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

How
the hell does Martin think he can take this place?

Their
vehicle pulled away, disappearing around the rear of the estate, the Proconsul
greeted by two men rushing down the wide steps leading to the main entrance.

“Sir,
I’m relieved you made it.”

The
Proconsul merely nodded, then motioned toward the case containing the skull.
“We have it and its being tracked. Prepare for an assault, almost definitely
tonight.”

A shiver
raced through Acton as he felt Laura’s hand squeeze his.

“Yes,
sir, we’re ready. Are you expecting lethal force?”

“Absolutely.
They’ve killed dozens in the past few days. They’re here to wipe us out.”

Acton
cleared his throat. “They can’t possibly think they’ll succeed. I thought you
were all over the world?”

The
Proconsul turned toward them. “We are, but if they get the final skulls and go
to ground, what remains of our organization will have no way to find them.”

“Are the
other skulls here?”

“Those
that remain, yes.”

“But why
risk them? Haven’t you just led your enemy straight to what they want?”

The
Proconsul smiled.

“You
don’t last two thousand years without a plan.”

St. Paul’s University, St. Paul, Maryland

“So you think you can get into the phone?”

Tommy
Granger looked up at his dean, Gregory Milton, and grinned. “Already done.”

“Jesus,
that quickly?”

Tommy
leaned back in his swivel chair, crossing his arms. “When you’re good, you’re
good.” He winked at Mai Trinh, eliciting flushed cheeks and a giggle from his
girlfriend and exile from Vietnam, she now persona non grata after helping the
professors and a Delta Force member escape her former home. He pointed at the
computer screen. “I’ve got everything here. What do you need?”

Reading
leaned forward, peering at the display. “A phone number.”

“Called,
received, or stored?”

“Huh?”
Reading’s eyes narrowed as he processed the question. “Oh, stored.”

A few
clicks and Tommy began to scroll through a list of contacts.

“Stop.”
Reading pointed at the screen. “That’s the one.”

“Dinner,
Kraft? Is this some kind of joke?”

Reading
ignored the young man, scribbling down the number then double-checking it. He
stood back up and pointed at the screen. “Now delete everything on your
computer and give me the phone.”

Tommy
unplugged the phone, handing it to Reading. “Why? What’s so important about
this Kraft Dinner guy?”

“None of
your concern. Just delete everything.”

Tommy
continued to do nothing, the impetuous idiocy of youth on full display. Milton
cleared his throat and Tommy turned his head, his dean giving him a look that
had a couple of shades leave the young man’s face. Milton raised a finger,
pointing at him.

“
Every
thing.
If I find a copy has been kept or there’s any chance of retrieving the data,
there’ll be hell to pay.”

Tommy
nodded, turning back toward the computer, his fingers flying across the keyboard,
open windows disappearing, then a program started that Reading recognized from
his training sessions that wiped data from hard drives by repeatedly
overwriting it. Tommy spun in his chair as the program finished its work,
facing the two men. “Happy?”

Milton
nodded. “Very.”

“Jeez,
you hack one DoD mainframe and nobody ever trusts you again.”

Mai’s
chin was on her chest, the tension of the past few minutes apparently causing
the young, shy woman to recede into her own cocoon. “I trust you,” she
whispered.

Tommy
beamed a smile at her that had the chin lifting about an inch. “That’s because
you took the time to know me.”

Reading scowled
at him. “Listen, lad, I don’t know you enough to
not
trust you, but
there are people who will kill to get this number. By making sure you don’t
have it, I’m protecting your life.” He nodded at Mai, someone obviously
important to the naïve young man. “And hers as well.”

Tommy’s
eyes bulged slightly then he turned back to the computer, running another
program.

“Just in
case.”

“Uh
huh.” Reading followed Milton from the room, the door sighing closed behind
them.

“Do you
think he’ll be able to find the Triarii?”

Reading
nodded. “If anyone can, Dylan Kane can.”

Southern Gaul, Roman Empire
September 12, 64 AD

Flavus followed his legate, trying to hide the horror he felt as
they walked through the encampment, the moans and cries of brave soldiers in
agony heart wrenching. A battle was being fought here behind the palisades, and
too many good men were losing.

Dysentery.

It had
swept through the ranks swiftly, a seemingly unstoppable scourge that had taken
most of the frontline troops and their commanders down, as well as much of the legate’s
inner circle.

Flavus
had been quickly promoted, Legate Catius having taken a liking to him, and more
importantly, displaying a trust in him.

“How
many?”

Flavus
cleared his throat. “The latest report shows almost one third of our men are
sick and unable to fight.”

Catius
shook his head, a deep frown creasing his face. He paused atop a slight hill,
giving him a view outside the palisades, scanning the forest that surrounded
them. “And the Gauls?”

Flavus
felt his stomach flutter at the thought. “Our scouts report a buildup to our
west. Their assessment is that an attack is imminent.”

