Saint Peter's Soldiers (A James Acton Thriller, Book #14) by J Robert Kennedy Page B

Luzzatto.
    “Tell me
everything you know.”
    Beads of
sweat covered the man’s brow and he wiped them away with a handkerchief.
“A-about what?”
    “That
tattoo.”
    Luzzatto
looked about then lowered his voice. “When I first started on the force, oh,
almost twenty years ago, I worked on a case where we found the body of a man,
badly beaten. He had a tattoo exactly as she described on his chest.” He mapped
it out with his finger, the tattoo large, stretching from the top of the
ribcage to the solar plexus. “It was very detailed, very unusual, unlike
anything I had ever seen before.”
    Heidrich
sensed there was more, hesitation in the man’s voice. “And?”
    Luzzatto
looked about again. “Well, the next day the body was gone from the morgue and
the case reassigned. My notes were confiscated and my captain told me to never
mention the case again or I’d go to prison.”
    Heidrich’s
eyes narrowed. “That seems odd.”
    “I’ve
never encountered anything like it since.”
    “And
where was this body found?”
    “Outside
the walls of the Vatican.”
     
     

 
     

    OVRA Headquarters, Rome, Italy
July 7 th , 1941
     
    “He had help, sir.”
    “You are
certain?”
    Heidrich
nodded, the phone pressed against his ear. “Yes, sir. He was met in Rome by
three people, two dressed as Italian police, a third in civilian attire with a
Christian symbol tattooed on his chest.”
    “What
symbol?”
    “I’m
told it is the cross of Saint Peter.”
    “Upside
down with two keys?”
    Heidrich’s
eyes widened in surprise. “Why, yes. You’re familiar with it?”
    “Of
course I am. And you should be too. You’re seeking out religious artifacts,
familiarize yourself with the damned religions.”
    Heidrich
felt his balls shrink. “Yes, sir! We’re continuing to canvass the area, but I’m
not optimistic. They were disguised as police so most people look away.”
    “They
probably did that on purpose. But you assume they were disguised.”
    “Sir?”
    “What if
they actually were police? That is where I would start. And Sturmbannführer?”
    “Yes?”
    “Don’t
bother coming back to Berlin without it. The Führer wants that portrait.
Failure is not an option.”
    Every
muscle in Heidrich’s body momentarily contracted. “Yes, sir.”
    “Heil
Hitler!”
    “Heil
Hitler!”
    The call
ended and he hung up the receiver, noting his hand was trembling. Dr. Mengele
was the most terrifying man he had ever met, and he had met the Führer himself.
The Führer was a terrifying man to those who didn’t devote their lives to him,
and Heidrich had no doubt of his loyalty to the man. And it would never be the Führer
that would kill him should he fail. It would be someone like Mengele who would
be given the task.
    And that
was far more terrifying than the Führer’s bark.
    The
question he had to now face was how he was going to find a small self-portrait
hidden in a city of millions.
    By a
group of people who seemed well connected and well protected.
    I
guess we bring in the bakers.
     
    “That’s one of them.”
    Heidrich
peered at the photo the baker’s wife was pointing at. “Are you sure?”
    She
nodded. “Yes. He was the one in charge. He did all the talking, except for the
one who wasn’t police. Once the boy arrived, he did almost all the talking.”
    Heidrich
turned to his liaison officer, Captain Luzzatto. “I want his file and photos of
everyone he works with, now!”
    Luzzatto
nodded, taking the binder of police personnel files and leaving the room. Heidrich
turned to the woman and pointed at the stack of binders. “Keep looking,
there’re two of them.”
    She gave
him a glare that would have withered any other man, especially a husband, then
returned to flipping through the pages. He stepped outside and headed for the
office assigned to him while he was here. Sitting behind his desk, he propped
his feet up on the corner as his secretary brought in a cup of espresso. It was
a guilty pleasure he had