Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) by J Robert Kennedy Page B

with the memories and pushed them aside as they
headed to the right, toward the Treasury.
    Behind
them somebody screamed.
     
    Dietrich Kruger answered his phone against his better judgment, the
unmarked black van they were travelling in just about to pull up in front of
the Notre-Dame Cathedral. But the call display showed his mother’s number.
    And
she knows what I’m doing.
    “Hello?”
    Before
she even spoke he knew what she was going to say.
    “It’s
your father, he’s taken a turn for the worse.”
    “What’s
wrong?”
    “I don’t
know.” He could hear the worry in his mother’s voice and it tore at his heart.
“The doctor says he doesn’t have much time.”
    “But
it’s too soon!” Tears flooded his eyes and the men in the truck turned their
attention to readying their equipment, it the only form of privacy they could
offer.
    “I know,
I know, I don’t know why. You should come home now to see him before it’s too
late.”
    He
gripped the bench seat he was on, the metal edge biting at his hand. “I can’t
help him there, but perhaps something here can.” He released his hold. “I’ll be
home soon.”
    He ended
the call, turning off the phone as the van came to a halt. The rear doors were
opened and he stepped outside, raising his weapon and shooting the startled
police officer standing at the entrance.
    Nobody
stops us today.
     
    “Let’s go!” shouted Acton as he grabbed Laura by the waist,
propelling her toward the Treasury, Reading acting as a human shield behind
them. They burst through the doors, surprising those inside including four
police officers who spun toward them.
    Reading
held up his ID. “Interpol! We’ve got armed hostiles behind us!”
    Acton
continued hustling Laura deeper into the Treasury, past the display cases and
toward the still frozen in place police. Finally they reacted as the screams of
panicking tourists and worshippers outside the now open Treasury doors reached
their ears.
    But it
was too late.
    Gunfire
erupted from behind them. He felt Reading shove his shoulder, sending him to
the right but he lost his grip on Laura as her momentum carried her forward. He
watched in horror as he slammed into the marble floor, Reading jumping toward a
pillar, Laura completely exposed. She turned, on her knees, facing their
assailants, then rose as their eyes met, jumping toward his position as he
reached out with his hands.
    A burst
of gunfire tore into the floor, shards of ancient marble ripping through the
air like tiny daggers, slicing through anything in its path, including his
outstretched arms. Laura winced, collapsing to the floor, grabbing at her
stomach, her face one of confused shock as her eyes opened wide and her jaw
dropped. She looked at him, holding up her bloodstained hands.
    “No!” he
cried, scrambling toward her as she fell to her side, a rapidly expanding stain
on her white blouse confirming this was no wound from a shard of marble.
    His
beloved wife had been shot.
     
    Dietrich didn’t care anymore, didn’t care who died, didn’t care
about the sins he might be committing. His father was dying and there was no
hope of saving him medically.
    All he
had left was his faith.
    His
father was convinced that the blood of Christ could heal, and with today’s
technology the scientists under their employ were certain they could create the
needed blood—all they needed was a sample, something with the DNA.
    Which
meant a genuine Blood Relic.
    The
problem was finding one. There were so many conflicting claims, so many
disproven claims, that he had growing doubts they could find anything that
might actually have the needed DNA. He found it unlikely that the genuine
thorns and cloths and crosses and nails would survive to this day, but they
were desperate.
    Which
meant he had to get his hands on everything, no matter how dubious the claims.
    A woman
dropped in front of him, crying out in agony as she reached for her stomach,
and he felt a momentary pang of