The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) (5 page)

I looked at the perfectly groomed and dressed man,
and immediately felt horribly underdressed. His BDU pants and
Woolly Pully were formal enough ware, but were also combat ready in
a time of need. I, on the other hand, wore tan boots of a civilian
brand, military style khaki cargo pants and a Hawaiian t-shirt,
obnoxiously colored in bright yellow and blue. To complete the
ensemble, I even left my shirt open, revealing the sleeveless
undershirt I wore beneath.

Part of my orders had been to appear at the Vatican
in civilian dress, and since I lived in Hawaii for the past few
years, I had little else in my closet but Hawaiian shirts. It
wasn’t until I emerged from the elevator and into the swarm of
tourists a few minutes ago, that I realized why.

I came to a halt a few paces away from a desk,
situated in the center of a richly decorated room, with religious
paintings scattered throughout, and snapped a salute, feeling
ridiculous doing so in the horribly patterned shirt.

“Lieutenant Commander Jacob Hunter reporting as
ordered, sir.”

The old man sitting behind the desk smiled and kept
me holding the salute for a few second before waving me off.

“I can understand your instinct to salute, my son,”
the man said in clear but accented English, “but I am not your
commander. At ease, or whatever it is you military types say.”

I lowered my arm slowly, easing myself into a more
comfortable standing position, but remained razor straight.

“Thank you, sir. I wasn’t sure whether to salute, or
kneel, or what. I’m a little out of my element.”

The man continued to smile at me as he stood up and
rounded the desk to stand at arm’s reach. As he came to a stop, he
held out his right hand, which held a rather large ring. I
understood, and knelt before him, kissing the ring, before rising
again to my feet. Straightening, I was surprised to see the man’s
smile was larger than before, as he seemed to settle into a
completely relaxed and informal manner.

“Sit, sit,” he said. “We have little to discuss, and
it is important that we have you continue your journey as quickly
as possible.”

I took my seat, noticing that Father Vincent had
vanished.

Sneaky.

The old man sat down carefully, faintly showing his
age. Folding his hands on the desk in front of him, he stared
directly into my eyes. He wasn’t so intimidating that he made me
feel uncomfortable, but his look was enough to ensure that I knew
who was in charge.

“So,” he began, opening his hands. “It is my
understanding that you have been left completely in the dark
concerning why you are here. You know that we are in the middle of
not only a crusade, but World War III, that my life has been
directly threatened, and that terrorists were very nearly
successful at taking it. Finally, you know that I have created an
off shoot of my Swiss Guard, for which I have recruited from the
best of all Christendom to provide additional aid and protection to
my person. Have I left anything out?”

“No, sir. That just about covers it.” I kept my
responses short. We were both busy men. No reason to delay our
meeting with frivolous pleasantries or endearing platitudes.

Perhaps sensing my directness, he smiled again, and
quickly shifted topics. “We know all about your upbringing and have
been watching you for quite some time. Do not be alarmed. We just
wanted to make sure we knew everything we needed to in our
potential candidates. But, as you are finally here, it is time to
send you on your way.”

I leaned forward, in order to hear as clearly as I
could.

“You are here to join an elite group of soldiers
whose sole purpose is to seek out and eliminate any potential
threat to the wellbeing of myself or the ground on which you stand.
My Swiss Guard is fully capable of defending this establishment
from many threats, including an all-out siege, but it is the small,
indirect kinds of warfare that the mere guard cannot defend
against. Nuclear and biological attacks must be stopped at the
source, and that is where your team comes in.” He paused to look at
me questioningly. “Is this acceptable to you, Mr. Hunter?”

I nodded, suspecting such an assignment. That suited
me just fine.

“Desperate times,” I said.

He returned my nod. “Indeed. I do not relish the
need for such a force, but the dangers of today sometimes dictate
preemptive action.” He paused again, his body language indicating
he wasn’t quite finished, but it wasn’t long before his composure
returned. “Now, do you have any questions?”

