The Venice Code

A former President’s son is kidnapped in a brazen attack on the streets of Potomac by the very ancient organization that murdered his father, convinced he knows the location of an item stolen from them by the late president.

A close friend awakes from a coma with a message for archeology Professor James Acton from the same organization, sending him along with his fiancée Professor Laura Palmer on a quest to find an object only rumored to exist, while trying desperately to keep one step ahead of a foe hell-bent on possessing it.

And seven hundred years ago, the Mongol Empire threatens to fracture into civil war as the northern capital devolves into idol worship, the Khan sending in a trusted family to save the empire—two brothers and a son, Marco Polo, whose actions have ramifications that resonate to this day.

From J. Robert Kennedy, the author of fourteen international best sellers comes The Venice Code, the latest installment of the hit James Acton Thrillers series. Join James Acton and his friends, including Delta Team Bravo and CIA Special Agent Dylan Kane in their greatest adventure yet, an adventure seven hundred years in the making.

J. Robert Kennedy is the author of fourteen international best sellers, including the smash hit James Acton Thrillers series.

The Protocol has been on the best seller list in the US and UK since its release, including occupying the number one spot for three months.

"If you want fast and furious, if you can cope with a high body count, most of all if you like to be hugely entertained, then you can't do much better than J Robert Kennedy."

Amazon Vine Voice Reviewer

Published Internationally by J. Robert Kennedy, Ottawa, ON Canada

Copyright © 2014 J. Robert Kennedy

Cover and Inside Artwork Copyright © 2014 J. Robert Kennedy

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, J. Robert Kennedy, is an infringement of copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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For Tom Clancy, an inspiration and a pioneer.

“I believe it was God’s will that we should come back, so that men might know the things that are in the world, since, as we have said in the first chapter of this book, no other man, Christian or Saracen, Mongol or pagan, has explored so much of the world as Messer Marco, son of Messer Niccolo Polo, great and noble citizen of the city of Venice.”

Marco Polo, The Travels of Marco Polo, 1299 AD

“Let all who are under a yoke as slaves regard their own masters as worthy of all honor, so that the name of God and the teaching may not be reviled. Those who have believing masters must not be disrespectful on the ground that they are brothers; rather they must serve all the better since those who benefit by their good service are believers and beloved. Teach and urge these things.”

1 Timothy 6:1-2, The English Standard Version Bible

Marco Polo was only seventeen when he left on his now famous journey to the Orient. Led by his father and uncle—the brothers having already spent many years in what is now China—their journey was long and hard, but they knew the rewards at the end would be tremendous, the leader of the Mongol Empire, Kublai Khan, already having befriended the brothers on their first trip.

Their journey was eventful but predictable, a near straight route east to what is now known as Beijing, except for one strange detour that had them suddenly head north. Bearing gifts and messages from the Pope for the Khan, this deviation delayed their delivery significantly, something that would be unimaginable unless the Polo’s had good reason to stray from their planned route.

And only one reason would be found acceptable.

If the Khan himself asked them.

Approaching Karakorum, Mongol Empire

March 23
^rd
, 1275 AD

Most would have screamed, but it wasn’t in Giuseppe’s nature to do so, even if a knife was stuck against his throat, the blood already dripping from where the tip of the blade had penetrated. Instead he glared at his attacker—at
their
attackers, his eyes flicking over to his master who seemed to be taking their current predicament in stride, his face barely registering any surprise at these turn of events, their guides having betrayed them.

Why did my master ever agree to this side trip?

It had made no sense at the time—at least not to him—why they would change such well-laid plans on such short notice, but he was a slave, a mere servant to his master and not always privy to such things. Though he had to admit his master was kind, never beating him, never depriving him, never raising his voice, he was still a slave. But after serving his master for over a decade, since a boy, he had come to think of the man as a brother, the two nearly the same age. He knew his master was twenty-one, but wasn’t quite sure what his own age was. He was certain it was something similar, but when he had been sold into slavery, he had known little of himself beyond his name—Joseph, which his new masters had changed to Giuseppe, the Italian version of the name.

He was just fortunate to have been sold into the family he had, their kindness and generosity known throughout their home of Venice.

Which was why he eyed his master with concern, he now being held at knifepoint by three of their attackers, two holding his arms behind his back, the other searching him for valuables as a heavy snowfall began to engulf them all.

A triumphant shout from the searcher as he held up a long, narrow gold tablet engraved with words Giuseppe could not read, but knew by heart. It had been presented to the master’s father, Niccolo and uncle, Matteo, when they had stayed with the leader of the Mongol Empire, Kublai Khan, in Khanbalig years before. It guaranteed them safe passage through the Mongol Empire, including access to any provisions as needed—with no need to pay.

