Acton glanced at Laura, they both sensing the pain their friend was in. He could only imagine how he would feel if his best friend, Gregory Milton, were to disappear without a trace, but not before telling the university he’d be leaving.
It meant Chaney had disappeared of his own free will. It may have been self-preservation, yet if he had time to submit the paperwork to leave his job temporarily, surely he could have called his supposed best friend.
“Well, you saw him today, and I don’t believe in coincidences, so I think that means he wants to see you.”
“I think you’re right. He looked directly at me, so he knew I was there.”
“Are you going to keep looking for him?”
“Absolutely. If he’s in trouble, he needs my help.”
Laura pursed her lips, then spoke. “Maybe you need to talk to the Triarii directly.”
“That’s exactly where I’m heading now.”
Hope Trailer Park, New Mexico
Leroy flipped the black-tailed jackrabbit on the grill, the aroma filling his nostrils, causing his eyes to close so he could focus his ecstasy on the one sense. The secret was the marinade, a combination of herbs, spices, oils, and a hint of lighter fluid he and his wife had come up with over years of experimentation. There was nothing that could blacken a piece of meat faster than a combustible liquid. Sure, the government bureaucrats and their Bilderberg masters said it was dangerous, but he didn’t believe a thing they said.
If the government says something is bad, then they don’t want you to know how good it actually is.
He avoided all modern medicines and genetically modified foods, and that included pretty much anything in the meat department. He trapped and hunted his own food, had been for years, and he was as healthy as they come, not that he’d trust a doctor to confirm his assertion.
Fit as a fiddle, his wife would say. He was in good shape, could see for miles, and his hearing was fantastic.
He opened his eyes, the sound of a vehicle approaching pushing his enjoyment of his dinner to the side. Peering at the dark SUV, too fine a vehicle for anyone living in these parts, he immediately became suspicious. He flicked aside a latch on the barbeque platform, positioning his foot for what might be about to happen, thankful his wife was visiting friends down the dusty dirt road.
I’m ready for you bastards.
The government had finally come, tired of him challenging their lies on the Internet, calling them out on their deception of the American people.
But he was prepared.
Four men stepped out, weapons raised.
He pressed his foot down.
The barbeque slid forward, its solid metal front easily absorbing the bullets fired at him. He jumped down the escape hatch hidden under the barbeque, hitting the ground, pulling on a lever that reset the entire contraption built years ago. Unless those government agents could figure out how to work it, he was safe.
He sprinted down the tunnel, it extending for several hundred feet, taking him deeper into his property and farther from the road. Yanking on another lever, he was suddenly flooded with light. He climbed up through the hood of a Jaguar he had discovered abandoned roadside a few years ago, several gunshot blasts to the engine telling him the pissed off Texan who had owned it had learned the hard way you don’t travel long distances in one of these.
He stepped out onto the ground, the destroyed engine long since removed, then gently closed the hood, the gunfire having ceased. Peering out from behind the large rock concealing the Jag from the roadway, he spotted the four men leaving his trailer, the SUV soon departing in a cloud of dust.
He waited for them to disappear then sprinted back to his home, rushing inside. He glanced about, nothing out of place, but he knew what they had come for. He threw open the door to his small office and punched the wall, his safe open, his most prized possession gone.
“Bastards!”
Golgotha, Judea
36 AD, 6 years after the crucifixion
Prefect Pontius Pilate sat at his desk, his wife behind him, massaging his shoulders, she sensing his tension. He had been recalled to Rome, they not happy with how he had dealt with the Samaritan uprising. He had tried his best, of that he was certain, yet his best hadn’t been enough.
But that couldn’t be the reason.
He was good at his job, he was more than capable, yet everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.
And he couldn’t understand it. He was certain he had somehow annoyed the gods, they having forsaken him years ago. His wife was convinced it was because he had allowed the crucifixion of the Jewish Rabi, Jesus. He had to admit the thought had crossed his mind. Over the years, story had become legend had become myth, many of his subjects convinced the man had been reborn, resurrected from the dead, even some of his own troops having deserted, they yet to be found.
These followers of Jesus were becoming a bigger problem every day.
But it was no longer his problem.
Junius entered the office then froze. “Oh, I’m sorry for interrupting, I didn’t realize—”
“It’s okay, Junius, I was just leaving,” said Pilate’s wife, a wife he realized more now than ever, he loved, she having stood by his side, unwavering all these years. She would never let him know how much she had hated it here in this desolate, remote land, so far from the Rome she loved.
She was a good wife.
And he was certain she now worshipped this man Jesus.
He watched her leave then turned his attention to Junius, a loyal aide if there ever was one. He was going to miss him, his successor Marcellus having requested he remain for continuity.
“Prefect, I was wondering what you wanted to do with this?”
Junius held up the sculpture found so many years ago and Pilate felt a shiver radiate up his spine and outward.
Then his jaw threatened to drop.
He pointed at the eyes staring back at him. “That is the cause of all our problems.”