“Just one. Who are we?”

The man smiled once again. “You have no official
unit designation, but to me, you are known as Praetorians. Do you
know who they were?”

“They were once the elite bodyguard of the Roman
Caesars during the days of the Roman Empire.”

“I thought you would know. You have inquisitive
eyes, always open to learning new things. You are correct. You are
Praetorians, a tribute to the men of antiquity who once protected
the leaders of this great city. Now, since you have no further
questions, allow me to introduce you to Major Dillon McDougal,
formally of His Majesty’s SAS. He will be your commanding officer.
King William was kind enough to lend him to our efforts.”

McDougal nodded, which I returned in kind.

“Now, my son, this is where we must part ways,” the
man said, standing and raising his ringed hand once again.

I rose to kiss his ring, and was once again
surprised, in this day of surprises, as the man rotated his hand,
offering a handshake instead. Tentatively, I gripped his hand,
surprised at the strength he possessed, and shook firmly.

“Thank you. It will be an honor to serve as so many
have before me.”

“The honor is all mine, young man,” Pope Gregory XXI
replied. “You also have my thanks and my prayers.”

I nodded and released his grip. McDougal started for
the door and I quickly fell into step behind him.

On my way out I heard Pope Gregory quietly whisper
under his breath, “God be with you, my son, and God speed.”

Following behind McDougal, I asked, “Where to,
Major?”

“Where else?” He replied. “To meet your squad.”

II

Praetorians

Rome, Italy

July, 2021 AD

McDougal led the way towards the elevator from which
I had just arrived. Once inside, he pressed his thumb against a pad
on the elevator panel, activating the car to descend rapidly into
the bowels of the Vatican. The ride didn’t last long, and soon the
doors opened to a long, white hallway, not the tunnels I had
expected. We must have arrived on another subterranean level. The
hallway was well lit and had the metallic sheen and sterility
normally associated with some sort of military or medical
complex.

New ones.

At the first door, McDougal again pressed his thumb
against a pad and the door slid open. As I followed him inside, I
took in my surroundings in a glance, focusing briefly on as many
details as I could. The immediate area consisted of a few benches,
lockers, and doors to a shower facility. To my right was a complete
weight room facility, equipped with cardiovascular machines and a
boxing ring. To my left was a mess hall and recreation area.
Directly ahead was a small arms firing range and obstacle course
fit for training with weapons and gear.

I was definitely impressed.

Most training facilities possessed all of the
present amenities, but never in such a single, vast area, obviously
specialized to serve two purposes. First, to conserve space as an
underground facility would need to be as compact as possible.
Second, to produce a more familial atmosphere where everyone
present can interact with one another regardless of what they were
doing. It was the perfect environment for assimilating a team of
strangers who did not have the luxury of going through a rigorous
and lengthy training process meant to build bonds of friendship and
trust.

I spotted five figures scattered throughout the
facility. The first two were easily found as they were prominently
displayed sparring in the boxing ring. One man outweighed me by at
least fifty pounds and had a few inches on me as well, while the
other man was short, ripped and wiry. He reminded me of Bruce Lee.
A third man was using a bench press machine behind the boxing ring,
but only his calves and feet were visible.

The fourth figure I noticed was a woman. She was
facing away from me and all I could see was black hair, tied up in
a short pony tail that didn’t quite reach the nape of her neck, and
a lithe body covered by a tight tank top and BDU pants. She was at
the other end of the facility, sitting at the long range rifle
section of the shooting range, her eye buried in the lens of
scope.

The final figure was sitting at the mess hall
drinking a vanilla smoothie through a straw, leaning back in a
chair with his legs crossed atop the table, one of his boots lying
on the ground next to his chair – a relaxed demeanor that surprised
me. Most soldiers, even when off duty, portrayed slightly more
poise and discipline while on station, but what really shocked me
was that I knew this guy, and his lackadaisical attitude
immediately made sense.

