James Acton 04 - The Templar's Relic (14 page)

Two blasts from the train’s horn split the night and Acton heard the powerful motors that controlled the gate kick in again. He glanced back and saw the gates begin to close, but almost as if playing on a screen at a drive-in theatre, the chaos on the other side, lit by the street lights glaring down on the police and rioters, highlighting the battle they were losing.

If those gates don’t close soon, we could have hundreds more coming down on us in seconds.

He saw a group break off and head toward the gates.

“Laura, cover the gate!” he yelled.

She spun around and raised her weapon, firing two shots at the ground in front of the group. They dropped, then scrambled away, their bravado momentarily quelled as this group hadn’t yet been met with gunfire.

Acton returned his attention to the other group, already hardened insurgents compared to those outside, then at the control room which Giasson still stubbornly occupied.

“Mario, let’s get out of here!”

He poked his head outside.

“Not until the gate is closed and I can destroy the controls!”

Shit!
Acton knew Giasson was right. If they left the control station intact, the south gates would be opened within minutes, and there would be thousands more do deal with.

Laura fired another two shots.

Acton looked back and saw the gates were nearly closed, only several agonizing feet remaining. He returned his attention to the group attempting to take the platform. It appeared they had rediscovered their balls, and were again approaching. Giasson’s hand appeared out the door of the control room and several shots rang out, the muzzle flashes now distinct in the near pitch black.

Acton fired several rounds himself, and the crowd backed off as the sound of the two massive doors slamming together rolled across the lawn.

“Now!” he yelled as he fired two more rounds. Another two from behind him rang out, and a moment later Laura was at his side.

“You okay?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, you?”

“Absolutely fabulous, Darling.”

He chuckled. “And what happened to you getting on the bus?”

“As if I was going to let my fiancé go off alone into a gunfight!”

He frowned, but he knew she couldn’t see it.

“Cover me!” he heard Giasson yell, and they both jumped up, firing into the crowd that now surged forward at the words. As they both emptied their clips, Acton watched Giasson race across the platform and dive toward their position as the unmistakable sound of a weapon set to fully automatic tore up the concrete.

Giasson cried out in pain.

Acton reloaded then aimed at the muzzle flash that was directed at their position, firing rapidly. The opposing fire ceased, and he turned to Giasson who was lying on the ground, gripping his shoulder.

“Is he okay?” asked Laura as she covered their position.

“I’ll live,” said Giasson. “Help me up.”

Acton reached down and pulled Giasson to his feet.

“How do we get out of here?”

“Follow me.”

At a crouch they rounded the southern side of the train station, and out of sight of the small mob pursuing them. Then, at a sprint, they quickly covered the south side and turned north.

“We just need to get back to the Governatorate Palace,” gasped Giasson, still gripping his arm. At a jog they ran through the parking lot of the train station. Acton fished Laura’s scarf from his pocket.

“Wait a sec.”

They came to a halt and Acton hooked the scarf under Giasson’s arm, positioning it above the wound, then tied it off tightly.

Giasson gasped then nodded to Acton. “Thanks.”

“Okay, lead the way. The sooner we’re out of the open, the better.”

Giasson didn’t wait to reply, simply running again, with Laura behind him and Acton covering the rear, the metal case containing the scroll still gripped tightly in his hand, a constant reminder as to what had caused this entire situation. That so much death could come out of something as wondrous as an archaeological find was unimaginable. Dozens were probably dead, and if he wasn’t mistaken, dozens if not hundreds more would be killed before this was over.

There was no way the West could let this continue, not while precious pieces of history were destroyed by ignorance and hate. But to take back the Vatican would be a herculean effort. There were tens of thousands of protesters, dozens of those armed. And when someone is firing from within a mob, as he and his companions discovered tonight, it was almost impossible not to shoot those around them.

