Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) (14 page)

I’m
converting as soon as my promise is fulfilled.

Notre-Dame Cathedral, Paris, France
Present Day

Reading hung up the phone, clipping it back on his belt, returning
to the police car Acton was half sitting in, his feet still on the pavement. He
looked at his friend, clearly in pain, having said very little since their
rescue. Laura was gone, taken by their attackers for reasons unknown, and he
knew it was tearing the man apart. He had seen the stomach wound and it hadn’t
looked good. He knew from too many years as a police officer and a soldier that
she didn’t have much time to reach an Emergency Room before bleeding out.

He
wasn’t optimistic.

Acton
looked up at him. “Any word on Laura?”

Reading
shook his head. “No. They’ve checked all the hospitals and clinics and there’s
no reports of a woman matching her description having been admitted.”

“So they
probably dumped her body somewhere.”

Reading
didn’t want to admit to his friend that he was probably right, but it was the
most likely possibility. If she had died, there was no reason for them to keep
the body. If they were found with it, it would be irrefutable evidence they
were involved.

But
they’d probably also dump her where she couldn’t be easily found.

Which
meant his friend might never get closure.

Reading
knew Acton well enough to know the man would go through the rest of his life
blaming himself for her death. He understood the twisted logic the blame-game
could take. He’d probably go all the way back to their original meeting, his
sorrow suggesting if he had never met her she’d still be alive today.

But then
she would have missed out on the happiest years of her life.

Reading
and Laura had seen a fair amount of each other while she still lived in London
doing the long distance relationship thing, so they had become good friends.
And he knew she loved Acton more than life and wouldn’t have traded those years
together for anything.

Yet he
knew any words now would be wasted on his friend. Instead, he needed to keep
his friend’s mind busy until he crashed, the man clearly exhausted.

“They
found the helicopter outside of the city. They burned it so the police aren’t
optimistic about finding any evidence. The tail number indicates it had been
stolen about an hour before the robbery. They just found the owner tied up in
his charter office. Just vague descriptions and no security footage
apparently.”

“So no
help.”

“It at
least gives us a geographical area to concentrate on.”

Acton
looked at him with a “give-me-a-break” look. “You and I both know they could be
in a different country by now. Europe isn’t the US. It doesn’t take days to
drive across.”

Reading
frowned. “You’re right of course. But the police are at least trying. They’re
going all out on this with four of their own dead.”

“None of
them made it?”

Reading
sighed. “Other than the one who surrendered, the rest were all dead before they
made it to the hospital.”

Acton
pulled out his phone. “I need to make some calls.”

Reading
nodded. “Okay, I’m going to talk to the scene commander.”

Acton
grunted, already dialing. Reading looked for the officer he’d been dealing
with, spotting him nearby, and as he began to walk away he breathed a sigh of
relief when he heard Acton reach his best friend. Reading just wished Milton
was here to comfort the grieving husband, but he knew no amount of consoling
would help.

Not so
soon after such a tragic loss.

He
cursed.

Even
I’ve lost all hope.

Mantua, Italia
47 AD, Two years later

Tiberius placed the spear gently beside the carefully wrapped body
of his friend, tucked between the torso and the right arm, and by his left hand
a jar containing the dried remains of a sponge Longinus had used to help clean
the body of their Messiah after it had been taken down from the cross. He
stepped back and nodded, all gathered bowing their heads in reverence to this
great man who had helped convert so many to the teachings of Jesus during his
time in hiding.

He had
inspired many to great deeds, including Gaius and his men, who stood with him
now, having fulfilled their promise to return the heads so his friends could
rest in peace. Albus and Severus had been buried outside Gabala, their bodies
made whole with the return of their severed heads, but it had been decided that
Longinus should be moved lest his body be desecrated by those who would have
him dead, the local authorities having already taken an interest in his burial.

They had
snuck out of the city at night with the help of converts, heading for the only
place Tiberius knew they might be safe.

His own
hometown.

He
hadn’t seen Mantua in years, not since he had joined the Roman Army and been
sent to the arid deserts of Judea and Syria. But there was little joy in his
homecoming. Along the way they had forged documents for all of them so they
might travel in peace without fear of arrest, and false discharge papers for
himself, since he was known in his hometown.

His
return, five years early, would cause questions.

He hated
lying to his family, and though he had been elated to see them, the reason for
his return, and the lies, had him secretly on edge the entire time.

