The Thirteenth Legion (A James Acton Thriller, #15) (James Acton Thrillers) (12 page)

It was
highway robbery.

He
wasn’t anti-one-percenter, anti-capitalist, or overly political, but it cheesed
him off every time he ordered something and there was a fuel surcharge that
hadn’t been there before, or a delivery charge when none had existed before oil
prices had run up.

He had
taken to lowering his tip, he feeling a bit guilty about it at first, his own
son delivering food part time for some extra spending money. But he told the
delivery boy every time what was going on. “I tip ten percent less any
surcharges. Talk to your boss about getting those included in your tip.”

They
never went away happy, and he sometimes wondered if his food was spit on the
next time he ordered, but he didn’t care.

It was
the principal.

He was
being ripped off, and he was going to fight back in some little way.

Like
when gas prices spiked the first time. He had refused to pay it, instead
putting five or ten quid in the tank, and immediately switching to regular from
premium, a mechanic buddy of his telling him modern cars didn’t need premium,
even if the manual said they did.

It’s
a hedge against the car being driven in the third world where the octane is
very low.

He
hadn’t used premium in almost a decade and his car was none the worse for it.

And it
had saved him thousands, meaning the gas companies had lost thousands. If they
hadn’t tried to rip him off in the first place, he’d have kept pumping premium.

But no
more.

He was
one man in an ocean of consumers, but he was doing his part to fight back
against the unchecked greed that seemed to be the norm today. He often thought
of some of the “lectures” Acton would give about history, and how what was
happening today in many instances echoed the collapse of many an empire
throughout it, not the least of which was the Roman Empire. It was Acton’s
opinion that Western civilization as it was today was on the decline, and risked
disappearing this century if voters and their leaders didn’t smarten up.

And it
wasn’t corporate greed behind it.

That was
just a symptom.

Society
had changed from trying to build something better, to trying to get its share
of what had been built.

Reading
pulled his laptop out of the pouch of the seat in front of him as they reached
altitude, putting his hand on the top of the seat, pushing gently so the person
in front of him couldn’t lean back. The man poked his head around to see what
was going on, though not before Reading removed his hand. The man sat back
down, trying again, Reading’s hand already blocking the seat.

The
man’s head whipped around again, Reading opening his laptop.

“Are you
pushing on my seat?”

“No
mate, I guess it’s just not working. Mine isn’t either, but I don’t believe in
making the person behind me uncomfortable for an eight-hour flight. Do you?”

The man
glared at him but said nothing, returning to his seat.

He
didn’t try again.

The
mother sitting at the window grinned at him, leaning closer. “I wish I had the
courage to do that. For the life of me I don’t understand why they allow these
things to recline, not with the tiny amount of space they now give you.”

Reading motioned
toward his knees, his left one pressed against the seat back. “Sometimes it’s
necessity, not bravery.”

She
smiled, her daughter suddenly occupying her lap, peering out the window at the
lights below. Reading turned his attention to the latest reports on the
kidnapping. The FBI was treating it as a kidnap for ransom since Jim and Laura
were wealthy. He didn’t bother mentioning that it was probably a breakaway sect
of a two-thousand-year-old cult descendant from the Roman Empire behind it
because they thought once again the Actons might be able to help with a missing
crystal skull.

It just
didn’t sound believable.

He
snapped the laptop shut, returning it to the pouch, then popped his shoes off,
the trick to comfortable air travel given to him by probably the best friend he
had left in the world.

A friend
he was worried sick about.

Domus Tiberiana, Rome
July 21, 64 AD

Flavus stood at a respectful distance, his stance straight and
respectful, his eyes fixed on a distant point and not at any of those present.

For
staring at the emperor could be dangerous.

His legate,
Quintus Caesennius Catius, had selected him to join him when summoned by the emperor,
the palace a place he had never been, nor imagined he ever would. He was young,
ambitious, though too close to a commoner ever to hope to gain any real rank.
He was a Roman citizen, which counted for a lot, yet as in any empire, there
were the rich and there were the poor. His service would guarantee he’d end up
somewhere just above the bottom, though if he could rise far enough in rank,
his share of any bounty his legion may earn would increase, affording him a
more luxurious retirement.

In
twenty-five years.

His best
friend, Valerius, had promised him a position when he himself had the power to
do so. Valerius would be a force to be reckoned with, he of a more noble
station, especially with Pliny having taken him under his wing.

It’s
all about the connections.

Yet as
he watched the proceedings in front of him, he took some satisfaction in
knowing his friend had yet to visit the palace, and had yet to be in the presence
of the emperor.

“Follow
me.”

Flavus
followed the emperor and Legate Catius into another room, Flavus battling to
keep his eyes under control at the sight. Dozens of seers surrounded what
appeared to be a skull carved of glass, all on their knees praying to various
gods for forgiveness and protection.

“It is
this that is responsible for the fire.”

How
in the name of gods did this piece of glass cause these horrendous fires?

