Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) (33 page)

“You
accessed the bank files?” prompted Leroux.

“Oh,
yes! And we found regular deposits that matched up with his employment record
perfectly, plus monthly withdrawals of about five thousand euros a month which
we assume he used to pay his bills.
But,
we found two
very
large
deposits, one for a million euros three months ago, and another for the same
amount just a week ago.”

“Just
before this all started.”

Therrien
whistled. “Two million euros, that’s a lot of coin. A man could disappear for a
while on that.”

Leroux
nodded. “And the usual pattern on these types of payments is a final lump sum
when the job is done.”

“So we
can probably assume another one to two million.”

Tong sat
down beside Therrien, crossing her legs, her skirt hiking up an uncomfortable
amount. “And they found six motorcycles in Vienna, which suggests at least six
people involved, so we could be looking at a twenty million euro payout.”

“That’s
like, what, twenty-five million dollars?”

Leroux
nodded. “Close enough. Not to mention equipment, helicopters, vehicles and what
not. This is an extremely well-financed operation.”

“There’s
not a lot of private individuals who could finance this type of thing,” said Therrien.
“We’re sure it’s not government?”

Leroux
shrugged. “I doubt it, but you never know. We need to find the moneyman.”

Tong leaned
forward. “And that’s what I was about to tell you. We traced the payments from
our suspect’s account back to the source.”

Leroux
smiled, Therrien grinning as he turned toward Tong. “And?”

“And the
account was opened by Karl Renner three months ago, a single deposit of fifty
million euros made upon opening, in bearer bonds, so untraceable. Ten million euros
were transferred to another account in Renner’s name, opened years ago.”

Leroux
closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Hard. It made no sense. Renner
was the mastermind, the man behind the entire thing? No, something was wrong
here. You don’t kill the mastermind.

Unless
the mastermind turned on the men he hired.

These
men were capable of killing, of that there was no doubt. The fact they had
participated in two crimes where people had died showed they had set their
morals aside, their motivation now a hefty payday, and if Renner were to
jeopardize that in some way they might eliminate their own boss.

But it
still didn’t fit.

“Why
would Renner be behind this?” he finally asked the room. “It makes no sense.”

“No it
doesn’t,” agreed Tong. “That’s why I’m digging deeper. Personally…” Her voice
drifted off and she looked away, as if uncertain whether or not she should
continue.

“What?”
asked Leroux. “Spit it out, you know the rules, never hold back when you’re
brainstorming.”

Tong blushed
slightly. “Well, I think he’s been set up.”

Leroux
nodded. “So do I. I can’t see how he’d have accumulated fifty million euros on
his own.”

“Could
he
be the middleman? Somebody gave him the bonds, he opened an account and
distributed the money?”

Leroux
nodded at Therrien’s suggestion. “That’s definitely a possibility. Either way,
we need to know where that money came from, and we just hit a major road
block.”

“I just
hope it’s not a dead end,” agreed Therrien.

“If it
is, then the entire Stuttgart op was a waste of time.”

Leroux
shook his head. “No, we rattled somebody’s cage. Renner was running, and
somebody felt he knew something he shouldn’t have. That means Renner either
knew who the real moneyman was, or knew how to reach him.” He pointed at Therrien.
“Start tracing his phone records. I want to know about any incoming or outgoing
calls, especially after the transmitter was planted. I think he panicked and
made a call he shouldn’t have that got him killed.”

“Will
do.”

“And Sonya,
I want you to try and find out who actually opened that account. That kind of
money means they live differently than us. If it was bearer bonds, it was done
in person, so find out where. Then find out about any private planes, first
class tickets, whatever, for the same period. See if you can find any CCTV
footage that might have caught him on camera.”

“How do
we know what he looks like?”

“We
don’t,” replied Leroux. “But I’m willing to bet it’s our mystery German from
Vienna.”

Basilica of Sant’Agostino, Rome, Italy

“You’re absolutely certain you need to do this?”

James
Acton smiled reassuringly at Father Albano. “Yes, Father, it’s the only way. We
need to find the body referred to in the document if we have any hope of finding
Saint Longinus himself.”

Father Albano
made the sign of the cross, looking to the stone ceiling of the catacombs dug
under the church centuries before. All around them dozens upon dozens of
alcoves contained bodies, some wrapped, some in coffins, others simply piles of
bones. Acton prayed there was some sort of organization here, at least by era.
He wouldn’t know until they started.

“If you
do find him, it would indeed be a great discovery.”

Acton
nodded. “Absolutely.”

Father Albano
glanced at Jenny, lowering his voice. “Should she be here in her condition?”

“I’m
perfectly capable, thank you very much.”

Father Albano
grimaced at Acton, keeping his expression hidden from Jenny before turning
toward her. “I meant no disrespect, young lady, I was simply thinking of the
safety of your child. There have been several collapses here over the
centuries.”

“Perhaps
he’s right,” said Terrence, the words eliciting a scowl from his wife. “Well,
love, it
is
dangerous, and you’re carrying our child, and—”

“And it
doesn’t matter for now, regardless.” They all turned toward Giasson’s voice as
he descended the ancient stone staircase. “You’re both due for your
deposition.”

