Something didn’t add up.
“They’re being coerced.”
Everyone turned around to face him. “What are you thinking?” asked Child.
“I’m thinking that someone tried to kidnap them. Someone else intervened, saving them. But if their saviors did it for purely altruistic reasons, then the professors would have been released by now. Instead, they board a plane for London. They wouldn’t do that, not with what had happened in the parking lot. They would know the authorities and their friends and families would be looking for them, worried.” He shook his head. “They got on that plane, but it wasn’t by choice.” He turned to Child. “Do we know where they went after they landed?”
Child shook his head. “Not yet, but we’re having CCTV footage pulled, but it’s going to take some time. But”—he held up a finger—“I may have a lead on that.”
“What?”
His fingers flew over the keyboard then Child pointed at the screen, LiveLeak videos appearing. “We’ve been pulling anything unusual in the UK after their arrival, and found this.”
Leroux watched several different videos displaying simultaneously of what appeared to be a busy crime scene, dozens of emergency vehicles involved, along with reporters and onlookers. “What am I looking at?”
“The aftermath of a shootout. A very bloody, very violent shootout. Lots of bodies. But look at this.” A video appeared on the main screen of a body on a gurney, a gust of wind catching the sheet covering it, revealing the face. A tap of a key and the image froze. “Now look.” Another image appeared beside the dead man’s face, a file photo of one Rodney Underwood.
Leroux whistled. “Christ, that’s him!” He looked around at his team. “Excellent work, people. Soon you won’t need me to bother coming in.”
Smiles were exchanged, Sonya’s longing eyes suggesting that wasn’t the outcome she had been hoping for.
“Okay, so I think we can safely say the professors may have ended up here.” He paused as he realized what that meant, the footage showing body after body wheeled past. “We need to find out if any of the bodies match their description.”
“I’m on it,” said Child.
“And see if we had a bird over the area. I want to see if we have anything showing this going down.”
Milton Residence, St. Paul, Maryland
Reading woke to the sound of his phone ringing on the nightstand. He sat up, removing the CPAP that had arrived within less than an hour of Sandra’s call, all properly set and ready for him.
It’s who you know.
He glanced at the phone, it an unknown caller. He hit the button turning off the machine and pulled the mask from his face.
“Hello?”
“Agent Reading, this is the Proconsul of the Triarii.”
Reading was immediately awake, the clock on the wall suggesting he had been asleep for a little over an hour, though with the miracle of the CPAP, that one hour would last him for another eight. “You have news?”
“Yes. Mr. Chaney’s people have taken the professors to an unknown location.”
Reading frowned. “How do you know this?”
“A lot has happened, Agent. It would appear that the professors were working for Mr. Chaney, apparently willingly.”
“Why wouldn’t they? They know him, he’s a good man.”
“He’s not the man you once knew, Agent.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Well, have you heard what happened in England tonight?”
Reading frowned. “You mean the mass shooting?”
“Yes.”
“What of it?”
“That was a result of Mr. Chaney and his Deniers attacking our compound.”
Reading felt his chest tighten. “Are Jim and Laura okay?”
“They survived the attack, if that’s what you mean.”
“What the bloody hell does that mean? They’re either okay or they’re not!”
“I mean, Agent, that they survived the attack, then left with Mr. Chaney and his men to a location known only to them.”
Reading’s hand shot up and grasped his temples, massaging them. “I don’t understand.”
“The Deniers now have all thirteen skulls and they plan on uniting them.”
“Frankly, sir, I don’t give a shit about the skulls. I want Jim and Laura back.”
“I don’t think you understand, Agent. Professor Acton and Professor Palmer left with Mr. Chaney, voluntarily.”
Reading froze. “Excuse me?”
“They left with him quite willingly.”
Reading shook his head, knowing his friend well enough that the ridiculous notion could indeed be true. “Why the hell would they do that?”
“Part curiosity, part, I think, hoping they could stop them if anything went wrong.”
Reading pursed his lips. “They’re not buying into this garbage, are they?”
“Perhaps, perhaps not, but I will ask you one thing, Agent Reading. What was your reaction when you first saw the skull from the British Museum. The genuine one, not the fake.”
Reading shrugged. “I don’t know. It was impressive. Beautiful, I guess.”
“Any physical reaction?”
Reading thought back to that moment in Laura Palmer’s flat when the skull had been first revealed to him. He remembered cradling it in his hands, of the uneasy feeling that had spread over him. “I don’t know. Butterflies maybe. Wait, I think I shivered. Is that what you mean? Come to think of it, I shivered when I saw the skull in Venice.”
“As most people do. Do you know why?”
“Because it’s goddamned creepy looking?”
The Proconsul chuckled. “To some, yes, but even we who are so used to them have the same reaction.”
Reading rolled his eyes. “Listen, if you’re trying to suggest that it’s some sort of magical power, I’m not buying it, and I can’t see Jim buying it either.”
