Saint Peter's Soldiers (A James Acton Thriller, Book #14) (34 page)

“He’s a
professor, fool, don’t be getting cocky.”

Dawson
gave Niner a look then ran his finger across his throat.

Jimmy
slugged the wisecracker.

Acton
laughed, Laura giggling. “I’ve missed you guys,” she said.

Niner
was about to say something probably totally inappropriate when Dawson leaned
over and slapped a hand over the man’s mouth. “So we need to make the castle no
longer attractive for them to stay in.”

Acton
nodded. “Right. If they’re forced to leave, then we no longer know anything
about them.”

Dawson
removed his hand from Niner’s mouth. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Niner’s mouth opened and Dawson aimed a finger at it. It snapped shut. He
pulled out a laptop, handing it to Jimmy who booted it up. “We’ve come up with
a plan that could work.”

“Could?”

“Could.
It partially depends on how much the layout has changed since the last survey
was done during the war.”

“How
accurate do you think they were?” asked Laura.

“Very,
at the time. The Germans had it surveyed as a potential regional command
headquarters, so the plans are very detailed, but it’s been over seventy
years.”

“And if
they’ve changed too much?”

Dawson’s
eyebrows rose, cocking his head to the side momentarily. “Then the plan might
fail miserably.”

“Is it
risky?”

Dawson
nodded. “There’s over two hundred people inside that complex, so I’m thinking,
yes.”

Acton
shook his head. “I can’t ask you do to this. There has to be another way.”

Dawson
smiled. “Hey, we’re here.”

“And I’m
already bored,” added Niner.

Dawson leaned
forward. “Look, if it goes smooth, they’ll never know we were there until it’s
too late.”

Acton checked
his watch. “I assume you’re planning on going in tonight?”

Dawson
shook his head. “No, for this to work, it has to be done in broad daylight.”

Laura
sat upright. “Really?”

“Yes.
The more eyes the better.”

Rocca d'Angera Castle, Angera, Italy

Atlas stared up at the morning sun, the blue sky overhead unmarred
by even a wisp of cloud, the only spoiler of the near perfect canvas a contrail
high above, a jetliner heading north. It was a beautiful day in a beautiful
location.

Vanessa
would love this.

Things
with Vanessa were getting serious. Very serious. They had done the weekend
getaways successfully, and were now talking something a little more risky.

An
actual vacation together.

That
meant plane tickets, a hotel room, and no way to escape each other should
things go wrong. In the past, he had found it could help decide whether or not
a relationship had a future. Couples who didn’t travel well together, didn’t
last.

And this
vacation was long overdue.

Between
his job—which she knew nothing about—and her culinary classes, finding an
actual week to go anywhere together had proven difficult.

She had
a two-week break coming up and he had already had it cleared with the Colonel.

He was
off.

He just
hadn’t told her yet because things could change so quickly in his line of work.

Her time
off was set in stone, and he was going to surprise her with tickets at the last
minute—purchased with trip cancellation insurance just in case—and if all went
well, they’d be jetting somewhere semi-exotic. His job meant a lot of the truly
exotic was off limits unless parachuting in from the back of a military
transport.

“Italy
might be a good place to take Vanessa.”

Spock
cocked an eyebrow. “Care to include us in the first part of that conversation
you’ve been having with yourself?”

“Sorry.”
He nodded toward the castle wall, a security camera visible. “How about a
photo, boys.”

Spock
and Jagger lined up in front of the wall, striking a pose any eighties hair
band would have been proud of, and Atlas snapped the photo.

“Good
one!” he laughed, handing the camera over to Spock who switched places. Another
photo snapped, a different angle, a process they had been repeating all around
the massive structure, each photo automatically uploaded to Langley.

They
continued their stroll up the path that ringed the outer fence set about twenty
feet from the ancient castle walls themselves. Apparently, the thick walls
weren’t enough privacy. To Atlas’ trained eye, it appeared the occupants wanted
a buffer between the walls so their cameras could catch anything that might
stray too close.

And
provide a kill zone should it become necessary.

They had
spotted two entrances so far. The main gate and a rear entrance that didn’t
appear to be used much, the path leading to it covered in thick grass.

Yet just
because there were only two
official
entrances didn’t mean there weren’t
other ways in. They had found several drainage ditches leading to large pipes
at the foot of the walls, all with bars preventing entry. But bars were no
problem for his team.

