Lucius laughed, pulling the skewered grape off the blade with his teeth. “That’s senior officers for you.” He jabbed the air between them with his dagger. “Learn from him, he’s a good man.”
“He is, indeed.”
“Either way, you’ve got a long, difficult mission ahead of you. The Gauls are always causing trouble, and these barbarians in Britannia are proving to be a challenge as well. They seem to resist civilization to their core. I’ve heard talk of wiping them out rather than attempting to pacify them.”
“Seems extreme.”
“It’s just idle talk, I’m sure. They’re an island of barbarians that will never amount to anything. We’ll be sending a lot more troops there soon to try and gain more control. Perhaps then you’ll be able to return.”
“Let’s hope.”
Lucius took a long swig of his wine then leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You didn’t hear this from me, but the emperor has gone mad. I don’t think he’s long for this world. Either the gods will claim him, or the Senate. And when his madness no longer rules the land, you’ll be free to return, I’m certain.”
Flavus shook his head. “I don’t know. I hope you’re right, but I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Stick close to Legate Catius. Follow his orders and you’ll survive.”
“I’ve been named to his personal guard so I’ll be safer than the poor souls on the frontlines.”
“Ahh, then you’ll be protected by the best. Maybe someday you’ll be honored with admittance into their ranks.”
Flavus felt goosebumps race across his body at the idea. “It would indeed be an honor to become one of the third and final line. Should it come to pass, I would die a happy man. I can imagine no greater honor for the son of a blacksmith than to serve Rome as a member of his legion’s Triarii.”
London, United Kingdom
Present Day
“Is everyone in position?”
“Yes, sir.”
Chaney nodded with satisfaction as he watched the various camera angles available from the back of their van parked less than half a kilometer from the last known location of the tracking device. It was still randomly transmitting yet hadn’t moved. If it had been discovered, he would have expected them to disable it, which had him hopeful their ruse had worked.
But it had been over half an hour and there was no way this was their final destination. He was already five minutes past the cutoff he had given himself for going in.
It was time.
“Sir, look!”
Chaney leaned forward, the dot clearly having moved from the last update five minutes ago. He smiled at the others, backs slapped and fists bumped. “Looks like they were a little too trusting.”
“Probably can’t believe the professors would betray them.”
Chaney tossed his hands up, shrugging. “Who cares? Whatever the reason, it worked. Let’s stand down and follow them. I want to hit them as soon as they reach their destination.”
Police Impound, Annapolis, Maryland
Reading lay sprawled across the driver seat, searching the glovebox then the floor, coming up empty. His Interpol ID had given him access to the police impound lot along with directions to Acton’s seized vehicle, it now evidence. The poor attendant had been flustered with Reading’s lack of paperwork, but his persistence and continued waving of the Interpol credentials had quickly pressured her into giving him access.
I’m going to lose my badge if I’m wrong.
“What makes you think it’s here?”
Reading glanced at the rear, Milton searching the cargo area. “Jim’s phone was tossed from the vehicle, smashed beforehand, but Laura’s wasn’t. They wouldn’t let her keep it if they wouldn’t let him keep his.”
“So you think she left it in the car?”
“Could have. It was ringing a few times before going to voicemail, but now it goes straight through.”
“So the battery’s probably dead.” Milton gasped, a sound Reading recognized as pain. He glanced back at the man, bent over and searching, one hand gripping his back. He had been shot and left for dead, but was now nearly fully recovered, though his stamina was low.
“Why don’t you let me finish—”
“These are the two best friends I have in the world. I’m not going to let a little pain stop me when there’s a chance I could help.” He paused, looking at Reading. “Wouldn’t the police have traced it?”
Reading shook his head, his hand fishing under the driver’s seat. “No, they didn’t have her number until I gave it to them. By then it was no longer ringing. She’s still using a phone registered in the UK, so when her name was run through the system, nothing showed.”
“Christ, her roaming charges must be nuts.”
“It’s nice to be rich.” Reading felt his fingers hit something under the passenger seat, it sliding away. He reached deeper, his fingers finding it once more. He gripped it and knew immediately what it was. “Got it!” He pulled his hand out and grinned with triumph at the sight of Laura’s cellphone. He crawled back outside, showing it to a wincing Milton.
“Just what good is this going to do? It’s not like we now know where she is.”
Reading closed all the doors, locking the vehicle. “We need to break into this thing,” he said as they walked toward the security station with the keys.
“Why, what’s on it that’s so important?”
He pointed to Milton’s van. “Get ready to leave quickly.”
Milton shook out a nervous nod, walking a little too eagerly toward his vehicle, the engine roaring to life as Reading handed the keys over, a spare set apparently found at Acton’s home. “Interpol thanks you for your cooperation. I’ll be sure to mention you in my report”—he leaned in, reading her nametag—“Officer Bartlett.”
The woman beamed, mumbling out a confused thank you mixed with a you’re welcome and have a nice day.
Reading climbed into the van and Milton hammered on the gas, nearly tossing him out the side, he not yet having a chance to close the door. “Bloody hell, take it easy, this isn’t a getaway.”
