Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) (34 page)

“That’s
him!” exclaimed Mai as she pointed to one of the men tucked into the back, his
face barely visible, his neutral facial expression contrasting sharply with the
rest of the group.

“It
definitely looks like him,” agreed Tommy. He pointed to the metadata associated
with the photo. “This was taken after the Monaco Grand Prix five years ago.”

“Where?”

“I think
it’s the palace, which means this was a formal event.”

“So?”

“So that
means guest lists.”

“From
five years ago?”

“It’s
the best we’ve got. It’s
all
we’ve got.”

Mai
leaned closer to the photo, not sure what to do. All they had was a photo of a
man with no name taken five years ago. How they could possibly find out who had
attended that party was beyond her.

Then she
smiled as something dawned on her.

“What?”

She
looked at Tommy. “
We
don’t need to figure out who was there.”

“We
don’t?”

She
shook her head. “No,
we
don’t. The CIA does.”

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“So you were right, boss, Renner’s phone logs were interesting.”

Marc Therrien
handed a tablet to Leroux who looked at the calls, several of them highlighted.
“What am I looking at?”

“That
first highlighted call was one Renner made last night to a Voice over IP phone,
so pretty much completely untraceable.”

“You
tried?”

“Yup, no
success, but we’re still working on it.” He nodded toward the tablet. “That
second highlighted call is an incoming one from another Internet phone number,
received this morning, about twenty minutes before he was shot. The final
highlighted call is an incoming that he received we think
as
he was
shot.”

“Probably
telling him why he was about to die,” surmised Sonya Tong. “I think I’d rather
not know.”

Therrien
nodded. “Me neither.” He reached over and swiped his finger across the display,
another set of numbers appearing. “So, we weren’t able to trace where this
first VoIP phone was located, but we were able to determine the calls made to
it. There haven’t been many and they were all from other VoIP numbers. We think
they’re call-forwarding the VoIP numbers to burner phones so nothing can be
traced. All that is, except one call.”

Leroux’s
eyebrows rose slightly. “One?”

Therrien
smiled. “Yup. And it was received not even five minutes before the attack in
Paris.”

“And you
were able to trace the origin?”

Therrien’s
head bobbed excitedly. “Somebody screwed up, boss. They used a regular
cellphone, not redirected. It’s a burner so we can’t trace the owner, but we
were able to locate the cellphone tower the call was connected through.”

Leroux
leaned forward, staring at the tablet then at Therrien. “Where?”

“Just
outside Paris, not twenty miles from where the helicopter landed.”

Leroux
felt a smile start to spread across his face as he leaned back in his chair.
They finally had a lead, though it was thin. He had no doubt none of the highly
trained mercenaries would screw up like this, and the fact the call was
received so close to the Paris robbery suggested either someone who had no idea
it was about to happen, or someone with information so vital to its success
that they had to use an unsecured form of communication.

Or, like
Therrien had suggested, someone had just screwed up.

“The
location might mean nothing,” said Tong as she spun her laptop toward Leroux, a
map of Paris and the surrounding countryside displayed, the cellphone tower
highlighted with an arrow. “They could have just been in the vicinity of this
tower when making the call and be in another country now for all we know.”

Leroux
shook his head, tapping his desk. “I don’t think so. We know Professor Palmer
is alive, and according to the medical experts, she would have died if she
didn’t receive prompt medical attention, which means she had to have received
it within about a thirty to forty-five minute drive of where the helicopter was
found. The French police have scoured the country and there have been no
reports of any woman matching her description, or any description, having been
brought in with a gunshot wound to the abdomen. That means she was treated
somewhere private. Also, we know from the conversation that Professor Acton had
with her that she was being treated by a doctor named Heinrich—”

“Thousands
of hits, we’re trying to narrow it down,” interjected Therrien.

“—and that
she was in some sort of well-equipped lab. I’m betting that lab is within forty-five
minutes of that helicopter landing zone, and that cellphone tower is also
within that same radius.”

“I’ve
learned to never bet against you, boss.”

Leroux
looked at Therrien but said nothing, he still not used to having staff that
kissed his ass, or being called ‘boss’. Especially when half his staff were
older than he was. He pursed his lips. “What’s the range on that tower?”

“At most
forty-five miles,” replied Tong, spinning her laptop back toward her. “But
terrain can impact that dramatically.”

“Find
out. I want to be able to get an overlay to our people in France.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Therrien
and Tong rose, leaving the office as Leroux began to type an email to the inner
circle of this operation. They had a lead, finally, but it wasn’t much. And
even if the range of the cellphone tower proved to only be twenty miles, that
left an area of over 1250 square miles to search.