“Can’t
that wait?” asked Jenny, a little whine in her voice.

“I made
a promise to the Roma Polizia and I keep my promises.”

Jenny
frowned, Terrence taking her by the arm, a relieved look on his face as he had
an excuse to get her out of there.

And
himself.

Terrence
never came across as the brave type, more the reluctant hero at times, his
clumsiness preventing him from actually being reliable in a fight, but he had
never shied away from danger when it was absolutely necessary, and after his
torture in the Amazon, Acton had gained a newfound respect for the young man.

Despite
him having a crush on his wife.

It was
quite plain to anyone, except he hoped Jenny, that Terrence was smitten with
Laura. Laura thought it harmless, and Acton was secure enough for it not to
bother him, especially after Jenny entered the picture, clearly capturing
Terrence’s heart.

Just
not 100% of it.

He
smiled at the husband and wife as they stopped in front of him.

“Sorry,
Professor. We’ll get back as soon as we can.”

Acton
nodded at Jenny. “Do what you need to do. With any luck, I’ll find him before
you get back.”

Jenny
frowned. “That would be disappointing.” Her jaw dropped. “I’m sorry, Professor,
I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

Acton
laughed. “Don’t worry, I know what you mean. I’d hate to miss a discovery like
this too. Now go. The sooner you’re gone, the sooner you’re back.”

Jenny
followed Giasson up the stairs, Terrence behind her, as Acton turned to survey
his surroundings once again.

“Would
you like me to help?” asked Father Albano, the trepidation in his voice clearly
suggesting the answer he hoped for.

“No,
Father, I’m certain you have more important duties to attend to. I’ll be fine
on my own.”

Father Albano
placed a hand on Acton’s shoulder, smiling slightly. “Thank you, my son.” He
looked up the stairs, quite narrow by modern standards, shaking his head. “I
don’t think it was wise of me to come down here at my age.”

“Let me
help you,” replied Acton as the old man climbed the first of many steps,
hugging the wall, any railing that might once have been there long gone.

“Bless
you, my son,” said Father Albano as Acton positioned himself one step behind
him, holding up his left arm to act as a railing for the man to push on, his
other hand pushing gently on his back to keep him steady and help him up. They
took the steps one at a time, both feet firmly planted on each before
continuing to the next.

Acton
found himself getting slightly frustrated with the pace, but knew it wasn’t the
poor man’s fault. Acton was used to harrowing staircases and tunnels, caves and
caverns, it his job to crawl about where none had gone in years.

I
wonder what I’ll be doing at his age.

Certainly
not gallivanting across the globe, crawling around ancient ruins and getting
shot at by terrorists, cults and criminals.

How
old was Harrison Ford in Indy 4?

Father Albano
began to take the steps a little faster, leaving only one foot on each now as
Acton continued to picture his retirement.

Kids
and grandkids. That’s what I want.

He could
imagine no better reward after a life of hard work than to be surrounded by
family with the woman he loved at his side. He’d keep up his academic work but
send out the younger generation to get their hands and knees dirty.

I
wonder if my kids will become archeologists like their parents.

As they
neared the top of the stairs Father Albano reached out for a railing, installed
more recently, this portion of the structure at least several hundred years newer
than the catacombs below.

“I think
I’m good now, my son.”

“Are you
sure?”

The old
man nodded as he pulled himself up the final few steps, much quicker now, Acton
backing off to give him space, but keeping a wary eye on him until he cleared
the door. “I’ll check on you in an hour,” said Father Albano, looking back down
at him.

Acton
smiled. “Just call me from there and I’ll come up to see you, deal?”

Father Albano
chuckled. “Deal.”

Acton
turned and rushed down the stairs, eagerly surveying his surroundings, his
flashlight playing across the catacombs.

I’m
going to need more light.

St. Paul’s University, St. Paul, Maryland

Mai Lien Trinh opened her eyes, a ceramic Taz coffee mug staring her
in the face. She lifted her head off the table, quickly wiping away the small
puddle of drool as she looked over at Tommy, sound asleep with an impressive
pool of his own. She stared at him for a moment, pondering whether or not she
found it disgusting or cute.

She
settled on cute.

In a
disgusting way.

Something
was beeping and she looked at the screen, it flashing a message repeatedly.

Match Found!

“Tommy,
wake up.”

Nothing.

“Tommy,
wake up!”

Still
nothing.

She
reached over, hesitating a moment before pushing on his shoulder.

He
grunted but remained asleep.

She
punched his shoulder.

Tommy
jumped up in his chair. “Huh? What?” He looked around, disoriented, then
adjusted his glasses, wiping his mouth with the back of his hoodie. “Good
morning,” he mumbled at Mai, clearly not a morning person.

She
pointed at the screen. “What does that mean?”

Tommy
scrambled for the keyboard, his fingers flying, his mouse scurrying as he
clicked several links before a photo was shown of a group of people, all
clearly well-heeled in their tuxedos and evening gowns.