The blood spilt over the coming days may wash away with ease, but the memory would take a long time to erase. And would it just result in more hatred between Islam and everything else? He hated himself for singling out one religion as the problem, but he couldn’t help but reach that conclusion. Edison Cole and New Slate’s plan to trigger a holy war with a nuclear weapon would have worked, only because Islamists would have played directly into his hands, and repeatedly throughout the past decades it was Islamists attacking Christians, Buddhists, Hindus, each other. When almost every terrorist attack on the planet is perpetrated by the followers of one religion, and the vast majority of the adherents to that religion remain silent, perhaps that silence speaks volumes about the problems within their set of beliefs.

Had Christianity once been evil? Absolutely. The Spanish Inquisition was a prime example of how religious doctrine, run unchecked, could perform heinous acts upon the population. But that was over five hundred years ago. Christianity had progressed, modernized, and learned to live in a world of democracy, freedom, technology. But as much as he hated to admit it, Islam was still stuck in the twelfth century. Once producing leaders in scholarly pursuits, it had stagnated, and never progressed, turning in on itself in a cycle of hate and violence that eventually would lead to either its own destruction, or that of everyone else.

It was inevitable that with modern technology the uneducated masses would become educated, would become informed, and just like the Soviets that once thought their lives were better than those in the West, they too would learn the truth, and hopefully discover that hatred wasn’t the way to a better life. If enough would turn their backs on the old ways, could they reform their religion like Christians had? Could they put the past behind them, and join a modern, free, peaceful world?

Acton couldn’t see it happening in his lifetime. Nor his children’s.

The thought of children snapped him out of his internal debate, one he felt guilty about, but sometimes confronting the truth in front of you, no matter how politically incorrect, was necessary in order to move forward and deal with the problem, rather than tiptoe around it apologetically.

But children?

He looked at Laura and smiled.

Children
.

He glanced over his shoulder and frowned.

“We’ve got company!” he hissed as they rounded to the north side of the building.

“Just up there, a few hundred meters,” gasped Giasson.

They were slowing down as Giasson weakened. Acton handed the case to Laura then caught up to Giasson and threw the man’s good arm over his shoulder to take some of his weight.

“Thank you,” the man grunted.

“We’ve gotta hurry!” urged Laura as she now covered the rear. They covered the distance quickly, but their pursuers covered it quicker, and within seconds their shouts filled the air as the tiny group was spotted.

Acton’s head spun around as he heard Laura fire twice. The small mob slowed, the shots embedding themselves into the ground at their feet, but enough to stem their courage momentarily.

Acton didn’t waste any time, nearly dragging the injured Giasson as fast as he could toward the building. Shouts from their left, and then their right, caused Acton’s chest to tighten and his heart drum in his chest as he realized they were about to be surrounded.

Keep going!

“Weapon,” whispered Giasson.

Acton pulled Giasson’s gun from its holster, not losing a step, and placed it into Giasson’s good hand. He pulled his own weapon out. Laura fired twice more.

“Firing,” whispered Giasson, giving Acton enough warning to turn his head toward Giasson as the weapon roared a foot away from his ear. They were now in the parking lot, nearing the stairs of the Governatorate Palace, but hundreds were now converging on them. Shots ricocheted off the asphalt nearby, then more tore open the concrete steps they were preparing to mount. Acton fired to their left, Giasson to their right, and Laura from the rear, targets no longer important.

They hit the first step.

But the doors ahead of them, would they be open? Acton didn’t want to think of that now. More gunfire and Laura yelped. Acton spun around and she was gripping her leg, but still climbing the stairs.

“I’m okay, just a graze!” she said, wincing. “Keep going!”

They were half way up the stairs. More gunfire tore at the façade of the building, sending chips of concrete scattering across the stairs. Suddenly the doors burst open and at least a dozen heavily armed men appeared, rushing past them. Two more came out and grabbed Giasson and Laura, carrying them inside as a steady stream of gunfire behind them sent their pursuers scattering.