Catius had
more tact. “I don’t understand.”

“Since
its arrival it has spoken to me,” explained Emperor Nero, Flavus clamping his
jaw shut, battling a shiver that rushed up and down his spine as he stared at
the skull, its eyes glaring at him in a red rage, the torchlight surrounding it
reflecting off the smooth surface.

Stop
looking at it!

He tore
his eyes away, redirecting them to the smoke filled vista out the windows, the
fires still raging in some districts.

“Spoken
to you? How, my emperor?”

“I
cannot explain it, nor can any of these ineffectual imbeciles. But I am certain
Jupiter himself came to me in a vision demanding the skull be removed from Rome
lest it cause even more destruction.”

Catius kept
remarkable control. “A vision from Jupiter is indeed a great honor. It should
be heeded.”

“Which
is why I called you. I want this cursed object removed from Rome and taken as
far away as possible.”

“Yes, sire.
Where would you have us take it?”

Nero
flicked his wrist. “Some place far. Britannia perhaps. Those heathens deserve
it.”

“It
shall be done.”

“Good. I
knew I could count on you.”

“Who
should we deliver it to when there?”

Nero
wagged a finger. “No, I think you misunderstood me.”

“I beg
your forgiveness.”

Nero
ignored the apology. “The Thirteenth Legion will deliver the skull to
Britannia, and remain with it, ensuring it never again returns to Rome.”

“Remain?
For how long?”

Flavus
broke into a cold sweat at the response.

“For all
time.”

Approaching London, United
Kingdom
Present day

Laura sighed, peering out the window as her homeland sped past. She
loved living with James and adored her new home, his old, though she missed
England and she missed her university. She had managed to get a job at the
Smithsonian in Washington, DC, which had meant she could commute from their
home, thus spending much of the year together, instead of splitting time
between two continents.

It had
been the right decision.

Though
tough.

“I think
this is the only time I haven’t looked forward to coming home.”

Her
husband leaned closer and took her hand, squeezing it gently as they both stared
out the window at London below. “I hear you. I love London, but not today.”

Laura
drew in a breath, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes. “I have a
really bad feeling about this.”

“Me too.
I know you want to go with me, but I don’t want you to.”

Her eyes
flew open. “James! We already discussed this, I’m going!”

James
shook his head. “No, if this goes bad then I need you on the outside, taking
care of things.” He held up a finger, cutting off her protest. “I don’t like
the fact they insisted on no phones and their own plane. At least if Hugh knew
where we were, then I’d feel better, but right now nobody we trust knows where
we are and why.”

Laura
looked at her husband, latching onto the last thing he said. “You don’t trust
Martin?”

“Not for
a second. A year ago? Implicitly. Now? No way. This is a cult we’re dealing
with, no matter what side of their own internal debate he falls on. That means
they put the cult first, everyone else second or worse.”

Laura’s
head slowly bobbed as she thought about it. “We’re the infidels.”

“Exactly,
great analogy, but let’s not go there. You know how I tend to ramble.” He
flashed her a grin and she smiled, patting his hand.

“Yes,
you do on occasion.”

He
squeezed her hand. “When we land, I’ll insist you be allowed to go on your own.
If they don’t agree, we’ll just leave the skull, turn around and walk away.”

“And if
they stop us?”

“Then we
know they were always going to go back on their word and we’re in the same
position anyway. If all they want is the skull, then handing it over should be
enough.”

Laura
frowned as the wheels touched down. “We should have just let them pick it up in
Maryland. We’d be done with this already.”

James
shook his head. “Martin would have never given us the skull if that were the
case. Insisting it be handed directly to the Proconsul is the only way to
ensure it has a chance of being tracked back to the others.”

Laura peered
out the window. “Regardless of what’s going on, I think Martin is right.”

“I
agree. The only way to keep us safe is to make the other side think we’re not
on Martin’s side, and that he’s now our enemy.”

Laura
felt her chest tighten as they pulled up to the private terminal, a dark SUV waiting
for them. “Isn’t that Rodney?”

James
leaned over her, peering out. “Yeah.”

She
could tell from his voice that he was concerned. Hugh had said that Rodney was
carrying a real gun, not one of the tranquilizer weapons, and he had been
prepared to use it.

Is he
prepared to use it on us?

They
deplaned, Rodney bowing slightly. “Professor Palmer, Professor Acton, it is
good to see you again.” He nodded at the case. “Is that it?”

James
stepped forward, putting himself slightly between her and Rodney. “Yes.”

“Very
well. As agreed, it is to be opened in the Proconsul’s presence. You will
permit us to scan it of course, to make certain there are no tracking devices
or explosives?”

“Of
course.”

“Excellent.”
Rodney opened the rear door. “Please, I think we’ll all feel safer when we’re
not so exposed.”

James
shook his head. “I’ll be going, my wife won’t be.”

Rodney frowned.
“That wasn’t part of the agreement.”

“I’m
changing the agreement. You want the skull. You don’t need her.”