James Acton 04 - The Templar's Relic (20 page)

War.

War brought the economies of the world out of the Great Depression, and war would bring the economies of the world out of the next one. But who would be the belligerents? Would the West continue to be terrified of a powerful China, who would weather the downturn better than most? And would Russia ally themselves with the Chinese, with the same hopes as they had previously when they allied themselves with Germany? The Chinese would want the oil to sustain their economies, the Americans and Europeans would need it as well. War could easily breakout. A faked attack. A misunderstanding. It didn’t matter. When people are desperate, they are willing to do desperate things. Stupid things. Irrational things.

And when someone tells a desperate population that all their problems can be blamed on the Chinese, the population will demand something be done. And in the aftermath, when the so called powerful nations of the world have destroyed themselves, Islam would spread. And with the Armageddon brought on by their war, the Mahdi would return, with Jesus, and bring paradise to Earth, bring justice and order to the masses, all under the flag of Islam.

And tonight it would begin, all with a few bones of a long dead man who meant nothing to Hassan, but everything to over one billion of the planet’s richest.

Over a decade ago the armor had been chinked, and the West had responded in what they thought was a strong way. With war. But in fact, they had dismantled the very things that had made them great. And now, with the bones of Saint Peter in his hands, Hassan would begin the dismantling of the Church, and its moral compass that had at one time, guided the West, but now had been pushed aside, in the name of the new morality of political correctness and the assumption of cultural equality.

And with one final push, the nation that claimed, In God We Trust, just may lose one more beacon on the path of righteousness.

Hassan’s heart filled with joy at the thought, at the thought that he had been chosen by Allah to assist bringing on the end of days.

And the return of the Mahdi.

Corpo della Gendarmeria Office

Palazzo del Governatorato, Vatican City

Giasson stared at the security footage checkered across the wall. He pointed at one. “What in God’s name is that?”

Acton leaned forward.

“A tree?”

“What the devil are they doing with a tree?” asked Laura.

Giasson and Acton looked at each other, and both said, “Battering ram.”

Giasson snapped his fingers. “I need eight marksmen on the roof. Four corners, two on the sides, two to cover the roof itself in case anyone tries to climb up there. Take out anyone with a weapon, and anyone that tries to ram the door.” He pointed at Ianuzzi. “You’re in charge up there.”

Ianuzzi nodded, and walked away, beginning to bark orders, gathering a group of the heavily armed security personnel around him as he disappeared around the corner.

Acton turned to Giasson. “I’d like to go with them, get a lay of the land so I can maybe give some intel to our friends.”

Giasson flicked his hand over his shoulder. “Go ahead.” He pointed at one of the others. “Tell Ianuzzi I said it was okay.” The man got on his radio and Acton turned to Laura.

“I won’t be long.”

“I’m coming with you!”

“No, you stay and rest that leg. You’ll be needing it soon enough, besides, it’s safer here.” She frowned, and he smiled. “How about you get a pen and some paper and retrace your steps, from the last moment you remember definitely having the ring, to the moment you discovered it missing. Maybe you can get a map of the city, and trace it out. That way, when this is all over, we’ll know where to look.”

She smiled at him, and he could tell she knew he was just trying to occupy her mind. She squeezed his hand. “Thanks, Darling, but I’ll be fine.”

He kissed the top of her head, then dashed off after the roof team. As he looked behind him one last time, he saw Laura grabbing a pad off a nearby desk.

He grinned and nearly ran into one of the guards.

“Roof?”

The man pointed to a set of doors. “Stairs are there, go all the way to the top. Announce yourself coming out, though, otherwise you’re liable to get shot.”

Acton nodded. “Thanks for the tip.”

He ran for the door, pulling it open, then took the stairs two at a time, until the fourth flight when he started to tire, and switched to one at a time. It wasn’t until then that he realized how exhausted he was. He hadn’t had any real downtime in almost twenty four hours, and had been on adrenaline for most of that.

