Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) (11 page)

North of Jerusalem, Judea
April 13
^th
, 30 AD

The sounds of joy seemed distant to Longinus as he felt the cool
water rush around him, the pressure of the deep breath he was holding forgotten
in the ecstasy of the moment. His entire body was submerged now, his racing
heart pounding in his ears as he felt the strong hands of the disciple named
Peter supporting him.

Suddenly
he was lifted from the water, the rush of sounds around him almost overwhelming
as water and tears streamed down his face, those gathered around him clapping
and cheering the shared excitement of the moment. Peter’s words were lost on
him as he blinked the water out of his eyes, suddenly bear-hugged by Albus, his
feet lifted from the water as his friend leaned back. He had been last to be
baptized, insisting his friends who had joined him go first so that they may
rejoice in the overwhelming happiness he himself was already feeling. In his
mind he was already baptized by the blood and water of Jesus himself, but when
Peter and the others gathered had suggested it, all four of them had jumped at
the opportunity, their desire to be closer to God and his Son irresistible.

He
stepped to the shore, helped by the others, his robes heavy and dripping from
the water, but he didn’t care. This was a joyous occasion in which the troubles
of the past few weeks were forgotten. They had hidden with some of the
followers of Jesus, shedding their armor and donning the clothes of peasants,
hiding in the homes and camps of followers while the family and disciples of
Jesus left to visit with the resurrected rabbi.

He had
longed to see the man, to thank him, but knew this privilege of reunification
should be reserved for those closest to him.

The man had
done enough.

He had
saved him.

And now
he was determined to spread his word.

Should
he survive.

The rabbis
of Jerusalem had issued an unofficial warrant for him, for they had no power
over a Roman soldier. The whispered word was that they wanted his head
delivered to them, on a platter.

He was
sure they’d settle for his guaranteed silence on what he had testified to that
day in the synagogue.

Word was
spreading about the crucifixion of this innocent man and the miracle of his
resurrection, but so too was the lie that his body had merely been stolen.
Those who had witnessed the miracles were unwavering in their belief, and their
steadfastness was inspiring others to the cause, today there a long line of
people awaiting their own chance at baptism by one of the closest friends of
the Messiah.

He took
a seat on a large rock, lying back and letting the midday sun beat down on him,
drying his skin and clothes as the celebrations continued around him. As he lay
there, the wide smile slowly began to wane as the reality of his situation made
its presence known once again.

He was
in danger.

But that
was of no concern to him. If he died today, he would die content, without fear
for he now knew what awaited him. He had led a basically good life and any of
his transgressions had been forgiven when Jesus had given up his spirit and
performed this one last miracle, restoring the sight to an aging man.

“Something
vexes you.”

Longinus
opened his eyes and shaded them from the sun with a hand. John—the
new
son of the Messiah’s mother, Mary—stood in front of him. He frowned. “I’m a
danger to you all.”

“We’re
all a danger to each other, that is the very nature of our existence. The word
of our Lord is perceived as dangerous to those who would rule over us, whether
they be the rabbis who ignore the proof that he is the prophesized one, or the
Romans who would merely oppress us to feed their evil empire. The life of a
follower of the word of our teacher isn’t an easy one, nor should it be chosen
lightly.” He paused. “I thought you of all people would know that. Do you
regret what you have done here today?”

Longinus
felt a flutter in his stomach at John’s words. He pushed himself up to a seated
position, shaking his head vehemently. “No! Not at all! I wouldn’t change a
single thing I’ve done since that day, but it is
I
that is specifically
hunted by name.” He stood, looking at the gathered throng, still rejoicing in
the events unfolding. “Should they come for me and find you with me, you all
may be arrested…or worse.” He sighed, placing a hand on John’s shoulder. “I
fear I must leave you all.”

Albus
walked up to them, concern on his face. “What’s wrong?”

It was
John that replied. “He’s leaving us.”

Though
Longinus hadn’t quite said the words, it was clear John agreed with the
sentiment and knew his mind was already made up. It was time to leave these
good people so they might be safe. Their lives would be hard enough without him
adding to their troubles.

“But
why! You’re one of us,
we’re
now one of them! Why would you turn your
back on them?”

Longinus
placed his free hand on Albus’ shoulder, smiling. “It is
because
I am
one of them that I must leave. I believe so much in what they are trying to do,
that I have to leave so they aren’t stopped by those searching for me.” He let
go of both men and picked up his spear lying beside the stone that had been his
resting place.

“You are
mistaken in what you say,” replied Albus, his hand covering Longinus’ grip on
the spear. “
We
must leave. The four of us are deserters and the entire
Roman Army is looking for us.” Albus waved for the other two to join them. “We
will leave together and die together should it be necessary.”

Longinus
nodded, joy filling his heart that his friends would be with him on the long
journey ahead.

For he
could think of only one place to go.

Home.

Notre-Dame Cathedral, Paris, France
Present Day, Day of the Paris assault

“They don’t seem to be taking the threat seriously.”