Needle
in a haystack?

Approaching Basilica of Sant’Agostino, Rome, Italy

Mario Giasson stifled a yawn, hoping no one had noticed, he raised
better than to do such a thing in the middle of the day while on the job. But
he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t slept more than two hours in the past two days
and was quickly reaching burnout.

And
there was no end in sight.

He
turned in his seat, Francesco Greco driving, to look at their passengers, and
his charge, Terrence and Jenny Mitchell.

“I spoke
with the prosecutor and he said there won’t be any charges against either of
you.”

Jenny
nodded, it clear she was still troubled by what she had done. Killing a man at
point blank range had to be psychologically scarring and with their schedule
she hadn’t had time to process what she had done, and what had almost happened
to her.

It’s
going to take time.

Terrence
jumped in his seat then fished out his phone, reading a text message, his face
losing several shades of its usual ruddy color. He showed it to Jenny, her
hands instinctively covering her stomach before she looked out the window.

“Something
wrong?” asked Giasson, it clear they were both upset.

“No,
it-it’s nothing.”

Giasson
frowned. “It’s clearly not nothing.”

“I…I
can’t talk about it. Like I said, it’s nothing.”

“Show me
your phone.”

Terrence’s
jaw dropped, his eyes opening wide as Jenny’s head spun toward Giasson. It was
clear from both their reactions that the very idea horrified them, and it had
nothing to do with an invasion of their privacy.

They
were terrified.

“Now.”

He held
out his hand and Terrence reluctantly brought up the message, handing him the
phone. Giasson cursed as he read the text received only moments before.

You failed to report your discovery. Next time she
dies.

“Explain
this.”

“We
can’t.”

“Why
not?”

“If we
say anything, they’ll kill her.”

“There’s
no one here but us, tell me now, it’s perfectly safe.”

Terrence
and Jenny both shook their heads emphatically.

“They
can hear everything. I don’t know how, but they can.” Terrence’s lip trembled.
“They probably heard everything you just said.” He looked at his wife’s stomach
as Jenny continued to cover her baby.

“They’re
going to kill my baby,” she whispered.

Kruger Residence, Outside Paris, France

“Your father is getting worse.”

His
mother’s whispered words caused Dietrich’s chest to tighten like a vise on his
heart. He looked over her shoulder at the family patriarch, the man who had
taught him how to be a father, a husband and a business leader. A man who was
supposed to be around for at least another decade to continue to teach him.

“I’m not
ready,” he mumbled, a tear rolling down his cheek, self-pity gripping him.

His
mother placed a comforting hand on his chest, his heart slamming so hard he was
sure she could feel it. “Yes, you are. He said so himself earlier today that he
is extremely proud of the man you’ve become, and that he will die knowing we
are all in capable hands.” She took his hand in hers, clasping it to her chest.
“You are ready, my son. Don’t forget, your father took over from your
grandfather when he was only five years older than you are now.”

“Yes,
but Grandfather lived for another fifteen.”

His
mother frowned. “He did, but I’m afraid it wasn’t much of a life. For most of
it he was in pain, and when he wasn’t, it was because the drugs had him barely
awake. He didn’t carry on a real conversation for the final five years.” She
sucked in a deep breath, covering her mouth as if ashamed of what she was about
to say. “When I picture him, his final years, I sometimes think that this is
the best thing for your father. If he dies now, he’ll avoid all that suff—” The
word caught in her throat, replaced with sobs as she collapsed in his arms, her
entire body shaking with grief.

It
overwhelmed him as he fought for control, fought to remain strong for her, but
it was no use. The tears flowed. His chest heaved.

His
mother pushed back gently, a lace handkerchief appearing from somewhere as she
dabbed her eyes dry. “Look at me, I’m your mother, I should be strong.”

Dietrich
smiled, shaking his head. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be strong.”

She
sighed. “We both must be strong for him.” She looked over at her husband. “Is
there any hope of finding this Spear of Destiny?”

Dietrich
nodded. “Yes. In fact I’m leaving shortly. The professor has apparently found a
document that proves they once thought the body was there.”

“I don’t
understand. ‘Once thought’?”

“I don’t
have time to explain, but it’s the closest anyone has ever been to finding it.
I’m leaving for Rome now.” He strode over to his father, placing a hand on the
man’s forehead, brushing away some stray hairs. “I love you,” he whispered,
there no response other than a moan, his father’s dreams tormented.