loss crushes my soul every day.

  “Life is life—whether in a cat, or dog or man. There is no difference there between a cat or a man. The idea of difference is a human conception for man’s own advantage.”

  Sri Aurobindo

  “The life of an ant and the life of my child should be accorded equal respect.”

  Michael W. Fox, Humane Society of the United States

  January 15, 1989

  PREFACE

  In 692 AD, Abbot Ceolfrid of the Wearmouth-Jarrow Abbey in the Anglo-Saxon Kingdom of Northumbria, commissioned the creation of three Bibles. An estimated 500 calves were raised and slaughtered to produce the vellum each volume would require, and after an unimaginable amount of work from farmers, parchment makers, and skilled scribes, the three massive tomes, each weighing over 75 pounds and numbering a thousand pages, were complete.

  Two were placed in the twin churches of Wearmouth and Jarrow. One of those has been lost to history, the other is now in tatters, a mere remnant of its former self.

  The third was taken by Ceolfrid to Rome in 716 as a gift for Pope Gregory II.

  He never made it.

  It was lost to history for centuries, before turning up in Tuscany. After a storied past, it now rests in Florence, Italy, nearly perfectly preserved.

  This is all documented fact.

  What isn’t known is why, if it too
k 500 calves to produce each Bible, were documents later found in Ceolfrid’s personal papers that showed 2000 had been slaughtered instead of the expected 1500?

  1 |

  Guggenheim Bilbao

  Bilbao, Spain

  Present Day

  “R eady?”

  Archaeology Professor Laura Palmer’s heart raced as she stared at the shroud-covered table in front of them. Their host, Professor Yves Marchand, stood beside it, one corner of the shroud gripped in his hand as her husband, James Acton, shook with anticipation. “Does a bear—”

  She squeezed his arm hard, ending what was to be yet another unfortunate one-liner.

  “Yes,” he said wisely.

  Marchand removed the shroud with a flourish, and they both gasped in awe at the sight. The Bible lay split into two halves under protective glass, highlighted from above as if from the heavens, the massive tome.

  “Unbelievable!” whispered James as he slowly circled the incredible historical find. She had seen one of the other Bibles several years ago, and had planned on watching her husband’s reaction, but those thoughts were lost as she was taken in by the pristine condition.

  “It’s remarkably preserved,” she observed. “I knew from the pictures it would be, but in person…” She sighed, shaking her head. “Simply stunning. This is in better condition than the Codex Amiatinus, I can assure you.”

  “After the discovery, I was fortunate enough to be able to see the Codex Amiatinus for comparison purposes, and I have to agree.”

  James pointed at a thin hole that appeared to go through one half of the Bible, perhaps a couple of inches in length. “What do you think made—” A faint alarm sounded and they all froze. “What’s that?”

  Marchand dismissed any concern with a wave of his hand. “It’s nothing. Just the alarm from a fire door. I accidentally set one off this morning when I went for a cigarette.”

  “There’s no sign?”

  “There is.” He shrugged. “I thought it was just for show!”

  Laura leaned in to examine the cut sliced through the center of one half of the Bible, curious as to what could have made such a distinct hole, when the unmistakable sound of gunfire shattered their calm.

  Signaling what was certain to be another harrowing day in their tumultuous lives.

  2 |

  Wearmouth-Jarrow Abbey

  Kingdom of Northumbria

  716 AD

  A rledge leaned back in his hard wooden chair and stretched as he unsuccessfully stifled a yawn. His entire body ached, as it had for months, each day a little worse than the last. His only reprieve were Sundays, when Abbot Ceolfrid permitted him to participate in the services with his fellow brothers. That one day of rest was precious to him, allowing him to reconnect with his Lord Jesus Christ—all he needed to renew any waning vigor in his duty.

  The recreation of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

  The Bible.

  Abbot Ceolfrid had commissioned three copies years ago. It had been a herculean effort, involving man and beast. All three volumes were written on vellum, over 1500 calves had been raised and slaughtered for their skin, the thousands of pages necessary to produce the three copies painstakingly manufactured by the hands of the believers in the surrounding villages.

  It had been a monumental undertaking.

  Yet what he was doing would receive none of the accolades the glorious work undertaken by his fellow monks had. For he toiled in secrecy, locked in a room on the second floor of the abbey, a room he hadn’t known existed until Ceolfrid had shown him where he would work. It was sparsely furnished with a table at which he worked, a chair in which he sat, several candles for light, a lone window that gave him some sunlight, though most days seemed dreary, and a simple bed on which to rest should he need it, though he rarely did. The abbot brought him his midday meal, his breakfast and supper enjoyed with his brothers.

  And it was his brothers that made things the most difficult.

  He had known them all for years, some for as long as he could remember. Many had grown up together in the monastery, like him, and they were his friends. His good friends. Yet he couldn’t talk to them.

  Literally.