Reading
nodded as they strode down the center of the massive Notre-Dame Cathedral in
Paris. Its first stone laid in 1163, it was built over centuries, handcrafted
in stages resulting in a breathtaking combination of architecture and artistry
that Acton found himself never tiring of. He had been here several times
before, making it a point to try to see it every time he was in Paris, but
Laura had seen it on many occasions, Paris just a few hours by train from
London.

He had
been fortunate enough to be shown the Treasury on his last visit and was eager
to see it again, the relics contained within breathtaking in their beauty and
opulence, not to mention their historical significance.

Which
was why he was surprised to have only seen a single police officer outside and
none inside.

“You’d
think with all the terrorist activity here lately they’d take a threat like
this more seriously,” observed Laura.

Reading
grunted. “If this were terrorism, I have no doubt they would. But this isn’t
and they’ve got their hands full.”

Just as
9/11 had changed American views overnight, so had the terrorist attacks in
Paris affected the psyche of the people of France. Heightened security had been
very evident on the streets of Paris as they made their way here, but Parisians
seemed to be trying to move on with their lives, thumbing their noses at those
who would have them cower in fear.

Acton
knew Reading was right, the theft of Blood Relics wasn’t terrorism, but to him
any threat against archeological sites or artifacts
was
an act of
terrorism, an attack on history, on culture, on humanity’s past. The fact an
officer was outside at least suggested that the French weren’t completely
ignoring the threat, and the young man had indicated his boss was inside,
meaning at least two officers were assigned.

His mind
drifted to the solidarity rally he and Laura had attended in Trafalgar Square
while packing up some of her personal effects from her apartment in London.
They had watched on the BBC the events of that horrible day unfold live for the
world to see, the heart wrenching terror in the eyes of Parisians as they heard
the news, terrified with the knowledge that the terrorists were still on the
loose, their massacre of twelve at the Charlie Hebdo offices only the beginning
of their plan.

All
over cartoons.

It was
disgusting. Ridiculous. Almost comical if it weren’t for the death toll. And an
illustration of how Islam was fundamentally incompatible with Western
democracies. He had listened to and read Imam after Imam condemn the attacks in
one sentence, then proclaim that though they believed in free speech, they felt
it should be illegal to satirize a religion.

And what
was truly disturbing was a recent BBC poll showing almost 30% of British
Muslims felt the Charlie Hebdo attacks were justified.

Why?
Because one group was so insecure in their beliefs that they couldn’t accept
them being challenged?

How
many died because of Piss Christ?

He felt
his chest tighten in anger with the memories and pushed them aside as they
headed to the right, toward the Treasury.

Behind
them somebody screamed.

Dietrich Kruger answered his phone against his better judgment, the
unmarked black van they were travelling in just about to pull up in front of
the Notre-Dame Cathedral. But the call display showed his mother’s number.

And
she knows what I’m doing.

“Hello?”

Before
she even spoke he knew what she was going to say.

“It’s
your father, he’s taken a turn for the worse.”

“What’s
wrong?”

“I don’t
know.” He could hear the worry in his mother’s voice and it tore at his heart.
“The doctor says he doesn’t have much time.”

“But
it’s too soon!” Tears flooded his eyes and the men in the truck turned their
attention to readying their equipment, it the only form of privacy they could
offer.

“I know,
I know, I don’t know why. You should come home now to see him before it’s too
late.”

He
gripped the bench seat he was on, the metal edge biting at his hand. “I can’t
help him there, but perhaps something here can.” He released his hold. “I’ll be
home soon.”

He ended
the call, turning off the phone as the van came to a halt. The rear doors were
opened and he stepped outside, raising his weapon and shooting the startled
police officer standing at the entrance.

Nobody
stops us today.

“Let’s go!” shouted Acton as he grabbed Laura by the waist,
propelling her toward the Treasury, Reading acting as a human shield behind
them. They burst through the doors, surprising those inside including four
police officers who spun toward them.

Reading
held up his ID. “Interpol! We’ve got armed hostiles behind us!”

Acton
continued hustling Laura deeper into the Treasury, past the display cases and
toward the still frozen in place police. Finally they reacted as the screams of
panicking tourists and worshippers outside the now open Treasury doors reached
their ears.

But it
was too late.

Gunfire
erupted from behind them. He felt Reading shove his shoulder, sending him to
the right but he lost his grip on Laura as her momentum carried her forward. He
watched in horror as he slammed into the marble floor, Reading jumping toward a
pillar, Laura completely exposed. She turned, on her knees, facing their
assailants, then rose as their eyes met, jumping toward his position as he
reached out with his hands.

A burst
of gunfire tore into the floor, shards of ancient marble ripping through the
air like tiny daggers, slicing through anything in its path, including his
outstretched arms. Laura winced, collapsing to the floor, grabbing at her
stomach, her face one of confused shock as her eyes opened wide and her jaw
dropped. She looked at him, holding up her bloodstained hands.