Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) (18 page)

Kruger Residence, Outside Paris, France

Dietrich sat in a chair at his father’s bedside, his mother lying
beside him, holding her husband gently, the turn his father had taken not
improving. The doctor had suggested he had days, perhaps only hours.

It was the
most gut wrenching experience of his life.

They
were all waiting for Dr. Heinrich to report on the latest relics. It never took
very long to determine if there was anything usable on the objects he
retrieved, and so far, including the relics from Paris, nothing had shown any
blood or DNA. He didn’t understand the process, it wasn’t his job, that’s why
they had Heinrich. The man was a genius in his field, and if he said the relics
so far were of no use, then he believed the man.

But even
if Heinrich did find usable DNA, it might still take days to replicate enough
blood to save his father.

And he
was certain the man didn’t have that kind of time left.

Science
would be what ultimately saved his family, not religion, of that he was
certain. Once his father passed he would give up what he feared was a fool’s
errand, there no reason to continue it. He hoped he had at least another twenty
years in him, and his own son, only two now, would have another fifty. Fifty
years for modern medical science to find a cure.

Surely
they can do it by then!

A cure
for his son and future grandson.

It’s
what drove him.

It’s
what had driven them all over the years. To be as successful as possible in
life so that the next generation could build on that success, for even one
hundred years ago they knew money was the key to everything. Without money no
doctors would help them, and as modern medicine came into being, they knew
money was needed in order for doctors to research a disease as obscure as
theirs, and to research why in his family it never seemed to skip a generation.

They had
the money, medical science had reached the point where finding a cure was at
least possible, meaning now was the perfect time.

But not
for his father. His time was rapidly running out, there no cure for him.

Except
for the Blood Relics.

He had
been raised Catholic and believed in it all, deeply. There was something
comforting about his faith, especially living his entire life with an hourglass
quickly draining him of healthy years. He believed in Christ and that His blood
could heal all man’s ailments, but he didn’t have his father’s faith that His
blood could be found.

The
spear was the only thing he fervently believed would have blood on it and could
have possibly survived. In his mind the cross would have been reused by the
Romans, not left for the mourners to take with them. And how could they take it
with them? It was massive and heavy. To claim to have actual pieces of the
cross seemed ludicrous to him.

He could
at least understand the Crown of Thorns. It made sense that someone might take
that with them, but for it to survive two thousand years? Then there was the
collected blood, the sponges, the cloths. None of it made sense to him, though
he had never been witness to the death of someone he believed was the Son of
God.

But the
spear, the spear did make sense to him.

It was
the one thing referred to in the Bible that irrefutably would have His blood on
it and could conceivably survive. The tip that would have pierced His side was
metal, which meant it would survive unless it was melted down for some other
purpose, and if the legends were true and Longinus, the man who had stabbed
Jesus, had actually converted to what was now known as Christianity, he would
most certainly have preserved the spear.

But they
had stolen all the purported copies of it, and none had tested positive.

It was
lost to history.

As his
father soon would be.

Maybe
the other objects
do
make sense.

If the
people with Jesus when he died truly believed he was the Son of God, then they knew
that the occasion was momentous, historical, important. They would have
treasured anything that remained of him, whether it be the Crown of Thorns, a
sponge or a jar of his collected blood. Many ancient religious artifacts had
been preserved for hundreds if not thousands of years.

Why not
these?

What
many people didn’t realize was that after the Jewish-Roman Wars, the first of
which happened within a few decades of His death, the Roman’s slaughtered the
Jews, destroying their towns and cities, decimating their populations and
persecuting those who survived, forcing them to scatter from their homeland,
not to return successfully until the mid-twentieth century.

And it
had meant much of the written record was destroyed from that era, as it was for
most cultures that were conquered.

But a
spear would survive.

One of
hundreds of thousands of spears probably made during that era.

But it
wouldn’t matter soon.

Soon his
father would be dead, the Blood Relic search would be over, and he would put
himself back into the hands of medical science in the hopes they could save him
and his descendants from this curse.

There
was a knock on the door.

“Come
in,” he said and the door opened, Dr. Heinrich stepping inside, his face
telling them everything he needed to know.

“Any
luck?” asked his mother, but he could tell she already knew.

Heinrich
shook his head. “I’m sorry, but the only DNA I found was from the fresh blood
of the woman who was shot. Some of it contaminated several of the objects.”

Dietrich
jumped to his feet, beginning to pace at the foot of his father’s bed. “You’re
certain?”

“Yes,
sir. I’ll be rechecking everything just in case, but I’m not confident.”
Heinrich paused. “Are there any other objects to be tested?”

Dietrich
shook his head. “No. The only ones that remain are ones even the Vatican
doesn’t believe are real otherwise they would have had them moved like the
others.” He cursed, his shoulders slumping. “It’s over.”

“No.”

He spun
toward his father, the voice the strongest he had heard it since his return
from Rome. “Father, I’m not sure what else we can do.”

“Find
the spear.”

“But
we’ve got three already and they all tested negative.”

“They
weren’t the real spear.”

Dietrich
grabbed his hair, pulling hard, trying to stop himself from saying something he
might regret, his exasperation with his father about to send him over the edge.
He needed to shout and scream and cry, but instead he was supposed to be the
dutiful son who would immediately take over the moment his father died.

