Acton nodded, beginning to stroll around the perimeter, peering at the displays and listening to the scientists’ conversations as he passed by. He glanced over at Chaney, who stood in the center of the room. “I can’t believe you haven’t tried to unite at least a few already.”
Chaney handed a tablet back to one of the scientists. “Trust me, the temptation was there, but we knew without the proper equipment in place, we’d just end up destroying the facility. It’s only now that things are ready.”
Acton motioned at the skulls above. “And just how will all this protect us?”
“We’re expecting a massive energy surge that this chamber has been designed to absorb then project away harmlessly. As soon as we see any reaction, we’ll pause, analyze the data, then continue. Your job will be to hit the kill switch if you see anything that concerns you that we don’t see, or if you hear someone ordering things killed.” Acton felt his chest tighten at the responsibility, Chaney picking up on his unease. “Don’t worry, Professor, anyone here can halt the experiment, it’s not all on your shoulders. You just have an additional switch that can kill things. A safety valve for our enthusiasm, shall we say.”
Laura came up from behind, taking Acton’s hand and squeezing it tightly. She was nervous. He was nervous. Hell, he was terrified. His entire body was shaking with adrenaline, it having nothing to do with the skulls overhead, of that he was quite certain.
Chaney, the highly trained Scotland Yard detective, again noticed. “Professors, if you want to leave, you can. We’ll take you to a safe distance. We’ll need to hold you until we’re done, of course, since you know where we are, but after we’ve finished our work, you are free to go with our thanks.” He smiled. “No one is a prisoner here.”
Acton looked at Laura and noticed her shaking her head almost imperceptibly, her eyes imploring him to stay.
She’s almost as obsessed with this as they are!
He sighed. “We’ll stay.”
I just hope it doesn’t get us all killed.
Off the coast of Iceland
The Triarii Proconsul, Derrick Kennedy, gripped the railing as their boat skipped across the waves, racing toward the last known location of the two professors. They would hold twenty kilometers offshore, it hopefully enough distance should anything go wrong. He knew from their own history that three skulls brought together had resulted in a massive explosion, or energy release, that had wiped out everything around them, almost destroying medieval London in the process.
And the skulls had been unscathed, simply sitting in the center of the blast wave. If the same were to happen tonight, Chaney and his people would be killed, and it would be his team’s responsibility to get in there first and retrieve the skulls before authorities arrived.
He just hoped twenty kilometers was enough.
Though if it weren’t, most likely no distance would be enough.
Life as they knew it would probably be over.
The motor began to throttle down and he glanced back at the pilot, who pointed at the shore.
They were here.
And either nothing was going to happen, or history was going to be made. He genuinely did hope for the latter, though the thought terrified him.
For if things went wrong, there may be no one left to write that history.
Approaching Denier Installation, Iceland
Dawson tossed the rope aside and waved up at the chartered AS365N Dauphin chopper overhead, the rope quickly retracting, the pilot banking toward Reykjavik. He looked about to see his team and Leather’s taking knees, all directions covered. He checked his tactical computer and motioned toward a nearby hill.
“The target is just over that rise. Niner, you’ve got point, let’s move.”
Niner took the lead, the team of eleven quickly advancing toward the rise. It was night, the light of the moon fading in and out as a partially cloudy sky blocked the light. Between scanning his path ahead for anything that might twist an ankle or worse, he had to admit he was enjoying the landscape. It was so completely alien to anything he was used to, its barren nature was intriguing. If he shut out what was happening around him, he could almost imagine he was on the moon.
And messing up his line, if you believed some of the conspiracy theorists.
That’s one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.
He didn’t believe for a second the “a” had been said or intended. It just messed up the flow of the sentence. Sure, it was probably more grammatically correct, but historic lines like that were meant to sound good to the masses, not the literati.
His comm squawked. “Zero-One, Control Actual. Do you read, over?”
“Go ahead, Control.”
“Zero-One, something’s happening.”
Dawson held up a fist and took a knee, everyone else doing the same, weapons aimed to cover all approaches. “Control, can you be more specific?”
There was a pause. “It’s hard to describe, but, umm, have you ever seen You Only Live Twice?”
Niner’s head spun toward him with a grin and a thumbs up, Spock cocking an eyebrow as high as Dawson could remember. “Ahh, you mean the volcano lair of Blofeld?”
“We’re sending you images now.”
Niner quickly joined him at a crouch, Atlas taking his place at point. He removed his laptop and within moments they were examining new satellite images.
“Jesus Christ!” hissed Niner. “Man, I didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t that.”
Spock glanced over his shoulder at the image. “Holy shit, is this for real?”
Niner looked at Dawson. “BD, these guys look serious.”
“Seriously deranged,” said Spock, already watching the landscape surrounding them.
Dawson’s head bobbed, a deep frown creasing his face. “Deranged people with deep pockets are dangerous. There’s no way they don’t have some significant firepower defending that place. Control, have you had any luck locating any automated defenses?”