“Sorry.” Milton eased off on the gas and Reading pulled his door shut then yanked his seatbelt on. “Where to?”
Reading pulled out the phone. “Like I was saying, we need to break into this thing.”
“Why?”
“It’s got a phone number on it that I need to call.”
“You’ve never heard of the white pages?”
Reading chuckled. “This is most definitely an unlisted number.”
Milton’s eyes widened. “Ohhh, I think I know who you mean.” He nodded at the phone as they turned into traffic. “If you give that to the police, will they give you the number?”
Reading shook his head. “Highly unlikely, and besides, I can’t exactly tell them who it belongs to and why we want to talk to him.”
A smile spread across Milton’s face. “If we’re going to do this unofficially, then I might have an idea on who can help us.”
Reading stared at Milton. “I’m listening.”
St. George’s Hill, Weybridge, Surrey, United Kingdom
The convoy of three vehicles pulled off the road and through a set of wrought iron gates, a long straight drive leading to a large estate, dimly lit, it barely visible from the road.
“Why do you think they’re letting us see this place?” whispered Laura in Acton’s ear.
He shook his head slightly. “I was thinking the same thing.” And it was true. There had been no blindfolds, no knockout gas, nothing. They had left the location they had woken up in, left London, and now, about an hour later, were arriving at what he assumed was their destination, a destination supposed to house at least several crystal skulls, the Triarii’s most secret and prized possessions.
They intend to kill us.
Laura latched onto his arm. “I have a bad feeling about this. Martin was right, these are the bad guys.”
Their SUV came to a halt and the
door was opened. Acton climbed out then helped Laura to the ground as he quickly surveyed the area. The grounds were teeming with armed personnel, there no non-lethal tranquilizer weapons here. This was clearly a stronghold, perhaps even the stronghold. It made sense. They were away from the city, the grounds were large and cleared with good lines of sight in all directions, and the structure itself was large and built of solid stone.
How the hell does Martin think he can take this place?
Their vehicle pulled away, disappearing around the rear of the estate, the Proconsul greeted by two men rushing down the wide steps leading to the main entrance.
“Sir, I’m relieved you made it.”
The Proconsul merely nodded, then motioned toward the case containing the skull. “We have it and its being tracked. Prepare for an assault, almost definitely tonight.”
A shiver raced through Acton as he felt Laura’s hand squeeze his.
“Yes, sir, we’re ready. Are you expecting lethal force?”
“Absolutely. They’ve killed dozens in the past few days. They’re here to wipe us out.”
Acton cleared his throat. “They can’t possibly think they’ll succeed. I thought you were all over the world?”
The Proconsul turned toward them. “We are, but if they get the final skulls and go to ground, what remains of our organization will have no way to find them.”
“Are the other skulls here?”
“Those that remain, yes.”
“But why risk them? Haven’t you just led your enemy straight to what they want?”
The Proconsul smiled.
“You don’t last two thousand years without a plan.”
St. Paul’s University, St. Paul, Maryland
“So you think you can get into the phone?”
Tommy Granger looked up at his dean, Gregory Milton, and grinned. “Already done.”
“Jesus, that quickly?”
Tommy leaned back in his swivel chair, crossing his arms. “When you’re good, you’re good.” He winked at Mai Trinh, eliciting flushed cheeks and a giggle from his girlfriend and exile from Vietnam, she now persona non grata after helping the professors and a Delta Force member escape her former home. He pointed at the computer screen. “I’ve got everything here. What do you need?”
Reading leaned forward, peering at the display. “A phone number.”
“Called, received, or stored?”
“Huh?” Reading’s eyes narrowed as he processed the question. “Oh, stored.”
A few clicks and Tommy began to scroll through a list of contacts.
“Stop.” Reading pointed at the screen. “That’s the one.”
“Dinner, Kraft? Is this some kind of joke?”
Reading ignored the young man, scribbling down the number then double-checking it. He stood back up and pointed at the screen. “Now delete everything on your computer and give me the phone.”
Tommy unplugged the phone, handing it to Reading. “Why? What’s so important about this Kraft Dinner guy?”
“None of your concern. Just delete everything.”
Tommy continued to do nothing, the impetuous idiocy of youth on full display. Milton cleared his throat and Tommy turned his head, his dean giving him a look that had a couple of shades leave the young man’s face. Milton raised a finger, pointing at him.
“Everything. If I find a copy has been kept or there’s any chance of retrieving the data, there’ll be hell to pay.”
Tommy nodded, turning back toward the computer, his fingers flying across the keyboard, open windows disappearing, then a program started that Reading recognized from his training sessions that wiped data from hard drives by repeatedly overwriting it. Tommy spun in his chair as the program finished its work, facing the two men. “Happy?”
Milton nodded. “Very.”
“Jeez, you hack one DoD mainframe and nobody ever trusts you again.”
Mai’s chin was on her chest, the tension of the past few minutes apparently causing the young, shy woman to recede into her own cocoon. “I trust you,” she whispered.
Tommy beamed a smile at her that had the chin lifting about an inch. “That’s because you took the time to know me.”
