James Acton 03 - Broken Dove (25 page)

Giasson stepped forward. “Professor Palmer is correct, Colonel. If we don’t let them know, then they can just kill them out of hand, and be answerable to no one. If we let them know that we know, the Iranians wouldn’t dare kill His Holiness and his companions.”

“I’ll make some calls,” said Babcock. “This is in the hands of the diplomats now.”

“God help them,” muttered Reading.

Giasson looked at him. “Indeed.”

Reading wasn’t sure if the sarcasm had been caught.

15 Miles Outside the Green Zone

Iran

Tino yanked at the handle, then pushed against the door. It opened slightly. He pushed against it again, and it gave a little more, but he appeared exhausted from the effort. Acton was content to let him continue, to weaken himself further, but there was one thing foremost in his mind.

Who had the rescuers been fighting?

The rescue had clearly been fast, and under fire. This meant they weren’t in Italy anymore.
But where?
Being the Mediterranean, there were far too many possibilities to narrow it down without at least seeing their surroundings. But first they needed to get out of here, and away from whoever was trying to prevent their rescue only minutes before.

“Let me.”

Tino looked at Acton and nodded, stepping back and aiming his weapon at Acton’s chest.

“How about you point that thing somewhere else so you don’t accidentally shoot me?”

Tino just flicked the weapon at Acton, urging him on.

Has he even said a word since he got in here?

Acton shoved against the door, wedging a foot between the frame and the door, then sliding his back against the opening, he managed to get a shoulder in. Shoving with his back, shoulder and hands, he made enough room to squeeze his entire body through and clear. The pressure on his chest relieved, he stood, hands on his knees, gasping for breath. A few lungfuls of air and he stood up, examining his surroundings. They were still in the cargo hold, but the right side of the plane was missing, exposing the hold to the outside. Sunlight poured in through the opening, revealing what had been blocking the door—a chunk of the wing, or some part of the fuselage, was wedged between the two containers.

There was a tapping sound.

Acton looked and saw Tino’s gun pointing through the hole.

“Yeah, yeah, I didn’t forget you, I was just catching my breath.”

He grabbed hold of the piece of wreckage, and pulled. It gave a little, and with some effort, he was able to haul it the several feet necessary to clear the door. His companion squeezed through, then motioned for Acton to move to the next container. They both navigated down the narrow walkway to the next container. There they found it tipped against the one in front.

Tino knocked three times.

Someone inside knocked three times back.

“Get us the bloody hell out of here!”

Acton smiled as he recognized Chaney’s voice.
He’s alive, and he sounds strong.

“Give me a minute, I’ve got to tip your container back in position. Go to the far end, your weight will help.”

Acton and Tino each took up position on either side of the container, shoving with their hands and shoulders. The crate rose several inches, but fell back when Tino let go, exhausted.

“Give us a minute. I’m going to try and open the other container and get help!”

“Okay!” yelled Chaney.

Acton stepped over Tino, who waved the gun weakly at him, his wrist limp from exhaustion. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere without my friend.”

Again the man said nothing.

“You must be a hit on the party circuit.”

The man’s eyebrows narrowed.

Doesn’t get it.

Acton rounded the final container and smiled, finding His Holiness standing silently, praying, without a mark on him from all outward appearances. His captor, a young man Acton had only caught a glimpse of exiting the bathroom earlier, sat, exhausted, his head between his knees, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.

“I need a hand opening the other container.”

The man raised a finger, bidding Acton to wait. “We ran out of oxygen in the last ten minutes. Give me a minute.”

“Okay, but I wouldn’t take too long. Whoever the rescue team was fighting will be here any minute.”

The man nodded and pushed himself to his feet, waving with his hand for Acton to lead the way.
At least that confirms one thing.
Whoever the rescuers had done battle with were not part of the kidnapping operation, otherwise this man wouldn’t have gotten up so quickly. Acton rounded the container, nodded to Tino, and all three of them positioned themselves.

“On three!” called Acton. “One, two, three!”

