Stéphane agreed. “Okay.”
Henri left the room, his mind racing.
If the skull is gone, and I have nothing to protect, perhaps I can retire.
Domus Tiberiana, Rome
July 18, 64 AD
Junius bowed to his emperor, Nero, waiting for the all-powerful man to acknowledge him.
He didn’t, instead washing his hands in a bowl held by one of the many slaves, another then drying them. Nero finally turned to Junius, giving him a once over. He didn’t appear impressed. “You are the aide to Antonius Felix, Prefect of Judea?”
“Yes, sire, and I come with a gift for you.”
“What is it?”
“A curiosity, sire.” Junius rose slightly, still partially bowing, then snapped his fingers. Ananias appeared, the old man who had entered his office over thirty years ago slower now, though still far spryer than a man his age should be. On a cushioned tray in Tyrian purple, he carried the sculpture of a skull, carved from a single piece of quartz crystal.
He shivered, its eyes glaring at him as if angry to be in Rome.
Nero’s jaw dropped slightly, his eyes wide, a noticeable shiver rushing through his body as he stepped toward it, his hand outstretched. “I’ve seen nothing like it in all my years!”
Junius bowed again. “Nor have I. It was discovered at the site of the crucifixion of the man they called Jesus.”
“The leader of these damned Christians?”
“Yes, sire. When the ground shook as he died, a large stone rolled down the hill and split in two. This was apparently inside.” He motioned toward Ananias. “This man was there when it happened.”
Nero considered him. “You saw this happen?”
Ananias bowed. “Yes, sire.”
“What have you to say about it?”
“Only that it is a great honor to have this in one’s possession. It is from a time long ago.”
“And how do you know this?”
Ananias smiled, bowing deeper. “I am an old man.”
Nero frowned. “And rave like one, too.” He snapped his fingers, two of his slaves leaping forward. “Put it in my chambers. I will examine it later.”
The slaves bowed and took the skull from Ananias, he staring after it almost longingly. “Sire,” he said, “if it is your pleasure, I will remain here rather than return to Judea, should you have any questions regarding the skull.”
Nero, already returning to his chair, dismissed him with a flick of his wrist over his shoulder. “Fine.” He dropped into his chair, looking at Junius. “It is an odd thing, that.”
“It is indeed, sire. I find myself strangely drawn to it.”
Nero agreed, his eyes following the slaves as they left the room. “If our enemies could see that, they might just surrender without a fight.”
Junius smiled. “It is a terrifying spectacle.”
“It is indeed.” He waved them toward the door. “You are dismissed. Give my thanks to Antonius.”
“I shall, sire.”
Junius backed out of the room at a bow, Ananias doing the same. Out of sight, he turned, striding swiftly down the corridor, his heart heavy as if he were leaving behind a child. He looked at Ananias.
“I wasn’t expecting you to ask the emperor for permission to stay.”
Ananias smiled slightly. “My place is with the skull.”
Junius stopped, holding out an arm to halt the man who had become his friend over all these years. “There’s a secret you’ve been keeping from me, isn’t there?”
Ananias looked at him, his smile spreading slightly. “And it is a secret I will keep to my dying breath.”
Fleet Street, London, United Kingdom
Present Day
Hugh Reading walked up the steps to the massive wood doors of a building he had hoped never to enter again.
The Triarii Headquarters.
It was a well-kept secret, he one of the few people who knew where it was outside of the membership, and he had doubts about how many of them knew. The last time he had been taken here, it had been against his will, his longtime partner and friend, Martin Chaney, having shot him with a tranquilizer dart.
He had never completely forgiven him for that.
Yet now, here he was, about to willingly enter the lair of a cult he felt didn’t always have the best interest of those who were not members, at heart.
His eyes narrowed, a new sign on a brass plaque to the right of the door.
Social Interactions International Inc.
“What the bloody hell is that?” he muttered. It must be a new cover.
He tried the door, expecting it to be locked, but not wanting to appear the fool by knocking, just in case the cover was indeed a real business.
It opened.
Interesting.
He stepped inside and his jaw dropped at the difference. What had once been a plush, comfortable lobby, littered with old leather couches and rich wood highlights surrounding a marble floor, had been replaced with sleek modern furniture and dozens of suits crisscrossing the area and holding impromptu meetings.
It had all the appearance of an actual company.
Including the smiling receptionist who looked at him expectantly.
He walked up to her, pulling out his ID. “Agent Reading, Interpol.” He paused. “Umm, this is going to sound like an odd question, but is this the”—he lowered his voice to barely a whisper—“Triarii Headquarters?”
She looked at him with a dumb smile, as if humoring an old man. “Sorry sir, this is Social Interactions International. We develop consumer apps for the mobile market. Perhaps you’ve heard of one of our dating apps?” Her eyes widened. “You know, we’ve got an app just for seniors like yourself.”
Reading felt himself turn red. “Seniors? I’ll have you know, little lady, that I am not a senior.”
