James Acton 04 - The Templar's Relic (30 page)

The captain, still chuckling, sat back down in his seat and motioned for the driver to move on.

“It is nothing, just a broken down car that lost control and hit a lamppost.”

They slowly moved forward, and a gust of wind cleared away the remaining dust, leaving a clear view of a car sitting on the side of the road, its front tie rod collapsed, the driver standing beside the car, slamming his fists into the roof over and over, yelling something.

“What’s he saying?” asked Laura.

The Captain laughed. “He’s saying, “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

Acton heard a yell from behind them. He turned to look, and saw Reading standing in the back of his vehicle, pointing at the car, yelling something.

Acton cupped a hand around his ear.

“What?”

 “It’s a Jaguar!”

Acton burst out laughing and gave a thumbs up.

“What did he say?”

“He said it’s a Jaguar.”

Laura grinned, her head shaking. “Of course it is.”

The Captain yelled something at the driver as they pulled past. This prompted the man to shake a fist at the Captain who roared with laughter, along with their own driver. He turned back to his guests. “I told him to replace it with something reliable, like a mule!”

They all laughed at the Captain’s joke, and Acton began to feel slightly at ease for the first time since they had identified what the artifact was. He looked at Laura who had a beaming smile on her face, her eyes closed, as she enjoyed the wind in her hair.

Probably reminds her of driving her Porsche.

He leaned in and kissed her lips. She let out a little yelp of surprise, then began to return the kiss when she suddenly stopped and pushed him away.

“James, darling, we’re in Turkey!”

Acton pulled back slightly. “So?”

“So.” She dragged it out, motioning at the front seat with her eyes.

Acton winked and gave her a quick kiss, then sat back in his seat. They continued in silence, both of them with their eyes closed now, holding hands, simply enjoying the moment.

Acton began to think of the press conference. The plan was to have as many reporters there as possible. This meant it wasn’t a secret handover. The thinking was that if it wasn’t public, done by the Pope himself, too many might not believe it was the same scroll being handed over.

And it was supposed to be a quick handover. Short speeches, the opening of the case, some images of the unfurled scroll enlarged, then the handover. The Pope and entourage were then to return immediately to the airport, and return to Rome. If everything worked out according to plan, they should be here no more than ninety minutes.

Acton frowned.
Nothing ever goes according to plan.

“We’re here!” announced Captain Aslan.

Acton opened his eyes and gasped. The rear of the famed Sultan Ahmed Mosque, more popularly known as the Blue Mosque due to the blue tiles that adorned the interior, lay before them. The six minarets reached into the sky, controversial when first built four hundred years ago, as the common practice was four. It wasn’t until a fifth minaret was added to the Grand Mosque in Mecca that the locals at last accepted it.

They pulled inside a parking lot, guarded by about a dozen Turkish police, the small force dismaying Acton. He leaned forward. “Captain, are you sure you have enough security?”

“This is all we could spare. We have had our own problems since the scroll was discovered, and our police are dealing with a massive riot. Not to worry, there is additional at the front.”

Acton sat back in his seat as their Jeep pulled to a stop. He turned to Laura. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

She looked about for a moment then nodded. “I agree.” She leaned in. “I wish I had my weapon.”

Acton mouthed, “Me too,” then climbed out of the Jeep. Reading and Chaney immediately joined them.

“This security is entirely inadequate,” muttered Reading.

Acton nodded. “But what can we do?”

“Keep our eyes open.” He pointed behind them. “Look, they haven’t even closed the street.” He stepped toward the Captain. “Captain, excuse me, but what can we do about closing this street? This poses a huge security risk.”

The man shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing. Permits are necessary, and there was no time.” He motioned at the security that was in place. “Even this was difficult to pull together, and is only because it is on private property.” He leaned in. “Even in Turkey, people have rights.”

Reading put a smile on his face. “Captain, I never meant to imply otherwise. I think you’d make a worthy addition to the European Union—”

“As do I.”

“—but do you think you’ll ever get in if the Pope is killed on your soil because you didn’t take the most basic of precautions?”

