Saint Peter's Soldiers (A James Acton Thriller, Book #14) (38 page)

And
carnage always got retweeted.

The word
would be out, which meant the secret would be out.

Sort of.

Who
actually occupied the castle, and what they actually were doing there, nobody
would probably ever know.

But
everyone would know by the end of the day that the castle existed.

And it
had been blown up.

By six
red pulsing dots, racing along the side of the courtyard.

Hofmeister rushed over to the command car, the military commander of
the facility climbing in. Hofmeister tapped on the window and it rolled down.
Commandant Richter leaned toward the window, his expression one of stoic
resolve, a man resigned to the fact he would probably be executed before the
day’s end.

“Who is
responsible for this?”

Hofmeister
hesitated, though for only a moment. “Professor Acton is claiming
responsibility.”

“I want
him dead.”

Hofmeister
nodded. “I agree, but there are other considerations.”

“Such
as?”

“If this
one man can do this, rescue his parents and stop the kidnapping of his friends,
he is far more connected than we ever realized. Killing him may just make him a
martyr.”

Richter nodded
slowly, his gaze taking in the devastation around them. We’ll discuss this at
the rally point.” He glared at Hofmeister. “Untersturmführer.” He motioned to
the driver and the car peeled away, leaving Hofmeister to stand there as the
realization he had just been demoted set in.

He searched
for his assigned car and spotted it. Heading for the idling vehicle, he noticed
half a dozen men, all in black with bright white sneakers, heading deeper into
the courtyard, in the opposite direction of everyone else.

It
must be them!

Rage
filled his belly and he pulled his weapon.

Blending in wasn’t an option. Though they were mostly in black,
Dawson knew they would stand out like sore thumbs, and going one at a time
simply wasn’t an option—half the complex was about to collapse when the third
and final set of explosives took out most of where they were standing.

Gunshots
behind him, accompanied by shouting, had him lean into his sprint a little
harder, taking a beeline for a collapsed wall as bullets tore into the
cobblestone next to him.

He dove.

His knee
protested as he slammed into rubble on the other side, the rest of the team leaping
over, grunts from most of them, the stone unforgiving. Multiple weapons were
firing at them now, more shouts as their opposition grew. He popped up and
fired several rounds, quickly assessing the situation before dropping back
down.

“Dozen
hostiles, fifty yards out, no cover. How long before the next detonation?”

“Less
than sixty seconds,” replied Jagger.

“Are we
safe here?” asked Niner as he fired off several rounds, someone crying out in
pain.

Jagger
shrugged. “Hopefully.”

“You
should become a motivational speaker if you ever leave the army.” Niner emptied
his mag. “I know I feel a lot better now.”

“Glad I
could help. Thirty seconds.”

The
ground shook, a rumble coming from below them, Dawson immediately not liking
the feeling. “Oh shit!”

“Thirty
seconds my ass!” shouted Niner as they all jumped up, sprinting for the rear
entrance, the bullets no longer their concern.

Hofmeister marched forward, flanked by half a dozen guards on either
side, continually firing at the enemy position, paying no attention to the fact
his men were in the open being gun down.

So was
he.

And it
didn’t matter.

He would
be blamed.

He
wouldn’t see tomorrow.

And if
he was going to die, then so were those responsible.

Acton
had proven he was untouchable, he just hoped the executive realized that.
Mengele was a genius like his adoptive father, and he was certain he would.
Their adversary had played the game brilliantly. He had tricked them into
thinking he was an average professor, then proven himself anything but, his resources
beyond anything one could imagine.

Yet more
importantly, he had understood what was truly going on, and how to remove
himself from the game.

Remove
the leverage he had over them.

This
castle was lost. No member of the Congress would ever set foot inside again.
Their cause would go on, just in a different location, a location that had been
prepared decades ago, a location already staffed and ready to receive them in
just such an event.

By
tomorrow, the research would be underway again, and their mission would
continue, these events forgotten.

And
Professor James Acton would continue on with his life, he no longer knowing
where they were.

He no
longer a threat.

Well
played, Professor. Well, played.

The
ground shook beneath him and he stopped, the gunfire from both sides halting as
he tried to steady himself. Their enemy rose, turning tail and fleeing like the
cowards they were, but he had to wonder why.

They’re
in the blast radius!

He
turned to his left, sprinting toward the few remaining vehicles, his car still
waiting for him, no one daring take it. A shockwave rippled through the ground,
knocking him off his feet as all the cobblestones around him seemed to lift
several centimeters, as if a great stone had been dropped in a pond. He rolled
and gasped in horror as the entire residential block collapsed into the ground,
taking half the courtyard with it.

Including
his men.

Dawson took cover as Niner blasted the lock on the rear entrance,
Atlas pulling it open, Spock and Jimmy rushing through, weapons in front as
they made sure the other side was clear.

“Clear!”
echoed the two men and Dawson slapped Jagger on the back, the operator rushing
through after Atlas and Niner.

“Halt!”

Dawson
spun toward the sound, firing two quick shots then two more, two guards
dropping before they could get off a shot. They had appeared dazed, as if they
had been caught in the explosion and not expecting to find anyone, let alone
their enemy.

He kept
his weapon raised as he retreated backward, Niner with a hand on his back, guiding
his blind exit.

Through
the door, he swung it shut. The lock was blown but it would at least force
anyone to reveal they were coming should it open again. He glanced over his
shoulder and saw Spock blasting the padlock off the fence, throwing the gate
open.

“Okay,
let’s get out of here, dump everything.”

Sirens sounded
all around them as they sprinted along the path behind the castle, coming
around the bend that led down the southern side where they had made their
entrance. Dawson tossed his backpack, knife and other paraphernalia, leaving
his gun until last, just in case they ran into some hostiles.

