The Thirteenth Legion (A James Acton Thriller, #15) (James Acton Thrillers) (19 page)

Northern Gaul, Roman Empire
October 22, 64 AD

“These hit and run tactics are taking their toll. If this keeps up,
we won’t have enough men left to fight if they come in strength.”

Flavus
nodded in agreement at his legate’s assessment of the situation. They had lost
a third of their men to dysentery, they having sent them back to safety with
several hundred healthy men to protect them, the sick in no condition to fight
should they come under attack. Thankfully, runners had confirmed they had
reached safety, a relief to them all.

But
there had been no relief from the Gauls.

“My men
sick was bad enough, but we’ve lost another third to these attacks.” Legate Catius
spun, glaring at the box holding the crystal skull they had been tasked to
transport. “It’s all because of that damned thing. If you ask me, we should
bury it somewhere and return to Rome, telling them it was destroyed.”

Flavus
was surprised at the proposal, and knew it was simply frustration speaking, so
many of their comrades lost over the past several weeks. Flavus had never
fought a battle in his life, all his fighting in the training ring, his life
never in real danger.

Yet all
that had changed.

He had
fought, hard, almost every day for weeks, surprising even himself with his
skills, and earning the respect of the men he was now forced to command, so
many of the senior officers dead or sick.

And he
had his friend Lucius to thank for it, their constant training in their youth
now paying off.

He
looked at his legate. “Then why don’t we do just that?”

The legate
glanced at him then back at the box, saying nothing at first. “Do you wish that
we do such a thing because you fear it may indeed be cursed, and destroying it
will curse us all? If that is what your heart tells you, then how can you wish
such a fate upon Rome herself? Could it be that it is indeed cursed as the
emperor says, and that all this misfortune we have experienced is because of
it? Perhaps when we reach our destination all will be well, but if not, better
Britannia suffer than Rome.”

Flavus
bowed slightly, happy to hear his commander back to his old self. “You are
right, of course, sir. I will do my duty to my emperor and to Rome. But if we
are to succeed, we must think differently.”

Catius turned
toward him, his eyes narrowed slightly. “In what way?”

Flavus pulled
in a quick breath, averting his eyes. “I hesitate to say this, as it may sound
cowardly, and I assure you I am not—”

Catius stepped
forward, putting a hand on Flavus’ shoulder. “You definitely can’t be accused
of that.”

Flavus
made eye contact briefly, the feeling of pride he felt at that moment almost
embarrassing. “Thank you, sir.” Catius let go of his shoulder and took a seat,
motioning for Flavus to do the same.

“What is
it you wish to say?”

Flavus
swallowed. “Well, sir, I’ve been thinking. We are constantly being attacked
because we are too large a force not to draw attention. Perhaps it would be
best if a small party were to break away and take the skull to Britannia,
perhaps disguised as peasants.”

Catius tilted
his head back, his eyebrows rising as he contemplated Flavus’ words. “It is an
idea, that. Our policy of victory through strength hasn’t served us. Perhaps a
new way of thinking
is
needed.”

Shouts
erupted from outside the tent.

“The
Gauls are attacking!”

They
both leapt to their feet, Catius glaring once again at the box. “Curse their
gods!” He pointed at Flavus. “Should it look like we are to fall, take the
skull and what remains of the Triarii and make for Britannia. We will join you
if we can.”

Flavus
felt his chest tighten as they emerged from the command tent. “But sir, those
are your most experienced troops!”

Catius nodded.
“The other lines will be sacrificed in order to ensure success.” He grabbed
Flavus by the shoulder, spinning him around so they were facing each other.
“For Rome!”

Flavus
placed his hand on his commander’s shoulder. “For Rome!”

Milton Residence, St. Paul, Maryland
Present Day

Reading sat in silence on Milton’s couch, his head falling forward,
repeatedly waking him up, exhaustion taking over. In his haste to leave, he had
forgotten his CPAP machine and his sleep apnea was taking its toll.

Tomorrow
would be worse.

His
sleep study had shown he was waking up over sixty times an hour, his body never
actually getting any real rest, his brain never really sleeping. His first
night with his machine had gone far better than he had expected, opting for a
mask that covered his nose and mouth, and wearing it for almost an hour while
reading a book in bed, a suggestion the nurse had made to get him used to
having it on.

He had
slept like a log.

For
eight hours.

The next
day he had felt so refreshed, he was tempted to kiss the bloody thing. When
told he needed one—desperately—he had feared it would be loud, though with no
spouse, he had dismissed that concern. It turned out the machine was nearly
silent, though if the mask slipped, it did make a near comical farting sound.

Niner
would probably be in hysterics.

“Why
don’t you go take a nap?”

Reading
jerked awake, his eyes wide. He glanced over at Sandra Milton, her eReader set
down on her knee as she looked at him.

“Pardon?”

“You’re
practically asleep. Go to bed, I’ve made up the spare room for you.”

He
sighed, closing his eyes. “I think that might be best.” He dropped his gaze
slightly. “You wouldn’t happen to have a CPAP machine set to nine psi would
you?”

She
returned the look. “Umm, no. You travelled without your machine?”

He
frowned. “Huh, so you know how bloody daft that is too.”

She
nodded as she rose. “Go to bed, I’m going to call my friend Theresa. She works
at a medical supply store. I’ll see if she can bring one over.”

“It’s
prescription.”

“She’s a
friend, we’ll do this on the down low.”

Reading
smiled. “Don’t do anything illegal, now.”

“With a
cop in the house? Who’s daft now?”

Reading
laughed as Gregory Milton entered the room, dropping into his very expensive
looking massage chair. He activated the magic and sighed as the chair hummed
and he gently vibrated, as if his entire being was slightly out of phase with
the world around him.

“How’s
your back?”

