James Acton 04 - The Templar's Relic (19 page)

Jimmy’s jaw dropped. “I can’t believe you’d do that to me after all we’ve been through!”

Niner shrugged his shoulders. “It’s what I do.”

Jimmy shook his head. “Even after I kept your secret all these years.”

“What secret?”

Niner sounded wary.

“Remember that time in Bangkok, where you picked up that girl?”

Niner shook his head slowly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Hey, I never told anybody that I saw her later standing at the urinal, taking a leak in the bar downstairs, after you had, you know…” His voice trailed off, but he made several suggestive hand motions.

Niner blanched. “That never happened!”

Jimmy waved his hands in the air, shaking his head. “Nooo, of course it never happened. It’s our little secret.”

Niner, horror on his face, looked around the room from face to face. “I swear, it never happened!”

Jimmy burst out laughing, then the room erupted. Niner punched Jimmy in the shoulder as he got up and gave him a hug, then sport humped his leg like a dog. Niner pushed him off, and Jimmy feigned indignation. “What, I thought that’s what you liked?”

“You’re not my type,” said Niner, trying to regain the upper hand.

Jimmy smiled, then headed to the bathroom. “I’m thirsty. Fountain, eh?”

Atlas, who had sat quietly in the corner, broke his silence, his impossibly deep voice filling the room. “One of these days, one of you is going to go too far. I just hope I’m there to see it.”

Niner bowed, and in his best Chinese accent, said, “His kung fu strong, but mine stronger.” He jumped in the air and performed a spinning kick, landing on the ground as Jimmy came out with a glass of water.

“I hope that’s from the tap.”

“Toilet.”

Dawson clapped his hands together, ending the frivolity. “We all know why we’re here.”

Reading looked for a chair and Atlas stood up, offering him his. “I’ve been sitting all damned day. Go ahead.”

Reading nodded and sat down. “Actually, why
are
you here?”

Dawson smiled. “Officially, we’re not. But, we have rioting on the streets around the world, and this incident, if not diffused quickly, threatens to tip the world into a religious war. We already had one zealot attempt that last year, and we barely stopped him. I’m not about to let him succeed, not after so much was lost the last time.”

Reading nodded, recalling Edison Cole and his New Slate organization. And he recalled his first visit to the Vatican in connection to that, and the horror of that day.

Dawson pointed at the television screen that was playing silently on the wall. “The Egyptians just massacred thousands of Christians while the police watched, then when CNN aired footage, they stormed the hotel and shot the entire crew, live on the air.”

“Bloody hell!” muttered Chaney.

“This isn’t getting out of hand, this is already out of hand. And our professor friends are in the thick of it again,” said Dawson.

Reading shook his head. “How they manage it, I’ll never know.”

“Well, my instructions are to do whatever I can to diffuse the situation. Our intel tells me that the Professors are trapped inside, in the Governatorate Palace, with almost one hundred-fifty armed security personnel, so they are secure for now, but with thousands swarming the city, they won’t be able to get out without it being a bloodbath.

“As well, from what we’re hearing, they don’t want to leave, they want to take back the city, but the Pope won’t give the go ahead.”

Reading took a deep breath. “I think I may have convinced him there’s a way around the bloodshed.”

“What’s that?”

“I may have told him I had a plan for getting the scroll out, and into his hands, so that he could hand it over publicly to an Islamic representative.”

Dawson leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling in front. “And what exactly is your plan?”

Reading smiled. “Hadn’t the foggiest until I walked into this room and found you lot.”

Corpo della Gendarmeria Office

Palazzo del Governatorato, Vatican City

Acton’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled out his Blackberry and his eyebrows shot up when he saw the call display. He flashed it to Laura who also seemed surprised.

“Hello?”

“Jim, old buddy. How are you?”

Acton chuckled as he found a quiet corner away from the bustle that had broken out after the security staff realized what was going on. Everyone was trying their external contacts to find out how long it would be before an armed response could be mustered, and Giasson was trying to talk to His Holiness to get the authorization.