Captain Aslan turned red, but nodded, then turned on his heel, yelling orders, and soon several vehicles roared from the parking area and to either end of the street. Reading turned and joined Acton, Laura and Chaney.

“That’s a little better. Let’s check out what the press conference security is like.”

They rounded a set of trees and walked along a pathway, their current position actually behind the mosque. As they began along the northern side, Acton turned as he heard the distinctive sound of several motorcycle engines revving extremely high.

Then he gasped.

The police cordon had just begun, and as the rest of the group turned to watch, a tow truck with ramp raced up, slamming into the first vehicle, and grinding to a halt as the ramp extended to touch the road, apparently disengaged in the crash. The vehicle was quickly surrounded by security personnel, weapons pointed, but just as Acton was about to breathe a sigh of relief, the high pitched whine of the motorcycle engines spiked as a half dozen came into sight, each with a driver and passenger on the back.

Without hesitation they raced up the ramp and jumped over the tow truck and the army vehicle blocking the road. Acton counted six, and instinctively reached for his weapon, which wasn’t there.

He and Reading looked at each other.

“The Pope!” they echoed.

Acton looked along the length of the massive mosque, and saw the Pope’s entourage just turn the corner at the far end. They all began to sprint along the pathway as gunfire broke out behind them. Acton looked back and saw one of the motorcycles lying on the ground, but the surprised contingent of security personnel, already small due to lack of planning, were quickly overwhelmed.

Two motorcycles broke off and raced toward the same path that Acton was now on. “They’re coming this way!” he yelled, causing all heads to turn and look. There was still a hundred feet to go to reach the end, and the two motorcycles were screaming toward them.

And nobody had a weapon.

Acton heard an engine gun and he looked behind to see the lead motorcycle screaming toward them, the passenger raising a weapon and aiming it directly at them.

“Look out!” The muzzle flashed as Acton dove toward Laura and his friends, both arms extended wide. He felt the impact as his chest hit Laura just below the shoulder blades, his left arm catching the rest of her as he pulled her in toward him so she wouldn’t slip away. His other arm managed to catch Reading, but his bulk merely caused Acton to twist around. As he spun in the air, Laura still secure in his left arm, he could see the faces of Reading and Chaney as he sailed past them.

The younger Chaney reached out and grabbed Reading by the shoulder, yanking him off the path as the bullets tore open the stonework. Laura and Acton hit the ground, hard, and Acton rolled on top of her, covering her torso and head as best he could, desperately wishing he had the body armor on he had worn in the Vatican. He heard a thud beside them as Chaney and Reading hit the ground, then the distinct sound of bullets blasting over their heads as the whine of the motorcycles grew louder.

Acton heard the motorcycles downshift, and the whine of the engines easing off. “They’re slowing down!” yelled Acton.

“That means only one thing!” said Reading.

Acton didn’t need to hear it. He pushed himself up and whipped around, charging at the lead motorcycle. This appeared to catch the driver off guard as the front wheel wobbled slightly as he decided what to do. This caused his passenger to reach down and grab the driver’s waist with both hands, leaving his weapon dangling to the side.

Acton rushed forward, closing the gap quickly, as the momentum of the motorcycle and his own legs pumped them closer and closer. The driver made a decision, gunning the engine and racing toward Acton, forcing his passenger to hold on even tighter.

Acton swung his right arm behind him then, with all the strength he could gather, whipped it forward just as the motorcycle reached him. His forearm caught the driver square in the chest, knocking him back into his passenger. Acton was jerked back, feeling the distinct pain of his shoulder dislocating, but as he flipped around and landed on his side, he saw the bike lose control and smash into the side of the mosque, spilling its two occupants onto the ground.

The second bike’s engine screamed in protest, and raced past the scene, gunfire spraying wildly as the passenger fought for balance. Acton ducked, then jumped to his feet, sprinting toward the downed riders. The passenger was reaching for his weapon when Acton arrived. Stepping on the man’s hand, he reached down with his left and pulled the gun from around the man’s neck then raised it, aiming at the other motorcycle.