He
motioned for Spock to take point as they reached the road that ran in front of
the castle, dozens of onlookers and emergency personnel swarming the area.

Spock
rushed up to the first police officer he saw and pointed at the castle,
shouting in perfect Italian. “Terrorists are attacking the castle!”

The
crowd panicked, turning en masse and running in the opposite direction, joined
by six Delta operators, making their clean escape.

Hofmeister hauled the driver out of his car, pointing at one of the
remaining transport trucks. “Go with them!” The man stood there for a moment,
bug-eyed, then sprinted toward the truck as it began to pull away. Hofmeister put
the car in gear and hammered on the gas, dashing ahead of the truck and racing
toward the main gates.

Clearing
the now unmanned gates, he barreled down the twisting road, coming out to the
municipal road where emergency vehicles were still arriving, the police
blocking traffic, giving the evacuees a clear path away from the chaos.

And
allowing them all to escape, unfettered.

Hofmeister
smiled slightly as he drove deeper into the town, heading for the highway that
would lead him out of the area and to his designated rendezvous point about
three hours away. Their cover had been perfect. Perfect for over seventy years,
it never occurring to the Italian authorities who actually lived there what
they were actually doing.

And when
they were done sifting through the debris, they’d know little more.

Little
paperwork was kept, and what was, had been destroyed. All their digital data
was wiped, their backups off site. Their equipment was legal and there would be
no indication of what had been going on there. Their experiments had been
sterilized with extreme heat, nothing but ashes left of anyone—or anything—the
outside world wasn’t prepared to hear about.

And as
for the trappings of Nazism, only two flags were present in the entire complex,
those at the head of the table the executive met around, along with a portrait
of Adolf Hitler.

And
those would have been taken the moment the alarm sounded.

No one
would ever know the storied seventy years of history that had occurred right
under their noses.

A
history about to end for him.

He
slowed, making the turn onto the winding mountain road that led to the highway.
When he reached the end, he could literally go left or right. Left would take
him toward his rendezvous, right to a new life, a life that he might be able to
enjoy for decades to come.

As a
traitor.

He took
a deep breath and shook his head.

No!
I’m a soldier of the Fourth Reich. If I must die as an example to others that
failure is not to be tolerated, then so be it!

He
closed his eyes for a brief second, gripping the steering wheel.

Then
I am to die.

“That’s him!”

Reading stared
at the laptop showing the images of the cars as they exited the castle, their
camera still snapping photos. Acton leapt to his feet as Reading enlarged the
photo, there no doubt that the man behind the wheel was the man from Rome.

Alive
and well, escaping justice.

Acton
grabbed the keys from the counter before Verde could stop him.

“We can’t
let him get away!” Acton rushed out the hotel room door and toward the
stairwell.

“James,
wait!”

He
glanced back to see Laura running after him, Reading and Verde behind her. She
wasn’t as quick on her feet as she used to be, and he wanted to slow down for
her, but there was no time.

“I’ll
meet you at the car!”

He
slammed through the doors to the stairwell and took the steps two at a time, bursting
through the doors and into the small lobby, shocked guests staring in his
direction. He pushed through the doors and out onto the street, pressing the
button on the fob, the Dacia’s lights flashing as the doors unlocked. Yanking
open the door, he jumped inside and fired up the engine, rolling the window
down, urging the others to hurry as they finally emerged from the hotel.

As they
piled into the car, he activated the built-in GPS, a map of the city appearing,
then floored it when the last door slammed shut. He turned left, there no
choice, the police funneling everyone in that direction, which meant the man
responsible for all this had the same lone option.

He
glanced at Reading.

“Where
would he be heading?”

Reading
looked at the GPS. “He’d be leaving town.” He scrolled the display and pointed.
“Keep going straight. I’ll tell you when to turn left. That road will take us
down to the highway. At that point we have no way of knowing where he went.”
Reading twisted in his seat, looking at Verde. “Can you see if your guys have
any eyes on him?”

Verde
nodded, immediately dialing, Acton laying on his horn as he blasted through the
quiet town, passing the few vehicles, everyone holding on for dear life as the
driving lessons Laura’s ex-SAS security team had taught him, paid off. Reading,
a seasoned veteran of the police force, was checking right, calling out when it
was clear and when it wasn’t, Acton paying attention to the left.

They
were making incredible time.

“Is that
him?” he asked, a car at the bottom of the hill they were on turning left.

Reading
nodded. “Same type of car, could be.”

Acton
hammered on the brakes, cranking the wheel hard, the traction control helping
him hold the turn as he steered them onto the same road as the man responsible
for so much misery over the past few days. He floored it, the car leaping
forward, quickly gaining on the obviously unsuspecting target when he saw the
man’s brake lights come on, speed quickly being trimmed.

He hit
his own brakes, not sure what was coming around the blind curve, and his jaw
dropped as he rounded it, pushing the brakes to the floor. Ahead, a row of men
on either side of the road, all in dark brown robes, hoods over their heads,
were firing on the car ahead of them.

“Jesus
Christ!” exclaimed Acton as they came to a halt only inches from the bumper of
the car they were pursuing. The car was stopped, all its tires flattened from
the bullets, its driver apparently unscathed, his arms raised.

Two of
the monks—for that’s what they appeared to Acton to be—rushed forward, one
smashing the driver side window then unlocking the door. They hauled the blonde
man out and onto the pavement, quickly disarming him. The remaining monks redeployed,
half moving farther down the road, half moving toward where Acton had just
come, bringing traffic to a halt in each direction, just out of sight of the
action.

One of
the two holding the blonde man motioned for Acton to get out of the car. Acton
nodded, opening his door.

“Are you
sure?” asked Laura, reaching forward and grabbing his shoulder.