“It is this that is responsible for the fire.”
How in the name of gods did this piece of glass cause these horrendous fires?
Catius had more tact. “I don’t understand.”
“Since its arrival it has spoken to me,” explained Emperor Nero, Flavus clamping his jaw shut, battling a shiver that rushed up and down his spine as he stared at the skull, its eyes glaring at him in a red rage, the torchlight surrounding it reflecting off the smooth surface.
Stop looking at it!
He tore his eyes away, redirecting them to the smoke filled vista out the windows, the fires still raging in some districts.
“Spoken to you? How, my emperor?”
“I cannot explain it, nor can any of these ineffectual imbeciles. But I am certain Jupiter himself came to me in a vision demanding the skull be removed from Rome lest it cause even more destruction.”
Catius kept remarkable control. “A vision from Jupiter is indeed a great honor. It should be heeded.”
“Which is why I called you. I want this cursed object removed from Rome and taken as far away as possible.”
“Yes, sire. Where would you have us take it?”
Nero flicked his wrist. “Some place far. Britannia perhaps. Those heathens deserve it.”
“It shall be done.”
“Good. I knew I could count on you.”
“Who should we deliver it to when there?”
Nero wagged a finger. “No, I think you misunderstood me.”
“I beg your forgiveness.”
Nero ignored the apology. “The Thirteenth Legion will deliver the skull to Britannia, and remain with it, ensuring it never again returns to Rome.”
“Remain? For how long?”
Flavus broke into a cold sweat at the response.
“For all time.”
Approaching London, United Kingdom
Present day
Laura sighed, peering out the window as her homeland sped past. She loved living with James and adored her new home, his old, though she missed England and she missed her university. She had managed to get a job at the Smithsonian in Washington, DC, which had meant she could commute from their home, thus spending much of the year together, instead of splitting time between two continents.
It had been the right decision.
Though tough.
“I think this is the only time I haven’t looked forward to coming home.”
Her husband leaned closer and took her hand, squeezing it gently as they both stared out the window at London below. “I hear you. I love London, but not today.”
Laura drew in a breath, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes. “I have a really bad feeling about this.”
“Me too. I know you want to go with me, but I don’t want you to.”
Her eyes flew open. “James! We already discussed this, I’m going!”
James shook his head. “No, if this goes bad then I need you on the outside, taking care of things.” He held up a finger, cutting off her protest. “I don’t like the fact they insisted on no phones and their own plane. At least if Hugh knew where we were, then I’d feel better, but right now nobody we trust knows where we are and why.”
Laura looked at her husband, latching onto the last thing he said. “You don’t trust Martin?”
“Not for a second. A year ago? Implicitly. Now? No way. This is a cult we’re dealing with, no matter what side of their own internal debate he falls on. That means they put the cult first, everyone else second or worse.”
Laura’s head slowly bobbed as she thought about it. “We’re the infidels.”
“Exactly, great analogy, but let’s not go there. You know how I tend to ramble.” He flashed her a grin and she smiled, patting his hand.
“Yes, you do on occasion.”
He squeezed her hand. “When we land, I’ll insist you be allowed to go on your own. If they don’t agree, we’ll just leave the skull, turn around and walk away.”
“And if they stop us?”
“Then we know they were always going to go back on their word and we’re in the same position anyway. If all they want is the skull, then handing it over should be enough.”
Laura frowned as the wheels touched down. “We should have just let them pick it up in Maryland. We’d be done with this already.”
James shook his head. “Martin would have never given us the skull if that were the case. Insisting it be handed directly to the Proconsul is the only way to ensure it has a chance of being tracked back to the others.”
Laura peered out the window. “Regardless of what’s going on, I think Martin is right.”
“I agree. The only way to keep us safe is to make the other side think we’re not on Martin’s side, and that he’s now our enemy.”
Laura felt her chest tighten as they pulled up to the private terminal, a dark SUV waiting for them. “Isn’t that Rodney?”
James leaned over her, peering out. “Yeah.”
She could tell from his voice that he was concerned. Hugh had said that Rodney was carrying a real gun, not one of the tranquilizer weapons, and he had been prepared to use it.
Is he prepared to use it on us?
They deplaned, Rodney bowing slightly. “Professor Palmer, Professor Acton, it is good to see you again.” He nodded at the case. “Is that it?”
James stepped forward, putting himself slightly between her and Rodney. “Yes.”
“Very well. As agreed, it is to be opened in the Proconsul’s presence. You will permit us to scan it of course, to make certain there are no tracking devices or explosives?”
“Of course.”
“Excellent.” Rodney opened the rear door. “Please, I think we’ll all feel safer when we’re not so exposed.”
James shook his head. “I’ll be going, my wife won’t be.”
Rodney frowned. “That wasn’t part of the agreement.”
“I’m changing the agreement. You want the skull. You don’t need her.”
“You may be right, but those weren’t my orders. I must insist you both come with me.”
James placed the case on the ground and took her hand. “Then we’re done here. There’s your skull.”
