“What do you need me for?”
“Muscle. See if you can get a few of the guys put on standby to deploy. I have a feeling this is going to require professional extraction.”
Dawson chewed his cheek, his head slowly bobbing. “Okay, no promises, but I’ll see what we can do. Might have to do it off the books.”
“No problem, just talk to Hugh, he’s got access to the funds.”
“Roger that, I’ll let you know as soon as I know.”
“Thanks buddy.”
Dawson ended the call and turned to Maggie. “Sorry, hon, I’m going to have to head in to the Unit.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“Jim and Laura were kidnapped at gunpoint. A few people are dead. Looks like some old friends from their past might be involved.”
“Who?”
He shook his head. “Sorry, can’t talk about that, classified, but let’s just say you’re never quite sure who you’re dealing with, and whose side they’re on.”
Maggie frowned, shaking her head. “They’re such nice people, it’s horrible that things keep happening to them.”
“I know. It’s almost as if there’s people out there who delight in their misery, some puppet master continually messing with their lives to keep his audience happy.”
Maggie smiled, leaning in for a kiss. “Well, you go cut his strings, then see if you can squeeze some time in back here before you head out. I want to make sure you forget Niner’s remodeling project before you leave.”
Dawson grinned. “Sounds like a very wise thing to do.”
Northern Gaul, Roman Empire
October 22, 64 AD
“These hit and run tactics are taking their toll. If this keeps up, we won’t have enough men left to fight if they come in strength.”
Flavus nodded in agreement at his legate’s assessment of the situation. They had lost a third of their men to dysentery, they having sent them back to safety with several hundred healthy men to protect them, the sick in no condition to fight should they come under attack. Thankfully, runners had confirmed they had reached safety, a relief to them all.
But there had been no relief from the Gauls.
“My men sick was bad enough, but we’ve lost another third to these attacks.” Legate Catius spun, glaring at the box holding the crystal skull they had been tasked to transport. “It’s all because of that damned thing. If you ask me, we should bury it somewhere and return to Rome, telling them it was destroyed.”
Flavus was surprised at the proposal, and knew it was simply frustration speaking, so many of their comrades lost over the past several weeks. Flavus had never fought a battle in his life, all his fighting in the training ring, his life never in real danger.
Yet all that had changed.
He had fought, hard, almost every day for weeks, surprising even himself with his skills, and earning the respect of the men he was now forced to command, so many of the senior officers dead or sick.
And he had his friend Lucius to thank for it, their constant training in their youth now paying off.
He looked at his legate. “Then why don’t we do just that?”
The legate glanced at him then back at the box, saying nothing at first. “Do you wish that we do such a thing because you fear it may indeed be cursed, and destroying it will curse us all? If that is what your heart tells you, then how can you wish such a fate upon Rome herself? Could it be that it is indeed cursed as the emperor says, and that all this misfortune we have experienced is because of it? Perhaps when we reach our destination all will be well, but if not, better Britannia suffer than Rome.”
Flavus bowed slightly, happy to hear his commander back to his old self. “You are right, of course, sir. I will do my duty to my emperor and to Rome. But if we are to succeed, we must think differently.”
Catius turned toward him, his eyes narrowed slightly. “In what way?”
Flavus pulled in a quick breath, averting his eyes. “I hesitate to say this, as it may sound cowardly, and I assure you I am not—”
Catius stepped forward, putting a hand on Flavus’ shoulder. “You definitely can’t be accused of that.”
Flavus made eye contact briefly, the feeling of pride he felt at that moment almost embarrassing. “Thank you, sir.” Catius let go of his shoulder and took a seat, motioning for Flavus to do the same.
“What is it you wish to say?”
Flavus swallowed. “Well, sir, I’ve been thinking. We are constantly being attacked because we are too large a force not to draw attention. Perhaps it would be best if a small party were to break away and take the skull to Britannia, perhaps disguised as peasants.”
Catius tilted his head back, his eyebrows rising as he contemplated Flavus’ words. “It is an idea, that. Our policy of victory through strength hasn’t served us. Perhaps a new way of thinking is needed.”
Shouts erupted from outside the tent.
“The Gauls are attacking!”
They both leapt to their feet, Catius glaring once again at the box. “Curse their gods!” He pointed at Flavus. “Should it look like we are to fall, take the skull and what remains of the Triarii and make for Britannia. We will join you if we can.”
Flavus felt his chest tighten as they emerged from the command tent. “But sir, those are your most experienced troops!”
Catius nodded. “The other lines will be sacrificed in order to ensure success.” He grabbed Flavus by the shoulder, spinning him around so they were facing each other. “For Rome!”
Flavus placed his hand on his commander’s shoulder. “For Rome!”
Milton Residence, St. Paul, Maryland
Present Day
Reading sat in silence on Milton’s couch, his head falling forward, repeatedly waking him up, exhaustion taking over. In his haste to leave, he had forgotten his CPAP machine and his sleep apnea was taking its toll.
Tomorrow would be worse.