“Yet he did go with them when he had the chance to stay.”
Reading sighed. He couldn’t explain away that one fact. “Where did they go?”
“I don’t know, but I will.”
Reading sat up a little straighter. “How?”
“We planted trackers on the professors, unbeknownst to them, and they are still transmitting. We have what little remains of our people trying to get to them, but I’m afraid our situation isn’t what it once was.”
“What do you mean?”
“Many of our people are dead. The Triarii is fractured down the middle, and most of our funds have been stolen or frozen, each council member having a substantial portion of our money under their direct control. When the council split, they took their funds with them. And after the events of London a few years ago, it had taken many millions to cover that up, draining a significant portion of our reserves.”
“So you’re broke.”
“Compared to before, yes, but we do have funds. Our problem at the moment is manpower. It is spread across the world, with half of it out of touch with their primary contact now on the wrong side.”
“So you need help.”
“Frankly, yes.”
Reading rose. “I may be able to get you it, but you’ll probably want to stay out of their way.”
“Why?”
“They’ll be the same people who killed most of your staff in London.”
“I see. Can they be trusted?”
Reading grunted. “I trust them more than you.”
The Proconsul chuckled. “I can understand that. All I ask is that they do nothing to harm the skulls.”
Reading strode out of the room, heading for the stairs. “Their priority will be Jim and Laura, anything beyond that is of no concern to me.”
“Very well. When they are done, please let us know, so we can send people in to recover the skulls.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
“Do you have any idea where they might be heading?”
“Our best guess at the moment is Iceland.”
Reading’s eyebrows shot up as he entered the living room, everyone turning expectantly. “Really?”
“It makes sense. It’s close, yet remote. If something goes wrong, I assume they are hoping to minimize civilian casualties.”
“How thoughtful of them. Let me know when you know for certain.”
“I will.”
Reading ended the call, turning to Fang. “Tell Delta to head for Iceland immediately.”
The Unit, Fort Bragg, North Carolina
“It looks like they might be heading for Iceland.”
Dawson’s eyes widened slightly at the news from Lee Fang. He had been to Iceland before for some survival training, though that was it. He had never fired a shot there, and in his wildest dreams—save Red Storm Rising fantasies—had never thought he would.
Looks like you might get your chance.
“Do we have any idea how many hostiles?”
“Negative, and the destination is just a best guess from the Triarii.”
“What makes them think they’re heading there?”
“They’ve apparently placed trackers on the professors.”
“Huh. Let’s hope these Deniers don’t figure that out.”
“Yes.”
Dawson sensed Fang hesitate. “What is it?”
“Well, with the little I know about the Triarii, I don’t trust them.”
Dawson grunted. “Neither do I, but from what I know, they are standup people, though misguided and singular in their beliefs. When will we know?”
“If they are indeed heading for Iceland, then shortly.”
Dawson nodded. “Okay, we’ve got a jet on standby here. We’ll head for Iceland now and change course if need be. Have Leather’s team head there as well.”
“I will.”
“Good, I’ll make some calls and make sure some transport and equipment is ready for us when we arrive.”
“Good luck.”
HM Coroner’s Court, Woking, United Kingdom
“Agent Reading sends his regards, and appreciates you taking the time to help us out.”
The coroner, Alicia Malone, nodded, pulling out the final drawer holding the victims from the recent slaughter outside London. “How is Hugh doing? I haven’t seen him since he went to work for Interpol.”
“I haven’t seen him in a while, but my understanding is he is doing well. Getting to see more of the world than I think he anticipated.”
Malone laughed. “I can’t picture him the world traveler, he’s so stuck in his old ways.”
Leather smiled as he checked wrist after wrist while Malone wasn’t looking, each one branded with the Triarii tattoo. He stopped bothering after the fourth, it clear this was indeed a Triarii incident. “This is all of them?”
“Yes.”
“Any wounded?”
“Yes, but we’ve confirmed none of them are Professor Palmer or Acton.”
“Good.” Leather finished checking the faces of the deceased, relieved to find neither of his charges lying on slabs. “Any leads on who did this?”
Malone shook her head. “No, not yet. We’ve had some reports of helicopter activity in the area, so we’re trying to track that down, but the type of people who do this, don’t file flight plans.”
“True.” Leather handed her his card. “This is my personal cellphone. Please call me if you come up with anything. Professor Palmer has been good to me and my men. I’d hate to let her down.”
Malone began pushing the bodies back into their drawers. “Reading tells me you’re ex-SAS.”
Leather smiled, but said nothing.
Malone chuckled. “Okay, I get it. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
Leather bowed slightly then left the chilly room, his phone vibrating in his pocket. “Hello?”
“Hello, sir, this is Lee Fang. Our Triarii contacts indicate they have tagged the professors and are tracking them. Best guess on their destination is Iceland. Delta is heading there now.”
“How many?”
“Only four.”
“Any intel on how many we’re facing?”