Milton
opened his eyes halfway. “Sore, but fine. Searching their car used muscles I’d
forgotten about.” He drew a breath. “Oh, yeah, that’s the spot.”

“Should
I leave you two alone?”

Milton’s
eyes remained closed, though he chuckled as his hand gently patted the armrest.
“Please. She and I haven’t had much time together lately.”

Reading
smiled. “Don’t let Sandra—”

The
doorbell rang.

“Can you
get that?” called Sandra from another room, her phone conversation with whom he
hoped would be his savior, far more important than answering a door. Milton’s
chair shutoff.

Reading
waved him off. “Sit. I’ll get it.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Reading
pushed himself to his feet, his own muscles aching from his flight and the search.
He opened the door to find an extremely attractive Asian woman standing there,
a heavy looking duffel bag in her hand. “Yes?”

“Dylan
Kane sent me to help.”

Reading’s
eyebrows shot up and he stepped aside. “Come in.”

The
young woman stepped inside, dropping the duffel bag against the wall as Reading
closed the door. He held out his hand. “Agent Hugh Reading, Interpol.”

The
woman eyed his hand for a moment, then shook it, the grip firm.

Very
firm.

“Dylan
says you can be trusted. My name must not be included in any reports or
repeated to anyone.”

Reading considered
her, wondering just who this woman was. His eyes narrowed as recognition
dawned. “Lee Fang.”

She
gasped, taking two steps back, her head whipping around as if searching for
escape routes.

He held
out his hand. “It’s okay, you’re safe here. I’m Interpol, so I recognize you
from a report that came across my desk about a year ago. The Chinese government
is after you.”

She was
still a bundle of tensed up muscles, but she nodded.

“Then
you’ll find no one in this house who wants to do you harm.” He held his hand
out, motioning toward the living room. “Come, sit down and meet the others.”

She took
several steps back, toward the living room, when Sandra poked her head out of
the kitchen, the phone still pressed against her cheek. She smiled and gave
Fang a little wave, pointing at the phone and mouthing a “hello”, Fang bowing
slightly as she continued to warily back herself deeper into the house, Reading
giving the nervous woman her space. He couldn’t remember much of the file, not
that it would matter much, nothing that came from the Chinese ever the complete
truth, and more often than not, a total fabrication. The Chinese mindset was
like the old Soviet one. Their population believed their lies, so they assumed
so would the outside world.

It was
almost laughable.

Just
like the new Russia. Soviet Union 2.0 as Acton called them.

“Gregory
Milton, I’d like you to meet Lee Fang.”

Milton
rose from his chair with a wince, shaking the young woman’s hand then motioning
toward the couch. “Please, have a seat.” He dropped back into his own. “I’m
sorry, but my back is a little sore.”

“From
the gunshot wounds you received.” She sat down, bowing slightly in her seat at
the surprised Milton. “Your recovery is remarkable.”

“Umm,
thanks.” Milton’s eyes narrowed. “Ahh, how did you know about that?”

She
flushed slightly. “Dylan has briefed me thoroughly on his friends and
contacts.”

Reading
sat in Sandra’s chair, not wanting to intimidate the poor woman by sitting
beside her on the couch. “Yes, about that. You said Dylan sent you to help us?”

She
nodded.

“And
just how exactly can you do that?”

She glanced
about the room as if searching for the words. “I…let’s say I’m
very
qualified.”

“And
just what are those qualifications?”

She
shook her head. “None that I can discuss.”

“Ahh,”
said Milton, smiling. “You’re one of
those
.”

She
flushed again, dropping her head to her chest. “I used to be.”

Milton
waved his hand, ending the subject. “Enough said, I know you can’t get into
it.”

Sandra
entered the room, smiling, the phone gone. She stepped toward Fang who leapt to
her feet, bowing. “Oh, dear, aren’t you precious. I’m Sandra, Greg’s wife.”

“Lee
Fang.”

Sandra
motioned toward the couch. “Please, sit. Can I get you anything?”

Fang
shook her head, rapidly. “No, thank you.”

“So Lee,
what brings—”

Milton
cut off his wife. “It’s Fang, hon. Chinese surnames come first.”

Sandra
paused, her eyebrows rising slightly. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Her eyes narrowed. “Huh,
that makes a lot of sense, now that I think about it.” She returned to Fang. “
Fang,
what brings you here?”

“Dylan
Kane sent me to help.”

“Dylan?
And how do you know him?”

“We’re,
umm…” Fang flushed, clearly embarrassed. “Friends?”

Milton
laughed. “It’s good to hear he’s finally settling down.”

The poor
girl practically turned crimson.

Sandra
shot him a look. “Greg, leave the poor girl alone. So, Fang, you’re here to
help. In what way?”

Fang
smiled slightly at Sandra, conveying her thanks at being saved from further
embarrassment, with her eyes. “I’m to be your liaison with the CIA and Delta
teams, and to provide personal security should it become necessary.”

“And
you’re trained for all that?”

She
nodded. “Yes.”

“Impressive.”
Sandra rose. “I’m going to make lemonade.” She looked down at Fang. “When’s the
last time you ate?”

Fang
shrugged. “I’m not sure. Breakfast?”

“Oh
dear, you must be starving. I’ll make you a sandwich. Any preferences?”

Fang
shook her head, appearing almost too embarrassed to answer.

“BLT?”

Fang’s
eyes narrowed. “B. L. T?”

“Don’t
tell me you’ve never had a BLT before?”

She
shook her head. “I-I don’t think I have.”

“You
like bacon?”

Fang
nodded, a little enthusiastically, Reading thought.

“Lettuce?”

“Yes.”

“Tomato.”

“Yes.”

“Then
you’re going to love this.”

Sandra
disappeared and Reading turned things to business. “What can we expect?”