His sleep study had shown he was waking up over sixty times an hour, his body never actually getting any real rest, his brain never really sleeping. His first night with his machine had gone far better than he had expected, opting for a mask that covered his nose and mouth, and wearing it for almost an hour while reading a book in bed, a suggestion the nurse had made to get him used to having it on.
He had slept like a log.
For eight hours.
The next day he had felt so refreshed, he was tempted to kiss the bloody thing. When told he needed one—desperately—he had feared it would be loud, though with no spouse, he had dismissed that concern. It turned out the machine was nearly silent, though if the mask slipped, it did make a near comical farting sound.
Niner would probably be in hysterics.
“Why don’t you go take a nap?”
Reading jerked awake, his eyes wide. He glanced over at Sandra Milton, her eReader set down on her knee as she looked at him.
“Pardon?”
“You’re practically asleep. Go to bed, I’ve made up the spare room for you.”
He sighed, closing his eyes. “I think that might be best.” He dropped his gaze slightly. “You wouldn’t happen to have a CPAP machine set to nine psi would you?”
She returned the look. “Umm, no. You travelled without your machine?”
He frowned. “Huh, so you know how bloody daft that is too.”
She nodded as she rose. “Go to bed, I’m going to call my friend Theresa. She works at a medical supply store. I’ll see if she can bring one over.”
“It’s prescription.”
“She’s a friend, we’ll do this on the down low.”
Reading smiled. “Don’t do anything illegal, now.”
“With a cop in the house? Who’s daft now?”
Reading laughed as Gregory Milton entered the room, dropping into his very expensive looking massage chair. He activated the magic and sighed as the chair hummed and he gently vibrated, as if his entire being was slightly out of phase with the world around him.
<
br /> “How’s your back?”
Milton opened his eyes halfway. “Sore, but fine. Searching their car used muscles I’d forgotten about.” He drew a breath. “Oh, yeah, that’s the spot.”
“Should I leave you two alone?”
Milton’s eyes remained closed, though he chuckled as his hand gently patted the armrest. “Please. She and I haven’t had much time together lately.”
Reading smiled. “Don’t let Sandra—”
The doorbell rang.
“Can you get that?” called Sandra from another room, her phone conversation with whom he hoped would be his savior, far more important than answering a door. Milton’s chair shutoff.
Reading waved him off. “Sit. I’ll get it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Reading pushed himself to his feet, his own muscles aching from his flight and the search. He opened the door to find an extremely attractive Asian woman standing there, a heavy looking duffel bag in her hand. “Yes?”
“Dylan Kane sent me to help.”
Reading’s eyebrows shot up and he stepped aside. “Come in.”
The young woman stepped inside, dropping the duffel bag against the wall as Reading closed the door. He held out his hand. “Agent Hugh Reading, Interpol.”
The woman eyed his hand for a moment, then shook it, the grip firm.
Very firm.
“Dylan says you can be trusted. My name must not be included in any reports or repeated to anyone.”
Reading considered her, wondering just who this woman was. His eyes narrowed as recognition dawned. “Lee Fang.”
She gasped, taking two steps back, her head whipping around as if searching for escape routes.
He held out his hand. “It’s okay, you’re safe here. I’m Interpol, so I recognize you from a report that came across my desk about a year ago. The Chinese government is after you.”
She was still a bundle of tensed up muscles, but she nodded.
“Then you’ll find no one in this house who wants to do you harm.” He held his hand out, motioning toward the living room. “Come, sit down and meet the others.”
She took several steps back, toward the living room, when Sandra poked her head out of the kitchen, the phone still pressed against her cheek. She smiled and gave Fang a little wave, pointing at the phone and mouthing a “hello”, Fang bowing slightly as she continued to warily back herself deeper into the house, Reading giving the nervous woman her space. He couldn’t remember much of the file, not that it would matter much, nothing that came from the Chinese ever the complete truth, and more often than not, a total fabrication. The Chinese mindset was like the old Soviet one. Their population believed their lies, so they assumed so would the outside world.
It was almost laughable.
Just like the new Russia. Soviet Union 2.0 as Acton called them.
“Gregory Milton, I’d like you to meet Lee Fang.”
Milton rose from his chair with a wince, shaking the young woman’s hand then motioning toward the couch. “Please, have a seat.” He dropped back into his own. “I’m sorry, but my back is a little sore.”
“From the gunshot wounds you received.” She sat down, bowing slightly in her seat at the surprised Milton. “Your recovery is remarkable.”
“Umm, thanks.” Milton’s eyes narrowed. “Ahh, how did you know about that?”
She flushed slightly. “Dylan has briefed me thoroughly on his friends and contacts.”
Reading sat in Sandra’s chair, not wanting to intimidate the poor woman by sitting beside her on the couch. “Yes, about that. You said Dylan sent you to help us?”
She nodded.
“And just how exactly can you do that?”
She glanced about the room as if searching for the words. “I…let’s say I’m very qualified.”
“And just what are those qualifications?”
She shook her head. “None that I can discuss.”
“Ahh,” said Milton, smiling. “You’re one of those.”
She flushed again, dropping her head to her chest. “I used to be.”
Milton waved his hand, ending the subject. “Enough said, I know you can’t get into it.”