And when the hell are you going to find any downtime?

He reached the door and knocked, opening it a crack. “Professor Acton here! Am I cleared to come out?”

“Go ahead, Professor, hands first!”

Acton pushed the door open slowly, extending his hands, then stepping out from behind the door. He was greeted with two guns in his face, that quickly lowered when they recognized him.

“Sorry, Professor, just being cautious.”

Acton nodded. “No worries. How’s it look?”

“Not good, we’re surrounded by hundreds of people, the vast majority at the front.”

“Any suggestions for a covert approach?”

Ianuzzi squinted. “Why?”

“We may have some, shall we say,
friends,
joining us shortly to evac the item.”

Ianuzzi nodded. “Follow me, and keep low, we’ve already taken fire up here.”

They approached the north side of the rooftop at a crouch, then crawled the last few feet. They both propped themselves up at the edge. “See the road there, going north?”

Acton nodded. It seemed to wrap around the rear of the building, and join up with the road that led to the train station.

“Well, they don’t seem to have any people near it, probably because of the large trees blocking their view. A small team could probably use those trees as cover, and approach the building from the rear. They should meet token resistance, and we can have a door ready for them to come in.”

Acton frowned. “Not a great plan, but I don’t see we have any choice.”

Gun fire interrupted the conversation as they both ducked, the masonry where they had just been torn apart by the well-aimed bullets.

A single shot rang out to the left.

“Got him.”

Ianuzzi and Acton didn’t move, just in case the matter of fact statement was incorrect. Ianuzzi turned to Acton, and motioned toward the door he had used to come onto the roof. “I suggest you get inside, it’s safer.”

Acton nodded, realizing that playing the hero at this point held little value.

“I’ll be back when the team is coming in.”

Ianuzzi nodded, and turned back to survey the north side again.

He felt confident the team would be able to get in, and probably fairly safely. After all, their opposition wasn’t well trained.

But getting out, that was another story. They would be expecting them to come back out, and with Laura injured already from a stray, he feared what the next one might do.

He looked up at the night sky, and said a silent prayer.

Dearborn Police Department

Dearborn, Michigan

Officer Roy Atkinson sat in the lounge with another dozen officers waiting for the shift change. All eyes were glued on the television coverage of what was happening around the world.

This is fuckin’ ridiculous.

He could feel his chest tighten as report after report came in of tit for tat violence, each getting bloodier and bloodier. There had just been reports from New York City of an attack on a church, in retaliation for the attack on the mosque in London.

This is America! Leave your shit in your old country, don’t bring it here.

“This is fuckin’ bullshit.”

“Tell me about it.”

Atkinson looked at his partner, Charlie Zawadzki. “Why do they have to bring their shit over here? I thought the whole point of immigrating was you left the problems behind you, and came here to make a new life!”

“It’s this multiculturalism shit,” said Zawadzki. “They come over here and the politically correct tell them it’s okay to keep their culture, and call us racist for wanting them to become American.”

“Well, isn’t it?”

All eyes turned to the latest voice to join the conversation. Atkinson frowned. It was Mohammad Aman, the only Muslim in the room, as far as he knew. If there were any others, they certainly hadn’t made it known to Atkinson over the years, but Aman, he insisted on praying six times a day, no matter what they were doing.

And the fucking PC brass let him get away with it.

Reasonable Accommodation.

What the fuck kind of PC BS was that? Reasonable Accommodation? How about Reasonably Accommodating us? We didn’t stop working when it was time to pray on Sunday unless we were off work. Yet this guy did it six times a day. Him and his friend Hasni. Another fucker who flaunted it instead of keeping it hidden away like the private thing it should be. Atkinson went to church. Not as often as he should, but he still did. And did he flaunt it? Hell no!

“Did you just call me racist?”

“No, I asked if it wasn’t racist to force other people to conform to your beliefs.”

“So if I want you to become American, that’s racist?”

“I am American.”

“Not from where I’m sitting.”