The young woman paled, clearly flustered. “Oh, sorry, sir, well, you just remind me of my granddad, I mean—”
“Before you taste-test your shoes any more, tell me how long you’ve been here?”
She sucked in a quick breath, apparently happy the subject had changed. “Next week we’re celebrating one year.”
Reading frowned. It fit in with the timeframe, it about the same time that Chaney had disappeared. If the entire Triarii went into hiding, then things must be far worse than any of them suspected. “Do you know where the previous tenants went?”
She shrugged. “No idea. To be perfectly honest, I’ve never heard anyone mention who they were. And oddly, no one ever comes here looking for them.” She shook her head. “Maybe that’s why they went out of business?”
Reading glanced at the elevators. “Do you occupy the entire building?”
“Yes, sir, all four floors.”
Reading’s eyes narrowed. “Four?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What about the lower levels?”
Her eyes popped slightly, the old-man-humoring smile returning. “There are no lower floors, sir.”
“Ahh, okay.” Reading bowed slightly. “Thank you for your time.”
She flashed a smile and gave him a wave as he turned around. If these people didn’t know about the lower levels, then there was a chance the Triarii were still here.
Or…
He turned around, returning to the desk.
“Yes, sir?”
“One more odd question.”
“What’s that?”
“Can I see your wrist?”
The Himalayas, Nepal
Chen knelt on the cool stone floor, surrounded by his fellow monks, the Buddhist temple at the top of the mountain the most peaceful place he could imagine in this world. In his youth, he had travelled for several years, to discover his true path, and to join the organization his mentor had, passing their rigorous training and taking the oath generations of monks in his order had.
The crystal skull kept at this holy place had been here for hundreds if not thousands of years, no one really knew.
&nb
sp; It had just always been.
The stories told by the elders were that a white man had come almost a century ago, excited to find it, then had asked for volunteers to teach him the history of the skull, and to share in the knowledge he himself possessed.
Their lama had apparently volunteered, returning two years later, making no mention of what he had learned or experienced, simply resuming his duties.
He had been but the first of this temple to join the order protecting a worldwide network of skulls.
The task to protect the skull had been passed down generation to generation, and it was now his turn, and eventually, it would be the youngsters in the rear of the room.
The doors behind them opened with a bang, cold wind sweeping inside causing the torches to flutter. He ignored it, it most likely ignorant tourists who had braved the long climb, thinking their unique effort afforded them uninterrupted attention.
Then the purposeful sound of boots marching on the stone echoed through the chamber and he turned to see who the new arrivals were.
He cursed.
Gunfire sprayed across the ceiling, disintegrating small chunks of the roofing in puffs of dust as someone yelled for everyone to remain where they were.
But he was already on his feet, sprinting toward the side chamber where the Crystal Oracle was held, and where he had spotted two of the attackers heading.
“You!”
He looked and saw a gun swing toward him. He dove, headfirst through the sliver of a doorway, tucking his head toward his chest and executing a perfect summersault, immediately leaping to his feet as the two men arrived through another entrance. His foot snapped out, catching the first one under the chin, lifting him from the ground and launching him into his partner.
Both fell in a heap. He immediately rushed forward, two quick jabs to the throat leaving both gasping for air, their windpipes crushed. Two more rushed inside, startled to find their partners down. Chen stepped forward, grabbing the first man’s AK-74 and pulling it toward him, the barrel aimed at the wall. Chen slammed his forehead into the man’s nose, the attacker crying out as the satisfying crack left no doubt as to the condition of his appendage. Chen spun the distracted man around, aiming the weapon at his partner and squeezed the trigger, several rounds spurting out the barrel and into the target’s stomach.
A fifth man, backed up by several more, strode confidently into the room, a Beretta raised and aimed at Chen. Chen spun the man with the broken nose, using him as a human shield as he backed away, toward the skull.
“You can’t win.”
Chen nodded at the three men on the floor. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
The leader smiled. “You need to be willing to do whatever it takes.”
He squeezed the trigger, killing his own man, the body slipping from Chen’s arms, leaving him exposed.
Then the gun belched lead again, a searing pain radiating from Chen’s chest, sending him stumbling back toward the Crystal Oracle that had been his responsibility for so many years, before collapsing to the floor.
The leader stood over him while the others took the skull, placing it carefully in a specially designed case.
They must be Deniers.
He stared up at the man who now towered over him, struggling for breath. “What do you intend to do?” he gasped.
“Discover the truth.”
Chen drew a final breath, shaking his head. “You mustn’t, it’s too danger…”
The world went black as the sounds of receding footfalls echoed in the small room, his last thoughts of how he had failed in his duty, and how his failure had put the entire world at risk.
Domus Tiberiana, Rome
July 19, 64 AD
Emperor Nero bolted upright in his bed, the voices quickly receding, now only a dull whisper as if he stood in the center of a large gathering, everyone else hugging the walls in polite conversation.
It was driving him mad.