“Negative, Zero-One. And now that we’ve seen these latest shots, I’m guessing they’ll be very well hidden.”
Dawson pursed his lips, pulling in a deep breath through his nose then blasting it out. “Okay, we have a mission to complete. Let’s get in there, get our people, and get the hell out.”
Niner raised a finger. “Umm, one question.”
“What?”
“Well, are we stopping them from doing whatever it is they’re doing, or just getting our people?” He waved the laptop. “I mean, look at this thing! This is some serious sci-fi, James Bondish shit. I’ve got a really bad feeling about this.”
Spock glanced back over his shoulder. “Yeah, BD, maybe we should be taking this thing out. Didn’t you say the Triarii thinks doing what these guys are doing could destroy the world or something?”
Leather was now at his side, their comms not linked to Langley. He watched the images flashing on the screen, shaking his head. “That’s like some space agency looking stuff. What do you want to do?”
Dawson shook his head. “This is where having someone else on the other end of the earpiece making these kinds of decisions is worth it.” He activated his comm. “Control, unless we hear otherwise, we’re leaving the facility untouched. It’s not our mission. However, if the professors indicate there is a legitimate danger, we’ll take it out.”
“Roger that, Zero-One. I’m going to try and get a decision on this end on what to do. But as soon as I do, this might go official, and Iceland may object to you being there.”
Dawson shrugged. “By the time they get here, we’ll be dead or done. Zero-One, out.”
Londinium, Britannia, Roman Empire
June 3rd, 72 AD
“I need a woman.”
Roars of laughter met Atticus’ proclamation, the two dozen that remained of the Thirteenth Legion gathered in Flavus’ recently completed home. He smiled, taking a drink of wine, everyone feeling pretty good at this point.
“I’m sure there
’s plenty willing to service you for the right price!” shouted Livius, more laughter following.
Atticus shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. I had a girl back home, we were to be married. It’s been eight years. I want to have sons who will carry on my name, a wife to share my bed with, not some serving wench looking for extra coins to fill her purse.”
There was no laughter this time, Atticus’ words clearly echoing the deeply repressed ones of the gathered men. Even Flavus felt it, though he had never known love, he too young when he joined the army to experience the joys a woman could bring beyond the bedchambers.
As he looked about the room, he could feel the weight of leadership, leadership he hadn’t been ready for, though had grown into, these men now accepting him as their undisputed legate, this still a Roman military unit, despite its size.
Thousands of men.
Dead.
It was a shame.
No one had followed them, Legate Catius and what remained apparently slaughtered. Word had it only a few hundred had survived beyond those who had been sick, retreating to Lugdunum, most of the officers dead. After Flavus and the Triarii had left on their secret mission, the Gauls had apparently let the few that remained leave unharmed.
The curse of the skull?
Over the years of exile in Britannia, he and his men had come up with many theories, and most agreed that their misfortune indeed related to the skull they continued to guard, though since they had arrived at their destination, nothing untoward had happened to them. Their lives were normal. Uneventful. Boring.
Perhaps it’s content with its new home.
There had been questions about why they remained, especially now that Nero was dead, however those were mostly settled when he described the meeting between their legate and Nero himself, a meeting they were all impressed he had attended. The emperor’s belief that the skull had caused the great fire that had consumed much of Rome, and their own misfortunes on their travels, from dysentery to unusually restless Gauls, had convinced them all the skull truly was cursed.
At least at first.
But now with years of no untoward happenings, even he questioned this wisdom.
And the little old man who sat in the corner wasn’t helping.
He was a curious creature. Clearly aged, yet unusually spry. He had followed them from Rome, pressed himself upon them in Gaul, and survived the voyage across Oceanus Britannicus. Things had gone their way since he had shown up, and the men had started to think of him as a good luck charm. At the moment, he and Atticus shared lodgings in this bastion of Rome that had sprung out of the barbary of this desolate island, its constant gloomy skies enough to drive anyone used to the sunny skies of Rome mad.
The old man though seemed to take their situation in stride, he happiest when he was within the presence of the skull, it still in its case, locked in a large chest in the corner of the room. The skull was never spoken of in public, their true identities never revealed to the masses that surged around them.
They all had jobs, he himself following in his father’s footsteps as a blacksmith, a trade he had learned as a youth and had been determined never to follow.
Life sometimes has a funny way of working out.
As a brotherhood, they pooled their resources, all living as equals, helping, sharing, slowly establishing themselves to better not only their own lives, but those of their comrades as well.
But the problem put to him by Atticus’ frustrated utterance was one he had been giving much thought to lately, Atticus not the only one feeling the emptiness. They were soldiers, soldiers who would normally know no family until they retired or left the service for some other reason. Yet here, now, they were in permanent service until the day they died, in a land foreign to them. No families, no lovers, nothing but their duty.
And duty should be enough.
Though it wouldn’t be if their future were to unfold as he expected it would.
“Old man!”
The room became silent as everyone looked at him then Ananias, sitting in the corner, rocking back and forth in his chair, a smile on his face, his hands clasped around a heavy cane fashioned for him by one of the men two years before.