“You and
Vanessa thinking of going away together?” asked Jagger.

“Yeah,
hopefully in a couple of weeks if the world doesn’t throw a monkey wrench into
the works.” He nodded ahead, the path coming to an abrupt end, the castle built
into the side of a hill, a sheer rock cliff blocking the rest of the way. He
tapped his earpiece casually. “Zero-One, Zero-Seven, we’re heading back, over.”

“Roger
that, Zero-Seven. That first drainage pipe you sent us seems to be the most
promising candidate and matches the plans we have.”

Atlas
nodded as they passed the rear gate, the other two carrying on a conversation
to disguise his own. “Agreed. It’s got excellent brush cover but there are two
cameras that have a good angle on it.”

“Any sign
of guards?”

“Negative,
we haven’t seen any, not even at the front gate. They seem to be relying on
cameras. I’m thinking they aren’t expecting anyone so are keeping a low
profile, trying not to look like a Bond villain’s lair.”

“Okay,
get back to the hotel. We’ve got an op to plan.”

Giasson Residence, Via Nicolò III, Rome, Italy

“He has agreed to meet you.”

Giasson
had to admit he was a little surprised. For the leader of the Keepers of the
One Truth to agree to meet must mean he too thought it was important to air
their grievances. He was pretty certain it was because of who he was that he
was granted an audience. He was after all the head of Vatican security, and
these men were apparently sworn to protect the Church, as he was.

Yet they
found themselves at cross-purposes.

A
meeting was definitely warranted.

“Where?”

“At the
final confessional on the right hand side at Santa Maria delle Concezione de
Cappuccini Church.”

Mario’s
eyes widened slightly. “Really? In a confessional?”

Boileau
nodded. “You must understand that it is essential he remain anonymous. Frankly,
it’s incredible that he’s actually agreed to meet you.”

“Have
you met him?”

Boileau
shook his head emphatically. “No, never.”

“Then
how will I know it’s him?”

Boileau
smiled. “He is a man of God. He would not lie.”

Giasson
wasn’t so sure he would agree with that relationship being solid enough to
accept on blind faith. “When?”

“I’m to
take you there now. No police.”

Giasson
pursed his lips, looking at Boileau, then nodded, he having no choice.

“Then
let’s go.”

Hotel Dei Tigli, Angera, Italy

Dawson gave two quick raps on the door then entered, closing it
quickly behind him. He was greeted with grins.

“Don’t
you look colorful,” said Acton, stepping away from the window. “Is that the new
army approved camo?”

Dawson
looked down at his bright blue track pants and white sneakers, his windbreaker
in Italian colors with Italia emblazoned across the back, and a tri-colored
ball cap to match.

“It’s
urban chic.”

Laura
giggled.

“We’re
hiding in plain sight. Anybody monitoring the perimeter is going to see a group
of tourists and hopefully dismiss us entirely, or not pay very close attention.
We’re tooling around town, seeing the sites, and have just discovered a castle
that we’re going to walk around and take photos of.”

Acton
tilted his head, raising his eyebrows. “Well, let’s hope it works. If it
doesn’t?”

“Then we
fallback and come up with Plan B.” He looked at Acton. “You know your part?”

“Yes.”

“Good,
it’s the most crucial part if this is going to work.”

Reading’s
phone beeped and he checked the message. “First batch is coming in.”

Dawson
stepped over to the laptop as Reading brought up the first files from Interpol,
fruits of their surveillance on the castle entrance.

“Christ!”

Dawson turned
to Reading. “What?”

“Everyone
one of these people are German citizens.”

“Living
in an Italian city?”

Reading
nodded. “From these reports, it looks like they’re completely self-contained.
None of them appears to be employed, none have ever collected any state
benefits. Beyond birth certificates,  driver’s licenses and passports, they
seem to have no involvement outside of that castle.”

“Completely
self-contained, with all the proper paperwork to safely travel outside when
required.” Dawson exhaled loudly, nodding at the images as Reading flipped
through them. “Notice anything else?”

Reading
kept flipping then stopped, leaning back in his chair, he apparently noticing
what Dawson had.

Every
photo showed a man with blonde hair and chiseled features.

“Bloody
hell. It’s the Master Race.”