Reading scowled at him. “Listen, lad, I don’t know you enough to not trust you, but there are people who will kill to get this number. By making sure you don’t have it, I’m protecting your life.” He nodded at Mai, someone obviously important to the naïve young man. “And hers as well.”
Tommy’s eyes bulged slightly then he turned back to the computer, running another program.
“Just in case.”
“Uh huh.” Reading followed Milton from the room, the door sighing closed behind them.
“Do you think he’ll be able to find the Triarii?”
Reading nodded. “If anyone can, Dylan Kane can.”
Southern Gaul, Roman Empire
September 12, 64 AD
Flavus followed his legate, trying to hide the horror he felt as they walked through the encampment, the moans and cries of brave soldiers in agony heart wrenching. A battle was being fought here behind the palisades, and too many good men were losing.
Dysentery.
It had swept through the ranks swiftly, a seemingly unstoppable scourge that had taken most of the frontline troops and their commanders down, as well as much of the legate’s inner circle.
Flavus had been quickly promoted, Legate Catius having taken a liking to him, and more importantly, displaying a trust in him.
“How many?”
Flavus cleared his throat. “The latest report shows almost one third of our men are sick and unable to fight.”
Catius shook his head, a deep frown creasing his face. He paused atop a slight hill, giving him a view outside the palisades, scanning the forest that surrounded them. “And the Gauls?”
Flavus felt his stomach flutter at the thought. “Our scouts report a buildup to our west. Their assessment is that an attack is imminent.”
“The Gauls have always been trouble, but nothing like this. To gather a force strong enough to attack a legion is almost unheard of.”
“It is unusual.”
Catius looked back at his tent. “It’s that damned skull. It’s cursed. It cursed Rome and now it curses us!”
Flavus said nothing, though he felt his legate was probably right. The emperor himself had said as much, the message delivered by Jupiter, a powerful omen not to be ignored.
We must get this abomination as far from Rome as possible!
A sharp breath burst from Catius’ nose as his head slowly shook, his attention returned to the neat rows of tents hiding the ill. “If we stay here, we’re dead.”
Flavus’ eyebrows shot up. “But we’re Roman! We don’t surrender!”
Catius chuckled, looking at the young man. “No, we don’t, but we can’t win every battle, not when the gods themselves are against us.”
Flavus’ head dropped as his eyes cast down on the mud at his feet. “I’m sorry, sir, you are correct, of course.”
“Chin up, soldier. You won’t find the enemy between your toes.”
Flavus raised his head, his eyes slightly wide. “Sorry, sir. What will we do? If we’re too sick to fight…” He wasn’t sure what else to say without sounding defeatist.
“We load the sick into the wagons and send them south, back to Lugdunum. Send enough healthy men to protect them, but they must leave now, no delay.”
Flavus nodded. “And the rest of us?”
“We head north, and try to avoid a fight I fear we cannot win.”
Sana'a, Yemen
Present Day
“So, how’s your day?”
CIA Special Agent Dylan Kane—Kraft Dinner to those storing his number in secret on their phones—peered through the scope of his sniper rifle, sweeping slowly from left to right, trying to find his target, his phone positioned near his mouth, an earbud keeping private the conversation with the woman quickly occupying more of his thoughts. “No
thing special. You?”
Lee Fang sighed, a burst of static filling his left ear. “You know me, trapped in this apartment.” She paused. “I miss you.”
Kane felt it in his chest and his stomach. It was a horrible feeling, yet a wonderful one. He had never missed anyone in his life, and now here he was, in the middle of yet another shithole, talking to a woman he was pretty sure he loved—another first—and he could feel the pain of separation.
It was fantastic.
He had never told a woman that he loved them before, at least not sincerely. Lines were delivered to seal the deal on occasion, and he had felt guilty lying, though sometimes on this job you did what you had to, to get the job done.
Even if hearts were broken.
He had yet to tell her how he felt, he not yet ready, and he was terrified of putting it out there to just get silence, or worse, a “thank you”, in return.
“I miss you too.”
“You’re sure? There’s no woman there with you?”
From his prone position, Kane glanced over his shoulder at the rooftop. “Pretty sure. Besides, they’d be head to toe in black if they were.”
“That narrows down where you are.”
“Hey, no guessing.”
“Sorry.”
She truly did sound apologetic, and the pain he was feeling for her grew. The poor woman was living in exile, under an assumed identity provided her by the United States government as a thank you for her helping thwart a recent coup attempt. Yet in doing so, she had been forced to kill a top ranking Chinese general, and the former Beijing Military Region Special Forces Unit soldier was now in hiding, considered a traitor by her country, and forbidden by her adopted country to work in any job that might utilize her old skills.
She was bored.
Colossally bored.
Just as you’d be.
He had sensed the mental anguish she was going through and had offered to try and be a friend to her, he one of the few people in the world who knew her true predicament. A friendship had blossomed, then a romance, this the first real relationship he had ever been in, his history of wham, bam, thanks for the slam, now a thing of the past, assuming things with Fang worked out.
The Thirteenth Legion (A James Acton Thriller, #15) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 9