Junius’ eyes narrowed, puzzled. “Prefect?”
“From the day that damned thing graced these walls, things have gone badly for us. Get that thing out of my sight!”
“So you’re not taking it with you?”
“Absolutely not! Let my replacement deal with the evil that this thing brings. I for one will be happy when it is in my past and forgotten to time.” He sighed, giving the sculpture one last look. “I swear it is staring into my soul, judging me in some way I cannot understand, to some measure no man could possibly meet.” He flicked his wrist, dismissing Junius. “Do with it as you please, but make certain it never reaches Rome.”
Grunewald, Berlin, Germany
Present Day
Martin Chaney sat in a rather comfortable, high back chair, the sumptuous leather, generously padded, wrapping itself around him. He closed his eyes, it the first chance he had had all day to relax.
“So what happened?”
He opened his eyes, his joy killed by their Berlin contact, Dietrich, as he entered the room, two tall glasses of beer in hand. He passed one to Chaney.
“Thanks.” He took a long drag, savoring the brew, Germans having mastered the formula centuries ago. He rested the glass on the arm of the chair. “There was a second tail that I missed.”
“Who?”
“Rodney Underwood.”
“Sheisse.” Dietrich raised his glass slightly. “You are lucky. I have heard he has become what you Brits might call a nutter.”
Chaney nodded, a frown creasing his face. He knew Rodney, had known him for years. He was a good man and good friend, and to have him as an adversary was heart wrenching.
But that’s what happens in a civil war.
Friend against friend.
Brother against brother.
And he considered Rodney both.
The rift that had existed in the Triarii for eight hundred years was finally coming to a head, and there could be only one winner. In the end, either the crystal skulls they had been
entrusted with to protect would be united, or they would remain separated, the fear of what might happen if they were brought together dividing the ancient organization since the disaster in London in 1212, the Great Fire levelling much of the city, three united skulls sitting in the epicenter, unscathed.
“It’s too bad, he’s a good man, but now that they’ve seen me, they know I’m trying to make contact with Hugh, so they’ll keep an extremely close eye on him from now on.”
“You knew that could happen.”
Chaney nodded, taking another drink. “I know, you plan for every contingency, but you don’t necessarily expect it to actually happen. I never would have guessed that they’d have two men on him. We thought their resources were spread pretty thin what with their funding problems.”
Dietrich grunted. “Each side still has a lot of money.” He sighed then drained his glass. “And when you think about it, how many people are they actually watching? You didn’t—don’t—have a lot of friends outside of the organization.”
Chaney pursed his lips, doing a quick mental tally of the people he’d consider friends outside of the Triarii, and he had to admit it was a pretty thin list. There were many at the Yard that he thought of as work friends, though other than Reading, rarely spent time with them outside of special occasions.
And then there were the professors.
“So what are you going to do now?” asked Dietrich, eyeing his empty glass, it apparently looking like another.
“There’s one more attempt we can make.”
Dietrich’s eyebrows rose. “Who?”
“The only other two friends I can think of.” He leaned forward, putting his glass aside. “But now that they know I’m trying to make contact, they’ll have increased their surveillance of them, I’m sure.”
Banks of the Seine, Paris, France
Henri smiled. It was a perfect day, the sun gently kissing his skin, a nice breeze taking the edge off, the beautiful city he loved going about its business, as if in defiance of the tragedy that had occurred only weeks ago.
Love must go on.
He gazed at the beautiful creature sitting next to him on the bench, the walkway along the bank of the Seine filled with young lovers. He didn’t know her well yet, in fact, didn’t even know her name yet, the darling not having succumbed to his charms.
But she would.
They always did.
His problem was sealing the deal, something always seeming to get in the way, not the least of which was his thin wallet.
A life devoted to the Triarii didn’t pay well, not in his position as a janitor at the Museé du Quay Branly. Some of his fellow Triarii held government or corporate positions, though he wasn’t so lucky. He didn’t mind. The Triarii did provide for him, extra funding so that he could live a decent lifestyle, though it was still modest, especially since he had to maintain his cover. A janitor pulling up in a Mercedes at work would appear suspicious, as would inviting friends for dinner to find he lived in a luxury apartment.
No, he reserved his extra money for small indulgences. A better bottle of wine, a finer cut of meat, a more expensive block of cheese.
Indulgences easily hidden from those around him.
He lived well, and he loved the life chosen for him, a life where he served the Triarii, his assignment a high honor.
Protecting one of the thirteen known skulls.
“Come on, ma chérie, at least tell me your name.”
She didn’t look up from her phone, a frown spread across her face. “Please, sir, leave me alone.”
“Sir? You make me sound like your father!”
This elicited a look. “You’re old enough to be him!”
That actually hurt, his chest tightening slightly, the beginning of a pit forming in his stomach. He caught his reflection in her sunglasses and nearly gasped.
You are old!