Acton shoved with his shoulder as hard as he could. He could hear grunts from the other two men as all three strained. The container tipped an inch, then two, and several more. Acton quickly repositioned himself lower for better leverage, and shoved with all his might. Then the load crested. Gravity took over and the container tipped the rest of the way by itself, smacking the metal of the cargo hold floor with a massive rattle that was sure to draw the attention of anyone within several hundred feet.

Acton grabbed the handle and pulled. The door swung open easily, and with the light from outside pouring in, he saw Chaney and his captor huddled against the back wall. Acton waved at Chaney, holding a hand out for him. “Let’s go. We’re about to have company, and I don’t think they’re friendly.”

Chaney nodded and stepped forward, taking Acton’s hand. His captor followed, and soon all six men were standing outside in the sun. Acton stretched every which way he could think of, trying to prevent any future knots that might slow him down. Now that the odds were greatly evened out, he had every intention of getting out of this alive, with his companions.

He scanned their surroundings. Farmland, dark soil, wheat, sun low in the east, still cool.

“Which direction were we heading when the cabin decompressed?”

He was answered with silence.

“Listen, if I can figure out where we are, then I can figure out where we need to go to be safe.”

“East-north-east.”

It was the Pontiff’s escort who answered.

“Thank you. And you are?”

“Nazario.”

“Are you in charge?”

He nodded.

“Okay, judging from the position of the sun, the time of day, and the landscape, I’d say we’re in North Western Iran or Northern Syria.”

“And how did you reach such a conclusion?”

“We headed east-north-east from Rome. Along that flight path, we would have Italy, Greece and Turkey. None of those countries would fire on a rescue mission. Which leaves Iraq, which wouldn’t fire either, or Syria and Iran, neither of which we want to be in right now.” Acton turned to Nazario. “You’re Catholic.”

The man nodded.

“Then I don’t think you or your companions want to be caught here either.”

The man nodded again.

“Stellar conversation, Nazario.” Acton looked and pointed to the north. “Looks like some military units took a beating in that direction. We need to head north-west if we hope to reach Turkey. And that’s without knowing how far into either country we may be.” He looked again at the horizon then stepped over to Nazario. “Look,” he said, pointing.

“At what?”

“It looks like an abandoned Jeep. Let me go check it out.”

Nazario shook his head.

Acton put his hands on his hips. “Listen, I told you, I’m not going anywhere without my friends. And there’s no way in he”—he stopped himself—“in
heck
, I’m going to leave them in the hands of the Iranians or Syrians. So let me go see if that Jeep is running, and get us out of here before more arrive.”

Nazario had cracked a slight smile at Acton’s near slip, and subsequent correction, to his language. He looked about then nodded. “Federico, go with him.”

The young one from the bathroom nodded, and trotted a few paces behind Acton as they raced across the field and to the ridge several hundred yards away. As they crested the ridge, Acton dropped to his stomach and surveyed the landscape. Several vehicles had been destroyed, the remains still smoldering. Bodies were scattered about, some moaning in pain.

Something flashed on the horizon.

“Did you see that?”

Federico shook his head. “No.”

“I saw something flash, like binoculars or something. Reinforcements are on the way.”

Acton crawled over to the vehicle he had spotted, and climbed in the vacant driver’s seat. He turned the keys and the engine roared to life. He put it in gear and drove it down the hill slightly, so it would be out of view from anyone in the distance.

“Get in!” he yelled to Federico.

Federico rounded the vehicle, opened the door and grabbed the shirt of the dead passenger.

“Wait!” Acton grabbed the collar.

“Revolutionary Guards.” He let go and nodded. Federico tossed the body to the ground and climbed in.

“What does that mean?”

“We’re in Iran.”

5 Miles Outside the Green Zone

Iran

The engine sputtered. And not for the first time. Acton pumped on the gas, but it was no use. Another sputter, and it died.

They were out of gas.

“That’s it, folks. From here on out we walk.”

They had managed to get about an hour out of the vehicle, which was better than nothing. The roads had been rough and winding, and they hadn’t made good progress. Perhaps ten miles as the crow flies. The midday sun was high in the sky, blazing down on them. Fortunately the vehicle was well provisioned. They had plenty of bottled water, enough food for several days, and with the exception of Tino, were in good health.