Acton crossed the threshold into the building, gasping for air as their saviors retreated back into the building, the doors closing behind them. Acton and Laura stood with Giasson as they watched the defenders blockade the doors again.

One of the men walked up to Giasson, a look of relief on his face.

“M. Giasson! We thought you were dead!”

Giasson looked at his companions.

“We almost were.”

Vatican Railroad Viaduct, Rome, Italy

The gates thudded shut, the metal hitting metal reverberating across the viaduct, Primo feeling the entire structure vibrate with a tingle in his legs. The motor cut off powering the gate, and gun fire continued on the other side.

But there was nothing he could do about that now.

He needed to get these refugees and his men to safety. The buses with the evacuees were gone, including one originally intended for his men. The firebombed bus it replaced continued to burn, the heat and smoke from the wreck licking at them all, the area far too small for a thirty foot fire to go unnoticed.

And with that wreck blocking the already narrow path they had come up on, the final two buses would have to tuck in behind the train in order to get around it. This wasn’t going to work. He motioned Pietro Nardozzi over, a young officer he’d worked with since the man was a rookie.

“Yes, sir?”

Primo pointed at the two idling buses, the fear on the drivers’ faces clear. “Tell them to leave now, behind the train, we won’t be taking them.”

Nardozzi’s face belied his fear at the news, but to his credit he simply nodded and ran to the first bus, then the second. The heads of his men spun as they heard the buses begin to pull away, several of them shouting at the drivers in anger as they thought they were fleeing without them.

There were dozens of protesters now, if not nearly a hundred, on the viaduct, with more coming every second. They were about equally matched in numbers, but that would change.

It was time.

“Fall back!” he yelled. “Fall back! Fall back along the viaduct!”

He ran a couple of hundred feet toward where the viaduct had no more ways for protesters to access it, and stopped, grabbing his men as they caught up.

“Form a line here,” he said, drawing an artificial line with his hand. “Let our men through, keep the protesters out.” The dozen or so men heeded his instructions and formed a line, and as more of their comrades reached them, the line firmed up, those with riot shields and gear still intact taking up position in the front.

Primo stood in front of the line, continuing to call the retreat, and watched with pride as those that remained, fighting hand to hand with the protesters, helped each other extricate themselves, and retreat as a group, rather than leave anyone behind. Through the city and fire light, it looked as if none of his men were left behind, but some were definitely injured.

Damn. If only we had one of those buses.

Their retreat would be slower with injured, but they would make it. He looked back and he felt his chest swell. The two buses had stopped, their tires now firmly planted on the viaduct walkway and off the tracks, their drivers standing in the doorways, beckoning to them. The pride that Primo felt at that moment, the faith in his fellow man, was overwhelming. These two brave souls had the opportunity to flee, and despite having seen one of their own firebombed, they stayed.

It reminded him of a recent conversation with a friend who had said he feared society was about to collapse, and what would happen in the aftermath. Would chaos and anarchy reign?

Primo had more faith in his fellow man than his friend had.

Remember the Colorado shootings. Despite near certain death, husbands covered wives with their bodies, boyfriends shielded girlfriends, strangers performed CPR on people they didn’t even know, despite the danger. When things go wrong, the best in us comes out, and as long as there are enough of us to do the right thing, society will keep itself together long enough to recover.

And this was one of those moments. The best had come out in these men. He pointed at the buses.

“Get the injured on that first bus!” he ordered as the line of officers rushed forward to form a new line just behind the last of their retreating comrades. All were now behind the line, and the protesters were pushing against it, but the viaduct was fairly narrow, only thirty feet across, and much easier to hold than the huge area they had been covering moments before.

He looked behind him and saw the injured being loaded on the first bus, the rest of the several hundred men retreating slowly down the viaduct, their eyes trained on the angry mob that advanced with them. He heard the engine of the bus roar as it pulled away and cheers rose among the men as they knew their comrades were safe.