“None, but I’m guessing much more than four.”
Leather grunted. “Me too. Okay, I’ve got six here. We’ll be wheels up in less than an hour.”
“I’ll inform the others and send you updates as we receive them. Good luck.”
Leather shoved his phone in his pocket as his body continued to warm up.
Only four Delta.
With him and his six, they were eleven against God only knew how many.
This could turn bad, fast.
Off the coast of Britannia
December 25, 64 AD
Flavus coiled the rope around his forearm, gripping the side of the boat with all his might, and only one arm, the other gripping the bag containing the skull. He wasn’t about to lose it now, not after all they had been through, not after so many had died.
But the storm they were battling had other intentions.
The winds howled, the waves crashed, the rain stung, yet they hung on. He wiped the water from his eyes, trying to spot the others. Dark shadows of those closest were barely visible, the other side of their boat nothing but a gray blur.
He heard someone cry out, a dark form sliding down the deck toward him. As he neared, Flavus caught sight of his face, it the old man from the forest, the old man he had recognized from Rome, lurking in the background near the skull. His face was filled with terror as their eyes met. Flavus began to move the bag to free up a hand when the old man held out his hands, shaking his head as he continued to slide, the prow high now.
“No, you mustn’t! Save the skull! Forget me!”
One of the surviving Triarii reached out of the darkness, grabbing him and pulling him to safety as the prow slammed back down, another wave crashing over the deck. Flavus saw the old man secured with a rope, he now safe. He gripped the bag containing the crystal skull tighter. The old man had been willing to die for it, had tracked them all the way from Rome, and had somehow known the deception perpetrated, finding them in the woods, away from the battle they were meant to die in.
Yet he had given no explanation, other than that he was an old man—a very old man—and was meant to be with the skull.
Flavus had ordered him away, and he had complied, yet he had kept trailing them in the distance.
It had been an annoyance at first, but annoyance had turned to admiration that a man so old could keep up with the finest Rome had to offer.
He had invited him to their fire after the third night.
He hadn’t left their side since.
The prow rose once again, someone else crying out, the shriek fading into the distance, another of their dwindling number lost to the gods.
We truly are cursed.
He wanted to throw it overboard, to rid them of what he now believed was the cause of their misery. It had nearly destroyed Rome, had led to the slaughter of the Thirteenth, and now was doing its utmost to remove the Triarii from the gods’ creation.
Something flew toward him from the darkness, smacking him on the head. He cried out in pain, the world flashing between darkness and gray as he stumbled to his knees, then collapsed, his left arm still tied to the boat, the skull underneath him, the storm fading in the distance.
“Flavus!”
Flavus moaned.
“Sir, are you okay?”
He moaned again, the voice closer now, the fog in his ears slowly clearing.
Seagulls?
His eyes fluttered open then shut again, the sun bright. He opened them a slit.
“Sir, are you okay?”
He looked toward the voice, recognizing one of his men. “Yes.” He held his arm out. “Help me up.”
Hauled to his feet, he stared back at the now calm seas. It was as if it were an entirely different body of water than the one that had tried to kill them earlier. “Where are we? Elysium?”
<
br /> The man chuckled. “I doubt that, there’s no way they’d let me in.” He pointed at stark white cliffs nearby. “I believe we’re in Britannia.”
Flavus smiled, suddenly noticing the bag the skull was in, still gripped tightly in his arm. He looked about. “How many?”
“Only six from our boat, sir, but look.” He pointed farther ashore, at least a dozen more of his men rushing toward them, waving.
“Thank the gods!” Flavus dropped to his knees and kissed the sands of his new home, knowing those of his beloved Rome were forever lost to him.
Route 1 Ring Road, Iceland
Present Day
The landscape was barren, grays rather than greens dominating nature’s palette here. And it was cold. They had been travelling for hours on the highway that ringed the island nation of Iceland, and Acton wondered what would happen should someone’s vehicle actually break down here.
It was as barren as the moon.
Which might be why Apollo astronauts trained here in the sixties.
Fortunately being stranded wasn’t a possibility for them, there several vehicles in their convoy. He sat in the back of one of the SUVs, Laura beside him, Chaney in the passenger seat with an unnamed driver. Laura’s head rested on his shoulder, she having passed out from exhaustion over an hour ago.
He was still running on adrenaline, though he’d be crashing soon. He just hoped he’d last long enough in case he had to take some sort of action. Escape wasn’t his endgame. In fact, he couldn’t quite believe he was here. The entire notion that there was some sort of power inside these sculptures was ridiculous, yet he couldn’t deny some things. Laura had convinced him that no known method—modern or ancient—could manufacture them, unless some forgotten technique had been used. They had been found spread out across the world over millennia, all manner of cultures possessing them.
They were an enigma.
And he couldn’t explain the physical reaction he had almost every time he was near one.
The Thirteenth Legion (A James Acton Thriller, #15) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 14