He
walked over to the wall and punched it.

Immediately
regretting it.

“Let me
look at that,” said Dr. Heinrich, walking over to him. Dietrich held out his
hand, taking a deep breath.

“Father,
I don’t know where else to look.”

“That’s
because we’ve been going about this all wrong.”

Dietrich
pulled his hand away from the doctor. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t
look for the spear. Look for Longinus himself.”

Dietrich’s
eyebrows climbed his forehead. “You mean—”

“He’s a
saint. He was well respected in his time, and only his head was brought back to
Jerusalem when he was finally captured. I guarantee you his supporters gave him
a proper burial, and I also guarantee you he would have been buried with his
spear.”

Dietrich’s
head was bobbing up and down slowly as his father spoke. He was right. Countless
soldiers from that era were found buried with their weapons, and someone like
Longinus, who had become a leader among the newly born religion, would have
been revered after his death. If they could find his body they might very well
find the genuine spear.

The only
Blood Relic he truly believed might have the blood of Christ on it.

“But how
do we find him?”

His
father smiled. “Don’t we have an archeologist as a guest?”

A smile
climbed up half his face.

Kruger Residence, Outside Paris, France

Laura opened her eyes, the pain killers she was on having knocked
her out hours ago. The dull ache in her stomach continued, but a glance down
seemed to show little blood seeping through the bandages.

She was
going to live.

At least
for now. She still had no idea what the endgame was. Her captors had clearly
demonstrated their willingness to kill for their cause, and when religious
causes were involved, fanatical believers quite often committed unspeakable
atrocities.

But
rarely were these things committed by Christians.

But
there’s always the exception.

Her
conversation with the doctor that had saved her—a man she had learned was named
Heinrich—suggested this man Dietrich, the son of the man behind it all, might
be just crazy enough to kill her in a blind rage.

She
spotted a man staring at her from the doorway and flinched.

“Dr.
Palmer, I think it’s time we spoke.”

She
nodded, pressing the button to raise her bed so she could at least feel like
she was in a little less vulnerable position. She had been in situations
similar to this before and she knew the key to survival was keeping her wits
about her, to not panic, and to observe everything.

The
young man crossed the room, stopping at the foot of her bed. She recognized him
as the man from Paris who seemed to be giving all the orders.

Which
ironically meant he was the man who had saved her life.

Perhaps
only to take it away.

“My name
is Dietrich, my last name is unimportant.” She sighed silently, knowing that if
the man gave his full name it was yet another reason to kill her to tie up
loose ends. “I assume you’ve figured out what has been going on?”

She
adjusted herself in the bed, wincing as the stitches stretched. “You’re trying
to recover Blood Relics in an attempt to extract Christ’s DNA so your doctor
here”—she nodded toward Heinrich, still working in the lab—“can use it to
create blood to cure your family of a genetic disease.”

Dietrich
smiled slightly. “I see Dr. Heinrich is lonely again.” He looked at the man,
the doctor seemingly more preoccupied by his work than a moment before. “No
matter, it simply saves me time. My father is dying, and will die soon. As I’m
sure the talkative Dr. Heinrich has already told you, none of the artifacts we
have managed to recover have any DNA on them.”

“I’m not
surprised,” replied Laura. “Most of what you’ve stolen has either been shown to
not be from that era, or never been tested at all.”

Dietrich
sat on the edge of her bed. “Do you mind?” he asked after the fact.

She
shook her head.

Like
I have a choice?

“We’re a
desperate family, Dr. Palmer. For over a century the males of my family have
been born with an incurable genetic illness that seems to never skip a
generation. I’m told it’s an autosomal dominant disorder, a variation of
Huntington’s. Incurable. Once the symptoms start, we’re dead within no more
than twenty years, usually closer to ten.”

“Do
you…”

“Yes, I
have recently begun to have spasms in my leg.” He paled slightly. “I will be
dead before I’m fifty, perhaps even forty.”

“I’m
sorry to hear that.”

He
looked at her, chewing on his bottom lip. “Yes, I think you actually are.” He
sucked in a deep breath. “My father may only have days. Which is why I need
your help.”

She wanted
to laugh.
My help? You almost killed me and now you’re holding me prisoner!

She said
nothing.

“We need
to find Longinus.”

Laura’s
archeological side’s interest was irresistibly piqued. “The Roman soldier who
legend has it pierced the side of Jesus with a lance?”

Dietrich
nodded. “I see your reputation is well-deserved.”

“What
makes you think he can be found?”

“If we
assume he’s real—”

“Which
is quite an assumption.”

“—then
we can assume those around him would have treated his body with respect.”

“It’s
been two thousand years.”

“And
older have been found.”

“Yes,
but—”

“But
nothing!” Dietrich ended the debate, his shouted words and change in facial
expression suggesting the crazed irrationality Dr. Heinrich had alluded to. “He
must be found.”

“Why?”
Her voice more subdued this time, deciding confrontation was not the way to go,
and as she thought about it, if he
needed
her, then that meant she’d be kept
alive.

Which
meant more of a chance for James to find her.