“The
Gauls have always been trouble, but nothing like this. To gather a force strong
enough to attack a legion is almost unheard of.”

“It
is
unusual.”

Catius
looked back at his tent. “It’s that damned skull. It’s cursed. It cursed Rome
and now it curses us!”

Flavus
said nothing, though he felt his legate was probably right. The emperor himself
had said as much, the message delivered by Jupiter, a powerful omen not to be
ignored.

We
must get this abomination as far from Rome as possible!

A sharp
breath burst from Catius’ nose as his head slowly shook, his attention returned
to the neat rows of tents hiding the ill. “If we stay here, we’re dead.”

Flavus’
eyebrows shot up. “But we’re Roman! We don’t surrender!”

Catius
chuckled, looking at the young man. “No, we don’t, but we can’t win every
battle, not when the gods themselves are against us.”

Flavus’
head dropped as his eyes cast down on the mud at his feet. “I’m sorry, sir, you
are correct, of course.”

“Chin
up, soldier. You won’t find the enemy between your toes.”

Flavus raised
his head, his eyes slightly wide. “Sorry, sir. What will we do? If we’re too
sick to fight…” He wasn’t sure what else to say without sounding defeatist.

“We load
the sick into the wagons and send them south, back to Lugdunum. Send enough
healthy men to protect them, but they must leave now, no delay.”

Flavus
nodded. “And the rest of us?”

“We head
north, and try to avoid a fight I fear we cannot win.”

Sana'a, Yemen
Present Day

“So, how’s your day?”

CIA
Special Agent Dylan Kane—Kraft Dinner to those storing his number in secret on
their phones—peered through the scope of his sniper rifle, sweeping slowly from
left to right, trying to find his target, his phone positioned near his mouth,
an earbud keeping private the conversation with the woman quickly occupying
more of his thoughts. “Nothing special. You?”

Lee Fang
sighed, a burst of static filling his left ear. “You know me, trapped in this
apartment.” She paused. “I miss you.”

Kane
felt it in his chest and his stomach. It was a horrible feeling, yet a
wonderful one. He had never missed anyone in his life, and now here he was, in
the middle of yet another shithole, talking to a woman he was pretty sure he
loved—another first—and he could
feel
the pain of separation.

It was
fantastic.

He had
never told a woman that he loved them before, at least not sincerely. Lines
were delivered to seal the deal on occasion, and he had felt guilty lying, though
sometimes on this job you did what you had to, to get the job done.

Even if
hearts were broken.

He had
yet to tell her how he felt, he not yet ready, and he was terrified of putting
it out there to just get silence, or worse, a “thank you”, in return.

“I miss
you too.”

“You’re
sure? There’s no woman there with you?”

From his
prone position, Kane glanced over his shoulder at the rooftop. “Pretty sure.
Besides, they’d be head to toe in black if they were.”

“That
narrows down where you are.”

“Hey, no
guessing.”

“Sorry.”

She
truly did sound apologetic, and the pain he was feeling for her grew. The poor
woman was living in exile, under an assumed identity provided her by the United
States government as a thank you for her helping thwart a recent coup attempt. Yet
in doing so, she had been forced to kill a top ranking Chinese general, and the
former Beijing Military Region Special Forces Unit soldier was now in hiding,
considered a traitor by her country, and forbidden by her adopted country to
work in any job that might utilize her old skills.

She was
bored.

Colossally
bored.

Just
as you’d be.

He had
sensed the mental anguish she was going through and had offered to try and be a
friend to her, he one of the few people in the world who knew her true
predicament. A friendship had blossomed, then a romance, this the first real
relationship he had ever been in, his history of wham, bam, thanks for the
slam, now a thing of the past, assuming things with Fang worked out.

Having
no track record in these things, however, he had no idea whether they would.

He just
knew which outcome he was hoping for.

She’s
incredible.

She was
gorgeous, his type definitely Asian, and she was the first woman he had ever
slept with that he was pretty sure could give him a run for his money in the
ass kicking department, should he ever cross her.

The
woman had skills.

She just
couldn’t use them.

He stopped
his slow scan of the crowd, moving the scope back slightly. “There you are.”

“Who?”

“Sorry,
babe, gotta go. I’ll see you soon.”

“Don’t
make promises you can’t keep.”

Kane
chuckled. “You know me too well. Bye, babe.”

“Bye.”

He ended
the call and squeezed the trigger, twice, putting two bullets into Aziz Kanaan,
the mastermind behind the New York City attacks. Scrambling back from the edge
of the roof, he rolled to his feet, dropping his weapon down a vent for later
retrieval by a CIA lackey, then rushing down the back stairs to the street
below as his special-issue Agency watch sent an electric pulse to his wrist.
Pressing the buttons in a coded sequence, a message scrolled across the face.