Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) Read online

  “Are you aware of what a Blood Relic is?”

  “Not a clue. I think you meant to dial Jim and Laura, they’re the experts in bloody relics.”

  Giasson chuckled, continuing. “No, I’ve got the right man. Blood Relics are objects that are believed to have the blood of Christ on them.”

  “Oh.” Reading wasn’t very religious so didn’t give such things much thought, but his experiences over the past few years with the Actons had taught him that far too often those who did believe were more than willing to kill for those beliefs.

  “I know, I know,” said Giasson, “you don’t believe in such things, but somebody out there clearly does.”

  “Why?”

  “Last night a priest in Spain was murdered, the only thing taken a shroud that is believed to have been used to wrap the head of Christ after he was taken down from the cross. And tonight, before my very eyes, the Holy Lance, also known as the Spear of Destiny, was stolen from the Vatican by four men who were quite literally pulled out of here by a helicopter.”

  “Any casualties?”

  “Thankfully no. Just my pride.”

  “Well, that grows back. God knows I’ve had mine wounded enough.” He paused, jotting down notes. “So two Blood Relics in the same night. Sounds like too much of a coincidence.”

  “Exactly. I was hoping you could get involved since this crosses borders.”

  “I will if I can. I’ll have to see if I can get the case allocated to me.”

  He could almost hear the smile through the phone. “I’ve already taken care of that, mon ami. You were assigned a few minutes ago.”

  Reading shook his head, the power of political connections never ceasing to amaze him. “Then I suppose I’ll be seeing you in the morning.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  “I think however I’m going to need some help.”

  “I thought you might. Please inform the professors that the Vatican looks forward to hosting them once again.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled.”

  Golgatha, Judea

  April 7th, 30 AD

  The Ninth Hour

  “We need to get out of here while we can!” shouted Albus, the howling wind beginning to settle, the ground beginning to still. Longinus shoved himself to his feet with the help of his spear, looking up at the sky as the clouds began to part, the sun making its presence felt once more.

  And then it was still, as if nothing had happened, as if all their sins had been forgiven.

  The wails of this man’s followers continued, their grief rolling over the hilltop unabated as they mourned their loved one’s passing. He felt Albus’ hand grip his shoulder. “What just happened?” His voice was low, terrified.

  Longinus shook his head, looking up at the shadow of the man so hated and yet so loved. “I fear to imagine.”

  “This is taking too long,” said one of the other soldiers, crossing in front of Longinus. “Our orders are to make certain this is over before Passover begins.”

  “Break their knees!” ordered another.

  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.

  Acton had to admit he never got tired of hearing that. When he had begun to fall for Laura he had no idea she was rich, and it wasn’t until she had been kidnapped that he had any inkling just how rich she was. And it wasn’t until they were married and
she had given him access to everything that he realized how incredibly rich she was. She wasn’t a billionaire, but she was closer to it than from it. She was truly a one-percenter, and now by extension so was he, though the humble home they lived in certainly hid their wealth well.

  Both of them were content to lead simple lives, with the money she inherited from her hi-tech entrepreneurial brother upon his accidental death at one of her dig sites they funded their own projects and traveled in comfort. But one of their greatest pleasures was helping less fortunate students with anonymous donations that would allow them to come on digs that they otherwise would have been forced to just hear about through their classmates’ social media accounts.

  That was what he loved most about the money. Helping the kids.

  A close second though was traveling in style wherever and whenever they wanted, Laura part of some jet sharing company.

  “Rest assured I’ll be flying economy,” grunted Reading.

  Laura winked at Acton. “Why don’t you wait for us and we’ll swing by and pick you up.”

  There was a pause and Acton stifled his laugh as he pictured their friend debating on what to say.

  “I’ll see you in bloody Rome.”

  The call ended and Acton laughed, gently smacking Laura’s bum as she rose.

  “I’m just going to make a quick call to arrange the flight then I’ll be back. Finish your dinner before it gets cold.”

  She left the room and Acton cut off a piece of his wellington, savoring the taste. He swallowed. “You know, I’m a damned good cook if I do say so myself.”

  “No argument here, but you should taste my KD. I put extra butter with whipping cream, makes all the difference.”

  “Sounds artery clogging.”

  “Hey, after you get shot in the back and almost die, you tend to look at things differently.”

  “What, like life is precious and you shouldn’t be risking it?”

  Milton gave Acton an are-you-kidding-me look. “Coming from you, that’s pretty rich.”

  Acton shrugged. “Hey, it’s not like I go looking for trouble.”

  “Nooo, you’re just shit-magnet and attract it like flies.”