It was as if he were seeing it for the first time, he denying it all these years. He had crossed forty long ago, fifty was far too close. And no matter how much he wanted to deny it, he was lonely. He had chosen the life of a bachelor, it something many in his position did, not wanting to have to lie to a woman he loved about what he did, not wanting to try and explain why he refused promotions or continued to work in a low wage job at his age when he had a family to support.
The single life was easier.
Though it wasn’t better.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
He felt a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. He looked down at it, then back up at the young woman who had removed her glasses. He patted her hand then leaned back on the bench, stretching his arms out, tilting his head to absorb the sunlight. “It’s okay, my dear, you’re right. I’m an old, lonely man who has to grow up or he’ll be alone forever.”
She twisted toward him, hooking her leg up under her so she could face him. “Why don’t you find a nice woman, one closer to your age?”
His head lolled to the side and he smiled at her. “It’s complicated.”
She laughed. “That’s a choice on a social website.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “Are you gay? Perhaps you need—”
Henri’s eyes shot wide open and he sat upright, waving his hands at her. “No no no! I’m not gay, it’s just my job, that’s all.”
“Ahh, too busy to find a woman.”
“Something like that.”
He positioned himself to face her, smiling. “You know, I think you’re the first woman I’ve talked to in a long time. I mean, really talked to, without playing some game.”
“You mean, without trying to get me into bed.”
He grinned. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
She gave him another look. “Don’t ruin this, Henri.”
He laughed, patting her knee. “I like you. It’s too bad I didn’t meet you twenty years ago.”
“I’d have been four.”
“See, now I know how old you are!” He winked. “Just kidding.” He sighed. “Ugh, I just realized I’m twice your age.”
She smiled. “Don’t worry, you don’t look it.”
“I know, I know, I look older.” He did the quick mental math. Age divided by two, add seven.
I can’t date a woman under 31 without looking like a creep.
“Do you have any older friends? Say, thirties?”
“Yes, but none I’d set up with a perfect stranger who tried to pick me up on a park bench.”
His phone vibrated in his pocket. “I really like you,” he said, fishing out his phone. “You’re going to keep a good man on his toes, one day.”
She held up her left hand, a diamond solitaire now plainly visible. “Already done.”
“Oh mon dieu! I wish I had seen that.” He answered. “Oui?”
“Thirty-two. Sixteen. Oh Seven. Condition Omega.”
His eyes opened slightly wider. “Understood.” He hung up then took the young lady’s hand, giving it a gentle kiss. “I’m afraid I must go.”
“The job?”
He smiled as he stood. “Yes.”
“If you don’t want to be alone, Henri, then you should seriously reconsider your priorities.”
“Somethings are easier said than done.” He bowed slightly. “I enjoyed our conversation.”
“As did I.”
He briskly walked toward his car, a beat up two-stroke Citroën that impressed no woman, especially a class act like the young girl he had just met. He climbed in his car and headed for the museum, almost on autopilot as their conversation replayed itself in his mind. She was right. If he didn’t want to be alone, he’d have to reconsider his choices.
But leaving the Triarii wasn’t an option.
Was it?
It was definitely something he had never considered, so it was something he had never asked. Could he leave? Could he simply ask to retire? Surely they allowed that. It wasn’t as if the Triarii was some cult or gang you couldn’t leave, though he had never heard of anyone le
aving.
Except for those Deniers who had split away. And even they still believed in the doctrines they had grown up with, they simply wanted to reunite the skulls and tap their power. Even he had to admit he was curious about what would happen, but he knew his history, he knew what had happened in London and how it had changed their chosen path from one of finding and gathering the skulls together, to one of finding and keeping them separate.
Yet though he was curious, he would never betray the organization he had devoted his life to.
He arrived, waving to the guard in the booth, his face never leaving his paper. “Bonjour Jacques.”
“Bonjour Henri, you should get that engine checked, I think only one of those horses is running now.”
“I know, I know, but life on a janitor’s salary—”
“I left my sympathy in the same garbage can you tossed your last promotion offer in.” He flicked his paper, straightening out the pages. “Have a good day.”
“You too, mon ami.”
He headed straight for the storage room, bypassing his normal routine of changing into his official garb and sticking to his cleaning schedule.
This was a Condition Omega situation. He had never had one before, though he knew it meant the council thought the skull was in danger of being stolen. He swiped his pass, unlocking the storage room.
“Henri, is that you?”
He frowned, his partner, Stéphane, beating him there. “Oui. Is everything okay?” he asked, rounding the tall storage shelf of the row the skull was kept in. One look at Stéphane’s face and he knew the answer.
“Non.” Stéphane pointed at the empty box on the floor. “They beat us to it. We’re too late.”
Henri stared at the empty box, shaking his head.
“They didn’t even leave a fake.”
“These people don’t care about maintaining the secret. They only care about uniting the skulls.”
Henri sighed. “Okay, close it back up while I get the fake from the car. We don’t want anyone here knowing it’s missing. We still might be able to recover it.”
The Thirteenth Legion (A James Acton Thriller, #15) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 3