He squeezed the trigger, and the bullets went nowhere near where he wanted, this his wrong arm. Laura was now on her feet, running toward him, her arms extended in front of her. He tossed her the weapon and she caught it clean, spinning and opening fire. The passenger, who had twisted when they heard Acton’s gunfire, jerked several times, then slumped backward, slightly exposing the driver. Laura continued to fire, lowering her aim, taking out the rear tire.

The motorcycle careened out of control.

“Don’t be doing anything brave now.”

Acton spun. It was Reading, standing over the driver, his foot on the man’s weapon, a weapon Acton had failed to notice earlier.

“Is that all of them?” asked Chaney.

Acton shook his head then winced. “No, there were six motorcycles.” As if to confirm the answer, the whine of the other motorcycles could be heard in the distance.

“They must be on the other side of the mosque,” said Laura. She looked at his right shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Acton leaned against the mosque. “I think it’s dislocated.”

Chaney motioned for him to stand up. “Here, I’ll fix that for you.”

Acton didn’t relish the idea, but knew it was the right thing to do. Chaney reached out and gently felt Acton’s shoulder, but despite the care, it roared in pain as the endorphins shielding him from the shock wore off.

“Anterior dislocation, good, I can fix that here.” Without looking at Acton, he asked, “First time?”

“Yup,” wheezed Acton.

“Okay, lie down, arm to your side,” directed Chaney.

Acton, gripping his shoulder, dropped to the ground, then lay down. Chaney bent Acton’s elbow to a ninety degree angle, then rotated it over Acton’s chest. He placed his hand on Acton’s elbow, keeping the upper half of Acton’s right arm stationary, then with his free hand, Chaney gently rotated Acton’s lower arm away from his chest. A moment later Acton felt a slight jerk and an immediate wave of relief rushed through his body as the pain dropped dramatically. Chaney gently manipulated the arm several more times, then stood up, pulling Acton to his feet with the other arm.

“That’ll be tender for a while, and when you get back home, have it scanned right away, just in case something else is wrong with it.”

Acton nodded, gingerly rotating the arm, afraid it might pop out again.

Several screams reminded everyone of the situation.

“We need to get to the Pope!” yelled Acton. He pointed at the two on the motorcycle he had taken out. “Search them for weapons and ammo, then tie them up.”

Reading and Chaney immediately went to work, expertly searching the prisoners as Acton turned and raced toward the other motorcycle with Laura. When they reached them it was clear both were dead. Acton reached down and grabbed the passenger’s weapon, an AK-47, and two clips that had spilled onto the ground in the crash.

Gunfire from the other side of the wall sent his heart racing as he reloaded the weapon, all the while running toward the end of the massive wall. When Acton rounded the corner he nearly ground to a halt in shock. Three motorcycles had rounded the other side only moments before, and a steady stream of gunfire was directed from all three passengers at the limited security, the gathered journalists, and at the small stage that had been hastily erected.

A stage that had the Pope and the Imam standing on it, behind a small dais. As Acton ran toward the stage, he raised his weapon to fire at the terrorists attacking the event, but couldn’t get a clean shot; there were simply too many people in the way. He pointed with his arm at what he assumed would be the escape route—the same way the attackers had come in—as most of the people present were rushing toward Acton’s position, and would soon be blocking off any escape from that side.

“Cover their escape!” he yelled, looking back at Reading.

Reading nodded and raced across the courtyard in front of the massive mosque, followed by Chaney. Acton fought his way through the crowd, his eyes on the stage the entire time. He watched in horror as two of the Pope’s security guards jumped in front of the bullets, mowed down in the prime of life, performing a task it was their honor to perform.

Then Acton came to a halt. “No!” he screamed, as he heard Laura cry out beside him. The first motorcycle had reached the stage and come to a halt. The passenger raised his weapon and opened fire. The Pope twisted his body, raising his robed arms out, forming a blind that hid the Imam. Now between the gunmen and the Imam, he stepped toward the elderly man and covered him with his body as several bullets slammed into his back, causing him to jerk and spasm in such a horrifically pathetic way, that Acton felt bile fill his mouth and tears burn his eyes.