“Well, well, well…” I called out cheerfully with a
smile on my face. “If it isn’t the sexiest man this side of the Air
Force. Johnny Santino.”

The man turned, nearly falling out of his chair in
surprise.

“Jacob? Is that you? Good God, it’s been forever,”
he said, pulling me into a friendly bear hug and lifting me off the
ground. “How long has it been? A year? Since that op over North
Korea?”

I rolled my eyes. He knew damn well it hadn’t been
that long. “You mean the time when you and your little ninja
buddies couldn’t make the extraction because your little tootsies
got all cut up, and my SEALs had to come bail you out?” Santino
must have been that member of Delta that had transferred earlier.
He’d started his Special Forces career as a Green Beret, a
clandestine team that specialized in tactical instruction. Back in
Vietnam, they were so sneaky that many theorized they executed
their missions barefoot, making them targets of both easy jibs and
respect simultaneously. “I see you’re still putting your feet at
risk,” I joked, pointing at his bootless foot after he finally put
me down.

“I take it you two know each other,” McDougal said
as he approached quietly.

“That’s correct, sir. Although, I am a bit surprised
to see his pretty face here at all.”

Santino sneered at me. During basic training he took
some shrapnel from a grenade accident, leaving him with a rather
nasty web of scars on the right side of his face. It wasn’t that
bad really, and it gave him a dashing, heroic look that the ladies
always seemed to slobber over.

“We’re both Catholic, Jacob. I guess they just
wanted another Italian around here, and called me in first.”

“When I first heard they had recruited from Delta, I
had my suspicion it was you, but I figured your patriotism would
outweigh your faith. Guess I was wrong.”

He put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m not sure how I
feel about you thinking so much about me, Jake, kinda creepy, but
it’ll be good to work together again. This time on a more permanent
basis. And, hey, I hear you’ve been promoted. McDougal told me the
new guy was a Lieutenant Commander in the Navy. Looks like I’ll
have to start saluting you from now on.” Before removing his hand
from my shoulder, he pinched at my Hawaiian shirt and pulled on it
slightly. “Nice shirt, by the way,” he commented.

I smiled. “Thanks, and don’t worry about saluting,
the only thing I care about is the bigger pension.”

His smile faltered and he cupped his chin between
thumb and forefinger in thought. “I wonder why I wasn’t promoted
when the President sent me off…”

“I hate to break up the reunion, but now would be a
good time to clear up a few things,” McDougal interrupted, looking
at me. “First of all, ‘Captain’ Santino is no longer a captain as
you understand it, but a lieutenant once more.”

“Sir? He was demoted?”

“No, not demoted per se, but merely realigned into a
new chain of command. In fact, you are now a lieutenant as
well.”

Figures. I knew it would only last a few days before
I was at the bottom of the food chain again, but at least my bank
account would still reflect my old rank. I sighed, feigning
disappointment with a lazy shrug while McDougal continued.

“We did not want to strip any member of the team of
their rank, but we needed to consolidate our system so as to avoid
confusion. The chain of command is simple and you would most likely
recognize it from your American Army. I’m team leader and highest
ranking officer as a major. My second in command is a captain, and
the rest of you are of equal rank as lieutenants. Any
questions?”

“No, sir,” I responded. “Sounds straight forward to
me.”

“Glad I was able to clear that up, mate. Now, would
you like to meet the rest of your squad?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Follow me.”

Leaving Santino to finish his smoothie, we started
towards the boxing ring when I heard the distinct
crack, crack,
crack
of a high powered rifle firing in rapid succession. I
glanced over at the young woman sitting at the shooting range as
she summoned her paper target from far down range. Considering the
amount of time it took for the target to reach her, I estimated
that it began its journey from pretty far out. When the woman
pulled off the target and held it to the light, I noticed a neat
smiley face in perfect formation on the target’s head.

The woman was a fantastic shot, and the smug smile
at the corner of her mouth indicated she knew it, and had an ego
about it.