Rodney moved his suit jacket aside, revealing a shoulder holster filled with a very genuine looking Beretta. “I’m afraid I really must insist.”
Laura felt her chest tighten and she wrapped herself around her husband’s arm. He looked down at her and she frowned. “I guess we have our answer.”
James nodded and they climbed into the back of the SUV, the doors slamming shut, Rodney getting into the front with the case. He turned back.
“Sorry about this.”
A panel slid up, separating them from the front, a hissing sound immediately heard. James reached for the door but it was locked. She tried her side without success. Holding her breath, she watched James hammer his elbow repeatedly into the glass to no avail, his face turning red before he finally gasped for air, a cough immediately taking over as she too expelled her lungsful of carbon dioxide, breathing in the gas as her world slowly went dark, her husband still slamming against the glass, the dull thuds fading away.
To nothing.
Baltimore/Washington International Thurgood Marshall Airport, Baltimore, Maryland
Reading waved at Acton’s best friend, Gregory Milton, as he stepped through the doors, having cleared customs a little quicker than the others, his Interpol ID greasing the wheels.
“Hugh, good to see you,” said Milton, shaking his hand.
“Good to see you too. Thanks for picking me up.”
“No problem.” Milton motioned at Reading’s carry-on. “Let me get that for you.”
Reading shook his head. “The day you carry something for me is the day I was shot in the back.”
Milton chuckled. “Fine, fine. Eventually though, playing the handicapped card is going to wear thin.”
“Enjoy it while you can. You’re lucky to be walking, let alone fe
eling good enough to carry people’s bags.”
Milton flicked his wrist. “Bah, I expected you to say no. If you had accepted, you’d be a heartless sonofabitch if there ever was one.”
Reading tossed his head back, laughing. “Ahh, I missed that strange American sense of humor.” As they walked, the conversation turned to the situation at hand. “Any word? I’ve been out of the loop for too many hours.”
Milton shook his head, frowning. “Not much. According to the police, their credit cards haven’t been used, and with the exception of your ticket, none of their accounts have been touched. None of the numbers that might be called to make a ransom demand have been called except by known numbers.” He threw his hands up in frustration. “There’s been nothing!”
Reading agreed. “That’s because this has nothing to do with ransom, and everything to do with the damned Triarii.”
Milton glanced at him then pushed through a revolving door. “You’re certain of that?”
“Without a doubt. While I was meeting with their Proconsul, he received a call from their people on this end that witnessed the abduction. They said it was Martin’s people.”
“Martin Chaney?”
Reading nodded, his chest heavy with the admission.
“I thought you two were best friends?”
“So did I.”
“Do you believe the Triarii? I mean, do you really think he might harm Jim and Laura?”
Reading shrugged. “If you had asked me that yesterday, I would have said no. No question about it. But if he truly was saving them from the other group killed in the parking lot, then why haven’t we heard from them?”
Unknown location, United Kingdom
Acton woke to a pounding headache and a high-pitched tinnitus-like buzz in his ears. He opened his eyes slightly, the world around him humming as if he were listening to it from the bottom of a swimming pool.
He tried to swim for the top.
Yet it was no use.
He was simply too tired.
Something pungent hit his nostrils and he was suddenly jolted awake to find his arms bound to the chair he was sitting in. His senses reset themselves in a horrific cacophony of noise and light before settling down. He spotted an elderly man standing nearby, Rodney at his side.
Laura!
He twisted in his chair, first to his right, then his left, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw a young woman administering the same smelling salts to his wife who jumped, looking around in confusion before spotting him.
“James!”
He desperately wanted to reach out, straining uselessly against his bonds.
He glared at Rodney. “What the hell is going on? We had an agreement!”
The elderly man stepped forward. “Calm yourself, Professor Acton.”
Acton’s eyes narrowed, his fury redirected at the man obviously in charge. “Who the hell are you?” But he already knew the answer. He recognized the voice from their conversation in the confessional in Coventry, and the subsequent phone call from several years ago.
“I’m the Proconsul of the Triarii. We spoke before.”
Acton let out a loud breath. “Yeah, I recognize your voice.” He stared at the man then sent daggers at Rodney. “I thought we had an agreement.”
The Proconsul smiled. “We did. And you broke it.”
Acton felt his chest tighten. “What do you mean?”
“The case has a tracking device in it.”
Acton shrugged, trying to keep up the act. “If it did, it’s news to me.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. Either way, I don’t know if I can trust you anymore.”
Acton shook his head, leaning forward in his chair. “Listen, didn’t it occur to you that Martin might have put a tracker on it just in case it was stolen?”
“Perhaps. But this was a clever one. It had a delayed signal.”
Maybe they know where we are!
The Proconsul flicked his wrist. “Remove their bindings.”
Rodney stepped forward, cutting the zip ties binding both of them then stepped back. Acton massaged his wrists then reached out for Laura’s hand. He gave it a squeeze then looked at the Proconsul, holding up his free hand.