Something
his mother had noticed.

He had
dismissed her concerns. “I’m still sad about the death of my friend.”

“How did
he die?”

“A
martyr. He sacrificed himself to save the rest of us.”

“Why?
Were you in danger?”

The
concern on his mother’s face had warmed and worried him, just knowing she still
cared as much as the day he had left twenty years before, barely a man,
comforted him in a way he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. “I have to tell
you about something.” He smiled, his heart filling with the warmth only true
belief could bring. “Something wonderful.”

His
mother had listened patiently, asking many questions, and by the end of his
accounts of that hot, horrible day in Golgatha, he knew he hadn’t convinced
her.

But he
had intrigued her.

And that
was the way it was with most conversions. Rarely, unless a miracle was seen as
had been that day, did someone abandon a lifetime’s worth of beliefs. People
were convinced to convert over time as they realized that this new way of
thinking, of a loving God as opposed to a vengeful one—or in his mother’s case,
vengeful
gods
—of a god who allowed His own son to walk among His
creation and be destroyed by that very same creation, to die for their sins,
was a message of hope that many in these times found they could cling to, no
one in their memories having ever witnessed a true miracle from their old gods.

It also
helped that the Apostles had spread throughout the region, preaching the new
religion and performing miracles of their own to reinforce the message.

But
here, in this small city in Italia, he and his new friends would have a
difficult time of things, the Empire and its gods strong here. They would have
to work in secret to protect themselves, determining who they could trust and
who might be receptive to their teachings. He knew in time, not his lifetime,
but perhaps that of his future children or grandchildren, they might be able to
walk the streets in peace, without fear of persecution for their beliefs,
surrounded by the converted.

It was a
dream for now, the current reality one in which they had to be careful.

Which
was why Longinus was being buried in secret, on his family’s land, the grave to
go unmarked, his desire to build a church on this very spot something already
discussed with Gaius and the others.

All
in good time.

He
picked up a shovel and stabbed the mound of dark soil, tossing the first pile
onto the sarcophagus fashioned by Gaius himself, a remarkable stonemason, his
skills wasted in the army. The others picked up shovels of their own, making
quick, solemn work of the pile, the grass, cut out carefully earlier, tamped
back into place, there little evidence anything had happened here this day.

He hoped
in time his friend could be publicly recognized for the remarkable man he was,
but for now they had no choice.

Longinus,
the first convert after the death of the Son of God to a new religion that
would be persecuted for generations to come, would have to remain hidden from
those who would denounce him.

Until
such day as the beliefs he died for were no longer feared.

A day Tiberius
feared would be so long from now, Longinus may very well be forgotten to the
history he helped shape.

Kruger Residence, Outside Paris, France
Present Day

Dietrich rushed up the outside steps, two at a time, it having been
over half an hour since they had left the cathedral. On the entire ride to the
estate he had been consumed with thoughts of his father, his mind concocting
vicious fantasies of finding the man dead in his chambers, his sobbing mother
draped over the body, clinging to her husband as the nursing staff tried to
pull her away.

It had
driven him almost mad.

And he
had renewed his vow that he would do whatever it took to save his father’s
life, he not ready to see him go, to take on the responsibility of leading the
family.

He
didn’t want to lose his dad.

He
looked over his shoulder at his men. “Get rid of the vehicles as per protocol
and prep for the next mission.” He shoved open the doors, crossing the
threshold to the huge home. “And find out who the hell that woman is!”

Racing
up the stairs to the second floor, he sprinted down the hallway, skidding to a
halt before the French doors that led to his father’s chambers, his mother
having moved to a different room across the hall a few years ago to let him
have his rest when the pain had become too great.

It had
been an uncomfortable day for him, the very idea of his parents sleeping in
separate rooms forcing thoughts of divorce and heartbreak to the fore. Even
when he had looked it up on the Internet and found almost forty percent of
couples sleep separately, it provided little comfort.

It was
the continued affection they showed each other during the waking hours that had
finally reassured him.

He
tapped on the door and heard his mother’s voice respond. “Come in.”

Opening
the door slowly, he poked his head inside to find his mother sitting on the
side of the bed, holding his father’s hand in both of hers, her eyes red and
swollen. A nurse was checking numbers on a monitor, his father smiling gently
as he looked over at him.