  On the same day he had agreed to do the work, Ceolfrid had announced at the morning meal what turned out to be the most challenging aspect of what was to come. “Brother Arledge has taken a vow of silence to bring himself closer to God. I ask that you refrain from posing him any questions, or speaking to him in any manner. Respect his wishes, and know that I have given him my blessing in this most pious of endeavors.” He had been congratulated, then left alone. His brothers always greeted him with genuine smiles, always welcomed him to their table, yet obeyed the abbot’s wishes.

  And despite being surrounded by his friends, he felt more alone than he ever had.

  That was why he relished the thrice-daily visits from Ceolfrid. In the morning, he would bring him his day’s work, at noon his meal enjoyed over a brief conversation about his progress, then the end of the day to collect what had been completed, and to take the work still remaining into safekeeping.

  For no one could know what he was doing, though he wasn’t certain why.

  The three copies of the Bible had been created quite publicly. One didn’t raise 1500 calves without people taking notice, one didn’t create thousands of pages of vellum without stories spreading far and wide about what was being undertaken.

  Yet his work was secret. He was to create an exact copy of the Bible. An exact copy known only to him and the abbot. For what purpose, he had no idea—Ceolfrid hadn’t shared his reasons, though he was certain they were just and pure. The abbot was the kindest man he knew, and was like a father to him, his own parents having died ravaged by disease when he was a child. The monks had taken him in, fed him, clothed him, and when Ceolfrid had discovered he had an aptitude for letters, had taught him how to read and write. It was later that his artistic side had been revealed.

  Making him the perfect man for the job.

  He understood the text he was reading, could recreate the drawings and decorations that adorned its holy pages, and apparently had another necessary skill.

  The ability to hold one’s tongue, his slip-ups in his vow of silence few over the months he had been working, though speaking with the abbot did make things easier, giving him several brief reprieves.

  He rubbed his sore eyes, the sun low on the horizon, signaling an impending visit from the abbot. He smiled at the footsteps on the stairs beyond the door to his locked chamber, then rose as the key hit the lock. He bowed as Ceolfrid entered. He waited for the door to close before speaking.

  “Father Abbot.”

  “My brother, how does your work progress?”

  “Very well. If my memory of the Bible is correct, all I have left are the final verses of Revelation. I should be done tomorrow, assuming you have the vellum I requested?”

  “The final shipment arrived earlier today from a faithful benefactor.” He sighed. “These thousand pages were far harder to procure than the first three thousand.”

  “Because of the secrecy of what we are doing?”

  “Exactly. I have had to source it for years, a few pages here and there so as not to arouse suspicions. It was a difficult task I am happy to put behind me.”

  Arledge stared at the floor. “Umm, may I, umm, ask why all the secrecy?”

  Ceolfrid stared at him for a moment, then pursed his lips, nodding. “You deserve the truth. As you know, I intend to personally deliver a copy of the Bible to the Pope himself.”

  “Yes, Father. You informed us all last night.”

  “Exactly. And because the existence of our Bibles is so well known, it will be impossible to keep our journey a secret.”

  Arledge’s eyes widened. “You expect trouble!”

  “Yes, I do. I fully expect someone will attempt to steal the Bible during our travels.”

  “Then why take the risk?”

  “Because som
ething as beautiful as what we have created, at such great sacrifice, must be kept at the holiest of all sites.”

  “But if you’re certain it will be stolen, then what’s the point?”

  Ceolfrid smiled. “Because while we travel, with the world watching, the Bible you created will be journeying in secret, unbeknownst to those who would do us harm.”

  A smile spread on Arledge’s face at the genius of the abbot’s plan. “Because one cannot steal what one does not know exists!”

  3 |

  Rolampont, France

  Present Day

  Three months earlier

  E manuel Fillon stood at the edge of the construction site, carefully watching as the excavator worked at digging out the foundation for the future home of the town’s most significant industrial development to date. It had been controversial, with tree-huggers literally hugging trees they had chained themselves to, trees that looked no different than the thousand others he saw each day on his drive here.

  These fools are going too far.

  What was the point of saving the planet if nobody had any jobs? But then that seemed to rarely be the concern of these types. They had no jobs. He saw the same faces here, day in and day out. If they were gainfully employed, contributing to society, then they would have had to miss at least five days a week of chanting their ridiculous slogans.

  It made him sick. He was all for saving the planet, but not at the cost of destroying Western civilization. It wasn’t Western civilization that was the problem, it was China, Russia, India, the developing world. The plastics in the ocean? Almost 99% of it came from Asia and Africa. If these people wanted to save the world, they should go to Asia and help implement waste management programs, rather than leaving them dumping everything into the rivers to be carried away and out of sight. Want to cut down on greenhouse gas emissions? Go to China and tell them to cancel their plans for 500 more coal-fired power plants in the next ten years.

  But stop the building of an industrial zone that would create jobs, jobs in a heavily environmentally regulated country, jobs that would pay some of the highest taxes in the world, some of which would help fund programs that cleaned up the environment?

  It was idiocy.

  And thankfully, the courts had seen it the same way, the issued injunction enforced immediately.

  Now they were digging, and digging fast. The moment the protesters had been cleared, he had moved in with equipment to remove the trees in a matter of hours, ensuring there was nothing left for anyone to chain themselves to, should the lawbreakers return.