Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) Read Online Free Page B

monitors shouting out questions and answers,
the main feeds on the wall of monitors beginning to switch to the area in
question.
    “Report!”
    The
nightshift supervisor, Alfredo Ianuzzi, turned in his desk. “Silent alarm from Saint
Peter’s Basilica, Saint Longinus display, sir.”
    “Saint
Longinus? What’s kept there?”
    “There
they are!” shouted one of his men, Francesco Greco, pointing at the screen.
Giasson watched as three men, all in black, submachine guns in hand, raced
through the deserted nave of St. Peter’s Basilica, it having been closed for
the night hours ago.
    “Notify
the Swiss Guard. I want this place locked down!”
    More
alarms sounded, a coded alert sent out over the PA system. On the screens
guards raced toward the Basilica and St. Peter’s Square. Giasson grabbed a
radio from the charging station and rushed out the door. Sprinting toward the
square, he held the radio up to his mouth, pressing the Talk button. “Report!”
    “They’ve
just cleared the Portico,” replied Ianuzzi. “Our guards are moving to
intercept.”
    “Do we
know what they stole?”
    “Not
yet.”
    Giasson
burst through a set of doors, startling several priests deep in conversation.
He tried to remember what relics might be worth stealing in the Saint Longinus
display, but was drawing a blank.
    Then a
thought hit him, almost bringing him to a halt.
    He
forced himself forward, despite his lungs burning from his unusually long
sprint. He raised the radio again, gasping out his question. “Are there any Blood
Relics stored there?”
    He surged
through the outer doors and into St. Peter’s Square, dozens of the Swiss Guard
racing toward the obelisk that towered over the center of the massive gathering
place.
    “Sir,
the Holy Lance is kept there!”
    My
God!
    Two Blood
Relics stolen within hours of each other was too much of a coincidence. Which
meant these people were either the thieves and murderers from Spain, or were
connected with them somehow.
    But they
wouldn’t be getting away today.
    Gunfire
sprayed the ground in front of him and he skid to a halt, ducking.
    “Look!”
    He heard
someone shouting closer to the main gates, their voice carrying over the
cobblestone. Looking, he gasped. A set of intensely bright lights were rapidly
approaching the gates, a thumping sound getting louder and louder as what could
only be a helicopter raced toward the tiny nation, it surrounded on all sides
by a densely packed Rome.
    The
helicopter cleared the gates with what looked like only feet to spare, the
guards all turning their attention to the new arrival as its nose pulled up,
killing its forward momentum. As it slowly turned the lights blinding him
changed direction and he was able to see the side doors were open, people
inside throwing down ropes.
    “Stop
them!” he shouted as he resumed his charge. But it was too late. The three men
hooked onto the ropes and the chopper rose, banking back toward the main gates
as the thieves were pulled from the ground, slowly reeled in as his men were
left staring at the rapidly receding helicopter, unable to open fire lest their
bullets find innocent flesh on their descent.
    Giasson
shook his head in awe as he watched the helicopter bank around the corner,
still barely above street height, the three men swinging wide, almost hitting
the buildings as they continued to be pulled inside.
    He
raised his radio. “Get me the Roma Polizia.” He paused for a moment, then
nodded, a decision made.
    “And put
in a call to Agent Hugh Reading of Interpol.”
     
     
     
     

 
     

     
     
    Golgatha, Judea
April 7 th , 30 AD
The Ninth Hour
     
    It was dark now, almost as dark as night, at least it might as well
have been for Longinus. Everything was a dark, gray mass to his failing eyes.
Nighttime had once been his enemy, he making it a point to try and be inside by
nightfall, in his bed laughing with his comrades, or sleeping. But as he
adapted, he realized that nighttime provided him