Read Online James Acton 04 - The Templar's Relic by J Robert Kennedy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J Robert Kennedy
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He and the men in this humble room were what the West, the infidels, liked to call a “sleeper cell”.
But today, played out across one of the few infidel comforts he permitted himself, a television, was an opportunity that would wake this scorpion amongst their midst.
It was time to take action themselves, rather than wait for their masters hiding in Pakistan.
Rahim Ali leaned forward. He was the youngest, and most eager of the group, and also the most impulsive. Hassan constantly had to keep him on a tight leash, his mouth far too often flapping in public. “We have weapons, explosives. Why not just go in, kill every infidel in sight, and blow up the basilica?”
Hassan nodded. “Yes, we could do that, and I think we should do something similar. Ridding the world of that blasphemous example of idolatry would certainly please Allah, but I’m thinking bigger.”
“What is it, Hassan?”
Hassan smiled at Mahmoud Ziti, his trusted second. At least thirty years older, Ziti was well respected, but had refused the mantle of command, leaving it to someone young enough to fulfill Allah’s will. Instead, he was the bomb maker, with several missing digits to prove it.
“They have something of ours. In fact, we know they have many things that belong to us.”
“You mean relics?”
Hassan jumped to his feet. “Exactly! They have looted our mosques, looted the homes of our leaders, and kept these priceless treasures within the walls of their city, within their blasphemous ‘Secret Archives’.” His fist pounded an old wardrobe that had seen much better days. This elicited a pounding from upstairs, the old lady who was his landlord never pleased when she could hear a peep from her tenants. He lowered his voice, looking back at the group. “It is time we took something of theirs.”
There were nods from the group. Rahim spoke first. “Just what did you have in mind?”
Hassan smiled, returning to his seat, lowering his voice even further. “Something they would never expect, and something that would cause them to hand over everything we ask for, without hesitation.”
They’d hand over the Pope himself if we asked it.
Sapienza University, Rome, Italy
Acton gripped the hermetically sealed case containing the parchment in his hand, the other holding Laura’s. They stood in a doorway, shielded from view from the hordes on the streets, who for the moment seemed much more peaceful than those at the Vatican. They both had watched in horror on television as the crowd surged through the gates, and feared the worst.
But fortunately the crowd had stopped, and the news channels were attributing it to one man, an Imam, who had brought a megaphone, and had beseeched the crowd to calm itself, then had begun the chant now echoing from the crowd here as well.
“Give us what is ours.”
The chorus of hundreds from the street sent chills racing down Acton’s spine, as he recalled his recent experience in Saudi Arabia.
“We have to get out of here, now.”
Laura pointed over a nearby rooftop. “Look!”
Acton followed where she was pointing and felt the tightness in his chest ease slightly.
A helicopter.
Usually they sent his heart racing, but in this case, it was slightly calming. As the chopper approached, the Vatican markings became visible, and he took Laura by the hand, stepping out onto the lawn. As its intentions became clear, the few students who were still venturing outside scattered, leaving the lawn empty save Acton and Laura, who sprinted for the chopper as it landed.
Two Swiss Guards, dressed in their blue regular duty uniforms to probably draw less attention, jumped out, urging the professors forward. A scream rang out to Acton’s left. He looked over his shoulder and saw the front gate collapse, the crowd rushing over it, two police officers trapped underneath the wrought iron.
It was hopeless. The few dozen officers present tried to stop the crowd, finally giving up, instead
But today, played out across one of the few infidel comforts he permitted himself, a television, was an opportunity that would wake this scorpion amongst their midst.
It was time to take action themselves, rather than wait for their masters hiding in Pakistan.
Rahim Ali leaned forward. He was the youngest, and most eager of the group, and also the most impulsive. Hassan constantly had to keep him on a tight leash, his mouth far too often flapping in public. “We have weapons, explosives. Why not just go in, kill every infidel in sight, and blow up the basilica?”
Hassan nodded. “Yes, we could do that, and I think we should do something similar. Ridding the world of that blasphemous example of idolatry would certainly please Allah, but I’m thinking bigger.”
“What is it, Hassan?”
Hassan smiled at Mahmoud Ziti, his trusted second. At least thirty years older, Ziti was well respected, but had refused the mantle of command, leaving it to someone young enough to fulfill Allah’s will. Instead, he was the bomb maker, with several missing digits to prove it.
“They have something of ours. In fact, we know they have many things that belong to us.”
“You mean relics?”
Hassan jumped to his feet. “Exactly! They have looted our mosques, looted the homes of our leaders, and kept these priceless treasures within the walls of their city, within their blasphemous ‘Secret Archives’.” His fist pounded an old wardrobe that had seen much better days. This elicited a pounding from upstairs, the old lady who was his landlord never pleased when she could hear a peep from her tenants. He lowered his voice, looking back at the group. “It is time we took something of theirs.”
There were nods from the group. Rahim spoke first. “Just what did you have in mind?”
Hassan smiled, returning to his seat, lowering his voice even further. “Something they would never expect, and something that would cause them to hand over everything we ask for, without hesitation.”
They’d hand over the Pope himself if we asked it.
Sapienza University, Rome, Italy
Acton gripped the hermetically sealed case containing the parchment in his hand, the other holding Laura’s. They stood in a doorway, shielded from view from the hordes on the streets, who for the moment seemed much more peaceful than those at the Vatican. They both had watched in horror on television as the crowd surged through the gates, and feared the worst.
But fortunately the crowd had stopped, and the news channels were attributing it to one man, an Imam, who had brought a megaphone, and had beseeched the crowd to calm itself, then had begun the chant now echoing from the crowd here as well.
“Give us what is ours.”
The chorus of hundreds from the street sent chills racing down Acton’s spine, as he recalled his recent experience in Saudi Arabia.
“We have to get out of here, now.”
Laura pointed over a nearby rooftop. “Look!”
Acton followed where she was pointing and felt the tightness in his chest ease slightly.
A helicopter.
Usually they sent his heart racing, but in this case, it was slightly calming. As the chopper approached, the Vatican markings became visible, and he took Laura by the hand, stepping out onto the lawn. As its intentions became clear, the few students who were still venturing outside scattered, leaving the lawn empty save Acton and Laura, who sprinted for the chopper as it landed.
Two Swiss Guards, dressed in their blue regular duty uniforms to probably draw less attention, jumped out, urging the professors forward. A scream rang out to Acton’s left. He looked over his shoulder and saw the front gate collapse, the crowd rushing over it, two police officers trapped underneath the wrought iron.
It was hopeless. The few dozen officers present tried to stop the crowd, finally giving up, instead
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