“Why?”
“Because, Professor Acton, you aren’t a danger to us. You were restrained merely for your own protection.”
Acton gave a vigorous harrumph.
“If you hadn’t been, Professor, can you honestly say you wouldn’t have gone on the attack the moment you woke?”
Acton frowned, the man right. His instinct would have been to leap from his chair and launch himself at Rodney. He nodded. “What now?”
“Well, if you are assisting Mr. Chaney, then his aim is to find our location. If you aren’t, and the tracker was merely installed just in case of a theft, then he knows our current location regardless.”
Acton tilted his head slightly to the side. “I can’t believe you’d be stupid enough to bring us anywhere important without being very certain the case wasn’t bugged.”
The Proconsul smiled. “Professor, you don’t last two thousand years by being a fool. This location is of no importance. Where we will go now, is.”
“Let me guess, we’re coming along?”
“Absolutely. If you are working for him, then he won’t risk hurting you. If you aren’t, then you might be in danger if we let you go. Either way you’re safe with us until he finds us.”
“How will he find you if you’ve turned off the tracker?”
“He’ll find us, Professor, because we haven’t turned it off.”
Acton’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”
“Professor, I intend to have Mr. Chaney and his men find us, and deal with him and his group, once and for all.”
Annapolis Police Department, Taylor Ave, Annapolis, Maryland
“Why’s Interpol interested in this case?”
Reading flipped through the case file, it rather thin, not bothering to look up at FBI Special Agent Foster, it the eyes that always gave away the lie. “We’ve been monitoring a group involved with archeological thefts, so when it came across my desk that two preeminent archeologists had been kidnapped in a shootout, I naturally took an interest.” He finally looked at Foster, waving the file. “These two have been on our radar before, so I thought I better come and see if I could be of any assistance.”
Foster didn’t appear pleased. “I can assure you we can handle things ourselves, but you’re welcome to attend our briefings.”
Reading bowed slightly. “That would be more than enough. I assume I can look over the evidence?”
Foster chewed his lip for a second, considering Reading. “Sure, why not.” He pointed to a box on his desk. “Help yourself.”
Reading removed the top and began to rummage through the very few items inside, all in plastic baggies. Shell casings and a smashed cellphone, the case it was in one he recognized instantly as Acton’s. He held it up. “How’d this happen?”
Foster shook his head. “We’re not sure. A witness says it was tossed out of the vehicle as it sped away.”
“This is Jim’s. Where’s hers?”
Foster dropped the file he was reading on his desk. “Now how the hell would you know that? And why are you calling him Jim?”
Reading flushed, his lack of sleep and adrenaline fueled energy causing him to make mistakes. He said nothing, already hating himself for lying.
“Listen, buddy, are you holding out on me? Do you know these two?”
Reading sighed, nodding. “They’re two of my best friends, and I’m willing to do anything to make sure they’re safe.”
Foster pointed at the door. “Get the hell out of here before I report you.”
Reading nodded. “I’m sorry I lied, but they’re my friends.”
Foster lowered his hand, then his voice. “Look—Hugh was it?” Reading grunted. “This is my job, day in and day out, and I’m good at it. We’ll find your friends. I’ve got your number. If anything c
omes up, I’ll let you know, but for now, you need to get out of here before someone starts to ask questions about why Interpol is here, and you and I both lose our jobs. Understood?”
Reading smiled slightly, extending his hand. “You’re a good man, Special Agent.”
Foster chuckled and shook his hand. “I’m an asshole if you ask my ex-wife and those I work with.”
“But you’re my kind of asshole.”
Foster tossed his head back, laughing. “Now what movie was that from?”
Reading shook his head with a shrug. “No idea, but I know someone who’d probably be able to tell us right away.”
“Well, you find out and maybe we’ll have a beer after this is all done.”
“Sounds good.”
Reading left, in a bit better mood now that the truth was out, though a new pit was already forming, he about to betray the trust granted his position by default.
He climbed into Milton’s van.
“So? Anything?”
Reading nodded. “Yup. Where’s the police impound?”
Lucius Valerius Corvus Residence, Pompeii, Roman Empire
July 22, 64 AD
Flavus leaned back on the comfortable cushions, his legs stretched out to his side, a bowl of grapes and a glass of wine within reach as slaves waved large fans, taking the edge off the heat. Across from him was Lucius, his best friend of many years.
It was a tough visit as it could be their last.
“You’re certain you heard him correctly?”
Flavus nodded. “Absolutely. We’re not to return. Ever.”
“But that makes no sense! I’ve never heard such an order given. Yes, a legion can be sent to a location to potentially be permanently stationed there, but the troops are rotated in and out on a regular basis.” Lucius speared a grape with his dagger. “That must be what he meant.”
“That’s what I thought as well, but Legate Catius disagrees.”
“You spoke to him of this?”
“More like he spoke to me.”
The Thirteenth Legion (A James Acton Thriller, #15) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 8