“I would think since you’re calling on a night like tonight, you know exactly how I am.”

Reading grunted. “Since I don’t know how secure this line is, let’s be brief and vague.”

“Agreed.”

“You have the item.”

“Yes.”

“We need to get it out of there.”

“Agreed.”

“The
man
is trying to arrange a hand-off, hopes that will diffuse everything.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

“But we need the item in order to do that.”

“Agreed.”

“Our
friends
are here, and are willing to help.”

Okay, that left a lot of possibilities. Delta? Triarii? Hassassin?

“Umm…”

“Think your favorite dog.”

Acton smiled.

“Ahh!”

“Exactly. I’ll call you soon with an update. How’s your charge?”

Acton glanced at the battery display. “Nearly full.”

“Okay, keep safe.”

The phone went dead, and Acton returned it to his pocket, heading to Giasson’s office just as he slammed the phone into its cradle. He looked up as Acton and Laura entered his office. Giasson gestured at the phone.

“His Holiness is on an extremely important phone call and cannot be disturbed.” He grasped at his head, as if searching for hair to pull.

“I have news.”

Giasson and Laura both looked at him.

“What news?” Giasson leaned back in his chair, sighing. “Please let it be good news.”

“Bravo Team is here, and they’re coming in to get this”—he held up the case—“so it can be handed over by the Pope to an Islamic representative.”

“The important phone call?” surmised Giasson to no one in particular. He looked at Acton. “When?”

“Don’t know yet, but hopefully I’ll hear something soon.”

“Okay, when they get here, I want you two out of here, along with that thing.”

“What about you?”

“I can’t move too fast, and my responsibility is the city. I need you to get that thing”—he jabbed his finger at the case—“to safety.

“You don’t have to tell us twice.” Acton turned to Laura. “Are you okay to run?”

She nodded. “Don’t worry about me.” She nodded at the body armor sitting on Giasson’s desk. “Just let me know when to gear back up, and I’ll be ready.”

Acton leaned over and squeezed her hand. She rubbed her thumb over where the ring should be and frowned. He winked at her. “When this is all done, Mario will tear this city apart to find your ring.”

Giasson, lost in thought, grunted at the sound of his name. “Huh?”

“Nothing, just committing your resources to a search and rescue later.”

Giasson looked at Laura’s naked finger.

“Get that case to safety, and I’ll personally look for it.”

“Sir!”

All heads turned to the young man who stood in the doorway.

“What is it?”

“They’re trying to get in the front entrance!”

Dearborn, Michigan

“Woah! Mother fucker, can you believe this shit?”

LJ, or Lil’ Jeff, pointed at the screen as the incident from just hours ago in Egypt was replayed. The entire room sat in silence, beer bottles forgotten, weed left to smolder, as everyone watched what was playing out across the world.

“This is fucked up!” yelled Vince, throwing his hand at the screen. “Fucked! Up!”

“This is so wrong, man, so wrong.” LJ pointed at the screen as scenes from London were shown. “That’s what we should be doin’.”

“Whadaya mean?”

LJ jumped to his feet and grabbed the gun sitting beside the television, waving it in the air. “This”—he shoved the gun out—“this is what I’m talkin’ about. We should go downtown to that fuckin’ Islamic church, and fuck it up!”

Vince pulled his gun out from his pants and joined LJ in front of the television, the horrors of the past day now the backdrop to a new one. “He’s right. I say we go down there, and show these fuckin’ Muslims that they can’t come to our country and take over.”

The rest of the room, all twelve of them, jumped to their feet, guns waving in the air, alcohol and drug induced bravado fueling the moment. LJ led the way as they filed out of the apartment and raced down the three flights of stairs to the street below. LJ jumped in his Escalade, and Vince in his old Navigator as the crew filled up both vehicles, readying their weapons.

This is gonna be epic.

He fired up the engine, old school Tupac roaring from the premium audio system, and slapped the vehicle in gear, peeling away from the curb. As he neared the end of the block, he was waved down by his buddy Chevy.

