Blood Relics (A James Acton Thriller, #12) Read Free Page B

the now unlocked chamber.
    “No!
Please! You can’t do this! These relics are precious, priceless!” He raised his
flashlight, shining it not at the man now trying to blind him, but inside the
chamber.
    And to
his dismay he saw someone lifting the Shroud from its protective case.
    “That
contains the blood of Christ himself! You cannot take it, you mustn’t take it!”
    “Don’t
worry, Father. We’ll take good care of it.”
    The man
spoke passable Spanish but with a slight accent that made him think he might be
German.
    These
weren’t teenagers out to have some fun at his expense.
    “Who are
you?”
    “Nobody
you need concern yourself with.”
    Fear and
rage gripped him and he charged toward the man, a foolish act he knew, but the
only one he could think to do.
    A muzzle
flashed in front of him and he felt a searing pain in his chest as he dropped
to his knees, his advance stopped. Tipping over to his side, his flashlight
rolled away from his outstretched hand, its beam revealing two men gently
placing the shroud in some sort of case, a curious fog or haze roiling from the
top of it. One of the men closed it, the case snapping shut with a hiss, giving
him some small comfort that their intentions appeared not to be vandalism, but
theft.
    And as
he felt the life blood flow from him, he began to pray to his Lord and Savior
for forgiveness in failing to protect the holy relic that contained His healing
blood.
    Footsteps
approached him, somebody kneeling at his side, shining a flashlight in his face
then down at his chest where he had been shot. He could see the man’s
silhouette as he rose, a cellphone to his ear.
    “Yes, we’ve
retrieved the relic. Unfortunately the priest interfered.” There was a pause,
the sound of someone yelling on the other end. “I’m sorry, but he charged
me…no, I don’t think he can be saved…very well, father.”
    The
phone snapped shut and the man placed a hand on Father Rodriguez’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Father. You were never meant to be harmed.”
    “Wh-why?”
    “Why are
we taking the Shroud? Because some men are not so prepared to die as you are,
Father.”
    He felt
a pat on his shoulder then the fading sounds of boots on the stone floor, a
floor that felt colder by the second as he grew weaker and weaker.
    Then a
smile spread across his face as he closed his eyes.
    I’ll
see you soon, Mama and Papa.
     
     
     
     

 
     

     
     
    Golgatha, Judea
April 7 th , 30 AD
The sixth hour
     
    “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”
    Longinus’
jaw almost dropped as he realized who this man was, this man whose voice
resonated with a timbre that at once suggested wisdom and love with inner
strength and courage despite the surety he was soon to die.
    Father.
    This was
the man he had heard about, the rabbi who claimed to be the son of the Jewish
God. He himself didn’t believe in their god, the entire notion of only a single
deity ridiculous. Any reasonably educated person knew there were gods for every
aspect of human life, from war to love, that could be called upon in time of
need, each focused on their one duty to the exclusion of all others.
    How
could a single God have the time to deal with all of man’s problems?
    But this
man here, this man who made the ridiculous claim he was the son of a god, was
clearly mad. To not only claim he was the son of a god, and therefore by
extension a god himself, was insane. But to do so here of all places, on
this day of all days had to be the very definition of lunacy. Today was
Passover, from his limited understanding of Judaism the biggest religious
holiday of the year. To come to Jerusalem during the Passover with apparently hundreds
if not thousands of followers was insane, especially allowing himself to be greeted
like a king upon arrival with people throwing their garments on the ground for
him to walk on.
    It
was suicide!
    And he
had arrived on a donkey.
    The
very idea of a king riding a