“Hey, I was born here, just like you.”

“Not just like me, otherwise you’d get what I’m sayin’.”

“Just because I’m a different religion doesn’t mean I’m not American.”

“Religion should have fuck all to do with it. You don’t see the Jews or Buddhists causing problems. Just the Muslims.”

“Not all Muslims. Just a small minority.”

“Hey, when that small minority does something, why is that vast majority so damned silent, huh?” There were a few grunts of assent. “You see, that’s the damned problem. If a priest got up in front of his flock and called for everyone to go kill all the Muslims, there’d be an uproar, and the FBI’d be called. But you guys, no way, uh uh, you just sit silently and let them preach it, or worse, cheer it on. But no phone calls. No anonymous tips.

“And that’s the problem.
You
don’t love your country. If you did, you’d put it first before all else. I’d die for my country; I’d die to protect it. But you, you want to change it so that you can be more comfortable here, rather than adapt your ways to fit in. If what we’ve been doing since seventeen-seventy-six is so wrong, then why are we the greatest country in the world, why is it people like you and your parents were so desperate to get here? Was it to reshape America into your old homeland, or to come here and escape your old homeland?”

“I can’t believe the garbage that’s coming out of your mouth.”

Atkinson jumped up, rage beginning to get the upper hand.

“Hadrian’s Wall.”

He turned to his partner, who still sat there comfortably, staring at the television screen.

“What?”

“Hadrian’s Wall. Hadrian was the Roman Emperor two thousand years ago who ordered a wall be built across England, separating the north from the south.”

“Hey, I’ve heard of that,” said one of the rookies as Atkinson sat down. “I saw it on Discovery.”

“What about it?”

“It wasn’t built to keep the hordes from invading, it was meant to keep the hordes from immigrating,” said Zawadzki.

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. It was a wall. It could be breached at any time, it was just too long to protect in force. But what it did do was keep out those who would come to the south of England, where there was civilization, where Rome had established itself, and take advantage of what had been built, rather than contribute to it.”

“And what does that have to do with anything?” asked Aman.

“It has everything to do with it,” said Zawadzki. He leaned forward. “Look. People make the mistake of saying we’re all immigrants, since all of us, except the Indians, are descendants of people who immigrated to this country. But that’s wrong.”

“How is it?” asked Aman.

Atkinson loved when Zawadzki talked. He was a hell of a lot smarter than most of those in the room, including himself.

“Many of those who come to this country today are immigrants. But our ancestors were pioneers. They were settlers. They came here to build a better life, to build a country. When they left their old homelands, they knew there was no going back. They left everything and everyone behind. So when they got here, they were motivated to build a better life for themselves, and in doing so, their fellowman, by helping build roads, churches, railroads, hospitals. The very things that make this country great.

“But now, most immigrants come here and there’s nothing for them to do, the hard works’ been done. Now they come here and figure out how they can take advantage of those centuries of hard work. They don’t leave their homelands behind, instead they use the Internet to keep in touch, their cheap long distance to talk daily to the old friends and family back home. They watch television in their own language, they read newspapers and websites in their own language, they shop in their own stores, eat their own food, go to their own places of worship, and don’t integrate. Now you can actually live in America and be successful without speaking English. How ridiculous is that?”

“What does that possibly have to do with anything?” asked Aman. “My parents came here and opened a restaurant. They both work hard, employ people. I joined the police force to serve my community. I go to football games, play baseball, and try to be a good person. But because I’m Muslim, I’m not American?”

“I never said you weren’t American. But let me ask you this. What language did you learn to speak first?”

Aman said nothing, his jaw dropping slightly.

“Your silence speaks volumes,” commented Atkinson.

“That means nothing.”

“Doesn’t it?” Zawadzki frowned. “When I was a kid, I remember my granddaddy saying to me that when he and my grandmother came over from Poland, they made it a point to never speak a word of Polish in front of the children, so they would learn English first, and become Americans.”