“Whassup?”

LJ leaned out the window. “We’re gonna go fuck up some Muslims. Get yer crew ’n come wit.”

Chevy smiled. “Right behind yo ass!” He stepped back and waved up at a balcony packed with partiers. “Less go! Werk ta do!” The balcony emptied out as Chevy jumped in his car, an old Buick. Soon his crew were racing out the front door of the apartment, jumping in his car and others. Within minutes they were a convoy of six vehicles, and cellphones were in full gear texting for more soldiers.

This is gonna be off the hanger!

Dearborn wasn’t big, and it didn’t take long for the convoy to arrive. Dozens of vehicles were pulling up at the same time, the word having spread via text message, Twitter and Facebook that something was going down at the Islamic Center. LJ climbed out of his Escalade, stood in the middle of the road, facing the façade of the massive complex, the largest in the country. His crew and the others lined up on either side.

LJ’s heart pounded in his chest. The adrenaline fueling him made him feel larger than life as he looked around at the crews standing at his side. He felt the intoxication of power, the overwhelming sense of importance, the surge of respect now shown to him.

He looked from side to side, and smiled as he saw dozens if not hundreds of cellphones held up, recording for history what was about to happen, what
he
was about to do.

He raised his gun, hand turned to the side, his most dangerous looking sneer displayed for the cameras.

“Yo, fuckin’ Muslims! Go back to your own fuckin’ country!”

Then he squeezed the trigger, firing at the wood doors of the building, and the roar of dozens of other weapons, some handguns, some machine guns, rocked the night, as hundreds of rounds were emptied into the front of the building.

LJ saw something flash out of the corner of his eye. He turned, still squeezing the trigger, and saw a police car arrive, careening to a halt about a hundred feet away. The lone cop jumped out, and his thick but trimmed beard told LJ everything he needed to know.

Muslim!

He turned and reloaded, then opened fire on the squad car.

Chapel of the Sacrament

Saint Peter’s Basilica, Vatican City

Hassan looked at the crater. Things were progressing too slow for his liking. They needed to get through, and into the necropolis. Once inside, there would be nothing to stop them from acquiring the bones of Saint Peter, and then the Catholic Church would be at his mercy.

He snapped his fingers, indicating it was time for a changing of the laborers. A fresh dozen were brought in, and the clearing continued. It wouldn’t be long before they would be able to begin digging. He smiled to himself. To think, just yesterday he was trying to figure out a way to further their cause by destabilizing the West even more. He often chuckled at their naiveté. After 9/11 the West turned inward, looking for the threat internally, adding layer upon layer of security, suspending portions of their constitutions, taking away the rights of their own populations, rather than dealing with the problem.

Because there was no way to deal with the problem.

The America of today, the Europe of today, was not the America or Europe of 2001. Europe was filled with hate, with distrust, with nationalist parties gaining more and more seats in their democratic elections, with crack downs on Muslims, from banning the building of Mosques in Switzerland, to banning the burqa in France, to Englishness tests in Great Britain. All of these things violated the fundamental beliefs of the Western democracies that lorded their superiority over the rest of the world.

And just like the Soviet Union bankrupted itself trying to keep up with the United States technologically, the West was almost there. Wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, plus an out of control security apparatus in most Western nations demanding more and more funding to protect against a perceived threat, had almost bankrupted the mighty Western economies. A few more attacks, each using different methods, would soon tip them over the edge, and into the abyss of a global Great Depression the likes the world had never seen.

The Dirty Thirties were terrible, but people were never used to living well. A good life meant food on the table and a warm bed to sleep in. Now a good life meant two cars, a large house, multiple televisions, computers, cellphones, tablets, Internet, cable, restaurants and vacations. This time when the economy collapsed, they would have a hell of a time trying to get out of it.

And Islam would continue to spread. Hassan knew their birthrate was two to three times that of the West, and they would eventually win. But in the meantime, the West would be looking for a way out of their economic calamity. And a way would be offered, by the military industrial complex and the security apparatus that had sprung up around 9/11.