“Are you okay, my love?”
He glanced over at the woman who had asked the question, searching for her name.
He came up empty.
Another rose to his right, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Can’t sleep, darling.” She gave him a devilish smile. “There’s a cure for that, you know.”
He lay back down and both women draped themselves over him.
But he wasn’t interested.
Something had woken him. He had been uneasy all evening and he hadn’t slept well. He had shown the girls a good time, he a talented lover if he did say so himself, it always a pleasant romp in the evenings when his wife was in Antium.
But tonight had been different.
What’s changed?
He ran through the day’s events, it one of constant meetings as they usually were, running an empire so large not at all the glamourous life he had dreamed.
Maybe I shouldn’t have killed mother.
At least she had done most of the mundane work, but he was pretty sure she had planned on killing him. To what purpose, he wasn’t sure. It was not as if she could become emperor, and any successor would have tossed her to the lions.
Perhaps she was as innocent as she claimed.
He did have to admit he felt some regret, he now realizing that everyone around him was plotting against him, though he had no evidence of it. Yet. As soon as he did, he would have them all staked to crosses as examples to anyone who thought they could defy him.
He was emperor.
Of Rome.
He was all-powerful.
A living god.
The voices laughed.
“Shut up!”
The cooing girls, one servicing him, unnoticed to this moment, halted their efforts.
“Do you wish us to leave?” asked the one who had been nibbling on his earlobe.
He shook his head, realizing he was feeling pretty good. “No, resume.”
And they did.
It was a good life.
“Fire!”
He ignored the voices.
“Fire!”
The girls didn’t.
“Don’t stop.”
“But, sire, there’s a fire!”
He sat up, realizing that it wasn’t the voices after all. Footfalls pounding toward the room had him swinging out of bed and throwing on a robe. His aide entered, breathless. “Sire, there’s a fire!”
Nero strode toward the windows, noticing the strange orange glow for the first time. “Where?”
“Everywhere!”
He reached the window and gasped. For as far as the eye could see the city burned, easily several districts engulfed in flames.
“What should we do?”
Nero leaned out, the air heavy with a smell he had always loved—burning wood. Cries in the distance told him his citizens were terrified, and that this was his opportunity to prove to any doubters, especially the voices, that he was the right man at the right time.
“Call up all fire brigades and the reserves. Evacuate all people at risk to the public buildings in safe districts and send for additional food and water. We can’t risk the people starving should the food stores be destroyed or the aqueducts damaged.”
“Yes, sire.”
“And wake the Senate. I will be going to personally survey the scene at first light.”
“Yes, sire.”
His aide hustled away as his two bed companions stood whimpering at his sides, terrified. He put an arm around each of them. “Calm down, ladies, you are perfectly safe here.” Heads buried themselves into his chest. “What can I do to convince you?”
The raven-haired beauty who was one of his favorites stared up at him. “Play us a song?”
He smiled, eyeing his lute sitting nearby. “Very well. One song, then I must go. We can’t have people thinking that their emperor fiddled while Rome burned.”
Fleet Street, London, United Kingdom
Present Day
“They’re gone.”
“What do you mean they’re gone?”
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Reading shrugged to no one, his phone pressed against his ear. “I mean they’re gone. The Triarii headquarters is now some hi-tech company that makes dating applications for old people.”
“Did you sign up?”
Reading glared at the phone, wishing Acton could see his face. “Sod off.”
A burst of laughter and static responded.
“Now there’s one thing she said that has me curious.”
“What’s that?”
Reading continued down Fleet Street at a brisk pace. “She said there were no lower levels.”
“Really? There were several, weren’t there?”
Reading nodded. “Absolutely. Now, when Martin was shot, you said you guys came out some sort of tunnel with a ramp at the end. Do you remember where it came out?”
“No, I was busy tending to him. Hon? Any idea?”
Laura’s voice joined the conversation. “It’s a blur, but I know we travelled a couple of hundred meters maybe, enough to get you perhaps a street or two over, then we ramped up, a garage door of some type automatically opened and we were in an alleyway. I continued forward until we came to a street then we turned…umm…right, I think.”
“Do you remember the street?”
“No, but my next turn put us back on Fleet, and if I remember correctly I could see the police in the rearview mirror.”
Reading stopped, looking about. “Wait, you came out, turned right onto a street, then your next turn was onto Fleet, with the Triarii HQ behind you.”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember if you turned left or right onto Fleet?”
“Oh God, Hugh, umm, wait. Right. No, left. I’m so confused. Americans all drive on the wrong side of the road—I’ve been away too long. No, I turned left, because I didn’t have to try and cross the traffic.”
“Excellent.” Reading glanced behind him at the building that had once housed the two-thousand-year-old organization, then the traffic flowing next to him. “Okay, I think I know what street you came out on.” He briskly walked toward the next intersection then turned left. “I’m guessing you came out on Farrington.”
The Thirteenth Legion (A James Acton Thriller, #15) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 4