Acton glanced at the Pontiff.
He’s old, and will definitely be slow.
He looked at Chaney who nodded, and helped the old man out of the jeep. Acton glanced at the sun, then his watch. He pointed ahead of them. “We need to go in this direction. It’s the only way we can be certain to hit Turkey.” He looked behind them. There was no evidence of pursuit, but there would be no hiding that a vehicle had driven down to the wreckage and away.

They’ll be coming.

“We’ll need to keep off the roads as much as possible. We’ll have company probably within the hour.”

Nazario nodded, and they headed out, Acton in the lead with Nazario, Chaney helping the Pontiff, with Federico and Tino bringing up the rear. They walked in silence for about twenty minutes before Acton finally decided he had to speak.

“Why don’t you tell me what this is all about?”

Nazario said nothing.

“Okay, I’ll start.” Acton stepped around a large rock, and pushed on one knee as he climbed up a steep berm. “You are a member of the Keepers of the One Truth. There’s only one other place I’ve heard that term, One Truth before. Unos Veritas?”

Nazario’s head spun toward him. “What do you know of it?”

“Perhaps more than you.”

Nazario turned back to watching the ground ahead of him. “If you do, that may not be good for you.”

“Why?”

“How is it you Americans say, ‘Curiosity killed the cat’?”

“It’s my nature to be curious. I’m an archaeologist.”

Nazario nodded. “I respect archaeologists. They seek the truth as well.”

“Yes we do.”
Finally, he’s talking!
“And what truth is it that you seek?”

“None. I already know the truth.”

“And what’s that?”

“It is that written by other’s hands, in the name of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. It is the truth contained in the Gospels.”

Acton decided to play it careful, not wanting to offend the man, and potentially silence him. “A noble truth.”

Nazario nodded, his lips pursed as if satisfied with Acton’s evaluation. “Indeed.”

Acton smiled slightly at the word, one he heard often from his friend Reading. “What do you make of the Order of the Blessed Virgin?”

Nazario snorted. “Those fools? They are truly dangerous, but they know not why.”

“What do you mean?”

“They believe there is a fifth gospel, written by the Christ mother herself, in her own hand, no less!”

“And you don’t believe them?”

“Oh, I know it exists, our ancestors liberated it from the Order over fifteen hundred years ago, and protected it until the Vault was established.”

“You established the Vault?”

“Of course. The Vault of Secrets was built by us over a period of two hundred years, secretly, under the very church we protect to this day.”

“And this was built without anyone’s knowledge?”

“People knew, but no one knew the purpose, then with time, no one remembered. Everyone was simply told they were building an extension to the Secret Archives, and when finished, tradesmen go about their normal lives, thinking they expanded the Popes Archives in service to their Lord, and die never knowing the secret. Within the Church, it was never spoken of, and over centuries, was forgotten to all but the few who needed to know.”

“The Popes.”

“And a few of us who work from within, to make sure the Unos Veritas Chest is delivered to His Holiness on the night of his election.”

“And you have your own way into this vault?”

“As you witnessed.”

Acton looked at him, his eyebrows lowered.

“Sorry, I forgot you were out cold.” The man chuckled. “Yes, we have our own means of entering and exiting unnoticed, and we have monitored the Vault for over one thousand years, making certain its secrets remained undisturbed.”

“But why? Surely much of what’s in there can be exposed as superstition today!”

“What you consider superstition, others may consider evil.”

Evil.

Just the word sent a shiver down his spine, and a cold sweat formed on his forehead as he thought of what he had read earlier.

“I see you have faced evil.”

Acton looked at Nazario who was staring at him.

Nazario stopped. “Indeed you have. You have looked upon the face of evil, and it has marked you.” Nazario resumed walking. “Do you not see why we must never let that which has been locked away out? Even you, a highly educated man, a man who most likely doesn’t even consider himself religious, has been shaken to your very core knowing what is in the Vault.”