Read Online The Blood Lance by Craig Smith - Free Book Online

dead when struck by the spear, wasn't going to bleed like that - and bad art certainly, but what struck him was the notion of the blood itself. The medieval mind had believed in its power beyond all else. It was the blood staining the spear, the Chalice, the thorns, and the Cross, that made those relics the most prized possessions of the faith. It was not the same as the 'blood' of the Eucharist either. Not for those folks. For even the hint of a stain of the Saviour's blood they had been known to trade away whole kingdoms.
    'You're talking about Jack Farrell?' he said with a touch of well-rehearsed surprise.
    Jane stood slightly behind him now, just off to his side as if she too wanted to examine the arc of blood from the hanging corpse to the cup. 'This was supposed to be a quiet operation, T. K.'
    'What can I say? I didn't think he would run.'
    'It wasn't the running that got the media's attention. It was stealing half-a-billion dollars before he took off.'
    'Taking his secretary along didn't help.'
    'The secretary was a nice touch — from the media's standpoint.' Jane sounded tired, frustrated and justifiably pissed off.
    Jack Farrell might have caused the problem, but she was blaming Malloy.
    She walked toward another painting whilst Malloy continued to stand before Longinus and his spear. The Holy Lance, if one thought about it, was a curiously ambivalent symbol. Normally an instrument of violent death, its use on a living man being crucified would have been an act of mercy. Understandably, it was the most popular relic of Medieval Europe - a weapon everyone knew and understood. By modern times, the popularity had grown into the notion that whoever possessed the True Lance held in his hand the destiny of the world. Hitler had apparently been fascinated by this notion and had brought what he thought was the True Lance out of Austria once he had subjugated that country in 1938. He had kept the relic in the cathedral of Nuremberg to the end of the war, according to some, the supreme treasure of the Third Reich.
    'You told me you could make Farrell an asset.'
    Malloy resisted confessing he was wrong. Confessions, even genuine ones, only antagonised Jane. She had disliked the idea of recruiting Jack Farrell from the beginning. As far as she could see, Farrell was too big, too public. Besides if he was really connected to European crime families she ought to put someone else on it. Malloy was more valuable to her working black ops. The truth was Malloy had wanted Jack Farrell for his own reasons and so had claimed, without offering proof, that he was the only person capable of turning the man.
    Jane had got to be an old woman by trusting no one - especially her best operatives. 'There's something you are not telling me,' she had answered. As usual there was a great deal he was not telling her, but what Malloy had said to her was this: 'If we go after Jack Farrell, I think we could end up inside the largest crime families in Europe.' That got Jane's attention. Was Farrell really so dirty? Malloy had lied to her with utter conviction: he was sure of it.
    Jane had people on the ground in most of the major European cities. She knew the key families and the politicians who protected them. She had a reasonable idea of the nature of their activities and a good estimate of the kind of money involved. What could Jack Farrell give her beyond that?
    'With Jack Farrell,' Malloy told her, 'I'll have the bank account numbers of the bosses.' This had led to a series of questions. How had he settled on Jack Farrell? Interesting fellow. Jane had laughed at him. That was no answer. What did he like about Farrell? His old friends - the ones he avoided these days. Anyone she knew? Malloy dropped a few names. The more pertinent question was how much Jack Farrell really knew. Did Malloy have any idea what his role was inside the various syndicates? What did he do? What did he know? What piece of information was going to take them inside? How did