“Yes, my son?”
“You claim to know the truth behind the skull, yet you refuse to tell us what that truth is. A decision needs to be made. Here. Tonight. I need more information in order to make the correct one. Will you finally reveal what you know?”
The smile grew. “And what decision is that?”
“Our future. What is to become of us.”
The old man’s head bobbed. “It is an important one, that is. But you already know in your heart what the right decision is. You need nothing from me. You merely need the courage to commit, and all will be well.”
Flavus felt his chest tighten slightly in frustration as his jaw clenched. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the chest. “If we return to Rome, what will happen?”
The old man shook his head vigorously. “You mustn’t, as you already know.”
“But why? Is it cursed?”
“Whether it is cursed or not is irrelevant. Your emperor gave you an order and you must obey.”
“He is no longer the emperor. He is dead.”
“When one ruler dies, do you ignore all his decrees automatically? If that were the case, there would be chaos, each new emperor having to reissue all previous decrees from centuries before.” He shook his head. “No, you know as a soldier that the decree stands.” He nodded toward the chest. “The skull must never again be taken to Rome.”
“Then let’s just bury it and be done with it!”
Tepid agreement from the room at Atticus’ outburst suggested to Flavus they knew why they couldn’t do that.
For the same reason they couldn’t take the skull back to Rome.
The emperor had decreed the Thirteenth Legion not only take the skull to Britannia, but also assure it never return.
For all time.
Flavus sighed then murmured the three words that had been haunting him. “For all time.”
“Sir?”
Flavus turned to Atticus. “For all time,” he repeated, louder. “Our orders, from the mouth of the emperor himself, were for the Thirteenth to take the skull to Britannia, and ensure it never returned to Rome for all time.”
“But what does that mean?” asked Atticus, slamming his cup onto the table, wine spilling over the edges. “For all time? What is that? Eternity? After we’re dead? Are we to forgo Elysium and instead remain here, our spirits forever condemned to guard this damned thing!”
“He really needs to get laid,” muttered Livius, the room roaring in laughter, Atticus joining in before Flavus held up his hand, ending the frivolity.
“You are right, my friend. It is an impossible order for us to keep.”
Atticus leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “You say us as if there are others who can fulfill our duty. We are sworn to secrecy of who we are and what we guard. How can we possibly bring in others, for that is what you are talking about, isn’t it? Others to replace us after we are gone?”
Flavus nodded, slowly looking about the room at the men gathered. He was the youngest there by almost a decade, some of the men in their forties. His eyes came to rest on the old man who had a smile on his face that suggested he knew exactly what Flavus was considering.
Ananias nodded slightly, as if giving his blessing.
Flavus sucked in a quick breath then looked at his men. “We are the Triarii, the last of the Thirteenth, the greatest legion Rome ever fielded.” Cheers and raised glasses interrupted him, an interruption Flavus allowed. “But we cannot possibly guard Rome from the dangers of this sculpture, this skull, this oracle of the gods”—he raised his eyebrows slightly and tilted his head back as he found the words he was searching for that would have some spiritual meaning to his men—“this Oracle of Jupiter. If our duty is indeed eternal, then it will be future generations that must continue our du
ty after we are gone.”
The room was subdued now, the wine forgotten, their desire for female companionship pushed aside as they all listened to their leader. “What is it you are saying, Legate?” asked Atticus.
Flavus smiled, his decision made. “No matter how much we may hate this miserable patch of rock, no matter how much we miss the warm sun on our faces, the beautiful women of Rome, the greatness that is the Empire, we will never see it again.” He spread his arms out. “This is our home now. And our duty hasn’t changed. We are the Triarii. We are the Thirteenth Legion. Rome is where our hearts lie, but here is where our duty has taken us. We have known it for years. We will never leave this land, and our duty cannot be passed on to just anyone. We need people we can trust to carry on our legacy, to carry on our duty.”
He leaned forward, the rest of the room joining. “We need families. Families that can continue the duty handed to us. Families we can trust to not betray the honor bestowed upon us, the honor of protecting the greatest empire to have ever ruled the world.” He rose, kicking his chair back and lifting his glass high. “Brothers! Romans! Let this be our home, let us embrace it with all our hearts and bring joy into our lives by doing so! The past is done. It is time to look to our future! What say you, men? Shall we get Atticus a woman so she can bear him many sons, sons who will continue our duty for all time?”
The men burst to their feet, glasses raised, a roar of approval shaking the walls.
And the little old man watched on, apparently pleased, though hunched over a little more than Flavus had seen before.
As if he had aged decades.
Outside the Denier Installation, Iceland
Present Day
This is unbelievable!
Dawson lay prone, the hard rock-strewn surface jabbing into him, making him wish he had a ghillie suit on, its thick burlap at least providing some cushioning. As he and the others peered through their binoculars, the silence after the initial gasps suggested they were all as amazed as he was.
The Thirteenth Legion (A James Acton Thriller, #15) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 16