Though it had been granted to his elders, his master’s father had decided to give it to his son on this side journey just in case the need of its protection should arise. Giuseppe knew his master would never use it to purchase goods, as that would be an abuse of the trust placed in his elders by Kublai Khan so many years ago, but the inscription and the symbol engraved might just buy them out of situations such as the one they now found themselves.

“What is this?” demanded the man now holding the tablet.

“It is a ‘gerege’, given to my father and uncle by Kublai Khan himself.”

A hush settled over the narrow canyon they now occupied, it in retrospect an ideal location for an ambush. Giuseppe wondered how many travelers had fallen prey to these scoundrels, and hoped their modus operandi was to merely steal rather than steal and kill.

The warm blood trickling down his neck and beneath his fur trimmed jacket had him thinking the latter.

“What does it say?” asked the man, his voice subdued, the fear the man now felt palpable, even the tip of the blade in Giuseppe’s throat retreating slightly.

“It says, ‘By the strength of the eternal Heaven, holy be the Khan's name. Let him that pays him not reverence be killed’.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that Kublai Khan himself is a friend of the person who possesses this gerege, and Khan himself guarantees their safe passage and any provisions they should need.”

“I don’t understand,” whispered the man, backing away slightly, suggesting he did have at least an inkling of what was meant by the words his master had spoken.

“It means that should you harm us any further, should you disrupt our passage in any way, you will have made an enemy of Kublai Khan himself, and you will die.”

The man stepped back, waving over several of his men—Giuseppe guessed his lieutenants—and an animated discussion was soon underway. They were speaking Mongol, a language Giuseppe had learned for the journey, and had become quite proficient at, and the tidbits he could hear were terrifying to say the least.

It appeared the decision was leaning toward the option of killing everyone so there would be no witnesses.

Giuseppe eyed his master who remained calm during all of this, his eyes never still, taking in everything around them as if searching for hope, yet no hint of desperation could be seen. Then again Giuseppe couldn’t remember ever seeing his master perturbed in the least on any occasion, though he had to admit this was the most difficult position he recalled them being in, despite over four years on the road. At times he forgot what Venice looked like, the lagoons of the city state the only home he remembered, his youth a memory purged, its horrors only revisiting him in his dreams now, those thankfully forgotten quickly.

His only clear memory was his mother, her beautiful face and her long black hair framing her smile as she gazed down at him, tucking him into bed.

And the horror on her face as she had been hauled out of their humble home, her arm outstretched, trying to hold on to him, never to be seen again.

Where that was he didn’t know, what had happened to her he dared not imagine, and how old the memories of her he could merely guess—he only knew they weren’t old enough to fade away with the rest of his childhood.

The small group of renegades broke from their meeting, the leader approaching Giuseppe’s master, a grin on his face.

“We will kill you all,” he announced, the tip of the blade almost forgotten now pushed tightly against Giuseppe’s throat once more.

Giuseppe’s heart slammed against his chest as he realized they were all about to die. He wished the master’s father and uncle had accompanied them. At least then their party might have been large enough for these marauders to have let them by unscathed, or at least a better fight might have been made of it. Instead they had been surrounded within moments, and not even a blade clashed with another before they had been subdued.

But not if the brothers had been here!

The brothers and the master together were a force to be reckoned with, and with them rallying the troops, the servants and guides would have fought at their side, to the death if necessary.

At least that’s how he felt about it.

Yes, he would die for his master. He wasn’t sure how the others felt about that; it wasn’t a topic that came up often while preparing the meals or performing his other duties that involved interactions with the other servants. He only knew how he felt. He loved his master like a brother and would happily give his life to the family that had given him a home and treated him with respect all these years.

“That is one option,” replied his master, his voice still calm. “It’s not the path I would have chosen, but then I have the benefit of education and foresight.”

The man looked confused, apparently not used to hearing one of his victims speak so calmly and with such eloquence. A surge of pride filled Giuseppe’s chest and swelled through his body as he watched his master bravely face down these fiends.

“You annoy me!” screamed the man, raising his sword in the air, the fatal blow only moments away. “Kill them all!”

Suddenly the man gasped in pain, his shoulders jerking back, his neck hyperextended, his gaping mouth and wide eyes revealing the shock he now felt as he slowly turned away from Giuseppe’s master. He heard a thud then the knife at his own throat jerked. He refused to shout out the horror he felt, instead keeping his eyes focused on his master who stood less than ten feet away, a slight smile on his face.