Sandra entered the room, smiling, the phone gone. She stepped toward Fang who leapt to her feet, bowing. “Oh, dear, aren’t you precious. I’m Sandra, Greg’s wife.”
“Lee Fang.”
Sandra motioned toward the couch. “Please, sit. Can I get you anything?”
Fang shook her head, rapidly. “No, thank you.”
“So Lee, what brings—”
Milton cut off his wife. “It’s Fang, hon. Chinese surnames come first.”
Sandra paused, her eyebrows rising slightly. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Her eyes narrowed. “Huh, that makes a lot of sense, now that I think about it.” She returned to Fang. “Fang, what brings you here?”
“Dylan Kane sent me to help.”
“Dylan? And how do you know him?”
“We’re, umm…” Fang flushed, clearly embarrassed. “Friends?”
Milton laughed. “It’s good to hear he’s finally settling down.”
The poor girl practically turned crimson.
Sandra shot him a look. “Greg, leave the poor girl alone. So, Fang, you’re here to help. In what way?”
Fang smiled slightly at Sandra, conveying her thanks at being saved from further embarrassment, with her eyes. “I’m to be your liaison with the CIA and Delta teams, and to provide personal security should it become necessary.”
“And you’re trained for all that?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Impressive.” Sandra rose. “I’m going to make lemonade.” She looked down at Fang. “When’s the last time you ate?”
Fang shrugged. “I’m not sure. Breakfast?”
“Oh dear, you must be starving. I’ll make you a sandwich. Any preferences?”
Fang shook her head, appearing almost too embarrassed to answer.
“BLT?”
Fang’s eyes narrowed. “B. L. T?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never had a BLT before?”
She shook her head. “I-I don’t think I have.”
“You like bacon?”
Fang nodded, a little enthusiastically, Reading thought.
“Lettuce?”
“Yes.”
“Tomato.”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re going to love this.”
Sandra disappeared and Reading turned things to business. “What can we expect?”
Fang sat upright, her posture perfect, all emotion wiped from her face. “Dylan has secured a team at Langley to provide intel. They are in the process of trying to track the professors. Dylan has also contacted Delta operatives he has worked with in the past. I have yet to hear if they will be made available to us, but he was optimistic. Have you made any progress here?”
Reading shook his head. “No. The FBI has essentially cut us completely out of the loop. They know I’m here unofficially and the asshole in charge—sorry, agent in charge—has said unless he’s told otherwise, I’m to be treated as a witness and nothing more.”
“So you aren’t aware of the status of their investigation.”
“No.” Reading pointed to Laura’s cellphone, sitting on the table. “I did manage to retrieve that from their vehicle, which was how I got Dylan’s number. Other than that, all we know is that they were kidnapped and there have been no ransom demands. It’s our belief it was an offshoot of the Triarii that took them.”
Fang’s head bobbed, then she pointed at the phone. “Did you tell the FBI you found that?”
Reading shook his head.
Fang smiled. “In my country they would kill you for that.”
Reading grunted. “Good thing we’re not in your country, then.”
A cloud seemed immediately to form around Fang, her mood noticeably changing.
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Hey, are you okay?”
She nod
ded, sucking in a deep breath. “We all have our problems, none of which will help the professors.”
The doorbell rang as Sandra entered with a tray, carrying a pitcher of lemonade and four glasses. “I’ll get it,” she said, hurrying toward the table.
“Allow me.” Fang leapt to her feet and drew a Glock from behind her back as Reading rose. She hurried to the door, her feet like cat’s paws, not a sound heard. She peered through the side window, stepping back. “A young Caucasian male, one Asian female, probably Vietnamese.”
“Oh, that’s Tommy and Mai, they’re good.”
Fang opened the door, the gun now hidden behind, Reading standing about ten feet back, watching the young woman at work.
She seems to know her stuff.
“Hi!” The word caught in Tommy’s throat as he got his first look at the stunning Fang. “Umm, wh-who are you?”
Reading stepped forward, Sandra poking her head into the hallway. “Come in, kids, Greg is in the living room.”
Mai Trinh eyed Fang then noticed her boyfriend staring. She stepped between them, the jealous girlfriend marking her territory. She extended her hand. “Mai Trinh.”
“Lee Fang.”
“T-Tommy Granger.”
Mai grabbed Tommy by the hand and dragged him into the living room, Fang following, apparently oblivious to the affect she had on the poor young man afflicted with a serious case of Yellow Fever. Reading gave her the once over, discretely, a sudden stabbing pain in his chest causing him to almost gasp as he realized how much she reminded him of Kinti from behind.
He bit his cheek, the pain forcing the nightmare away.
Sandra emerged from the kitchen with two chairs and Reading took them from her. “Allow me.”
“Ooh, such a gentleman. Keep it up and I might just trade Greg in for you.”
“I heard that!”
“You were meant to!” said Sandra, giving Reading a wink as she disappeared back into the kitchen.
“I was shot in the back, chivalry went with my legs!”
“That excuse lost all meaning when you started walking again!” Sandra reemerged with two additional ice-filled glasses.
The Thirteenth Legion (A James Acton Thriller, #15) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 12