The Thirteenth Legion (A James Acton Thriller, #15) (James Acton Thrillers) (20 page)

Fang sat
upright, her posture perfect, all emotion wiped from her face. “Dylan has
secured a team at Langley to provide intel. They are in the process of trying
to track the professors. Dylan has also contacted Delta operatives he has
worked with in the past. I have yet to hear if they will be made available to
us, but he was optimistic. Have you made any progress here?”

Reading
shook his head. “No. The FBI has essentially cut us completely out of the loop.
They know I’m here unofficially and the asshole in charge—sorry,
agent
in charge—has said unless he’s told otherwise, I’m to be treated as a witness
and nothing more.”

“So you
aren’t aware of the status of their investigation.”

“No.”
Reading pointed to Laura’s cellphone, sitting on the table. “I did manage to
retrieve that from their vehicle, which was how I got Dylan’s number. Other
than that, all we know is that they were kidnapped and there have been no ransom
demands. It’s our belief it was an offshoot of the Triarii that took them.”

Fang’s
head bobbed, then she pointed at the phone. “Did you tell the FBI you found
that?”

Reading
shook his head.

Fang
smiled. “In my country they would kill you for that.”

Reading grunted.
“Good thing we’re not in your country, then.”

A cloud
seemed immediately to form around Fang, her mood noticeably changing.

He
leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Hey, are you okay?”

She
nodded, sucking in a deep breath. “We all have our problems, none of which will
help the professors.”

The
doorbell rang as Sandra entered with a tray, carrying a pitcher of lemonade and
four glasses. “I’ll get it,” she said, hurrying toward the table.

“Allow
me.” Fang leapt to her feet and drew a Glock from behind her back as Reading
rose. She hurried to the door, her feet like cat’s paws, not a sound heard. She
peered through the side window, stepping back. “A young Caucasian male, one
Asian female, probably Vietnamese.”

“Oh,
that’s Tommy and Mai, they’re good.”

Fang
opened the door, the gun now hidden behind, Reading standing about ten feet back,
watching the young woman at work.

She
seems to know her stuff.

“Hi!”
The word caught in Tommy’s throat as he got his first look at the stunning
Fang. “Umm, wh-who are you?”

Reading
stepped forward, Sandra poking her head into the hallway. “Come in, kids, Greg
is in the living room.”

Mai Trinh
eyed Fang then noticed her boyfriend staring. She stepped between them, the
jealous girlfriend marking her territory. She extended her hand. “Mai Trinh.”

“Lee
Fang.”

“T-Tommy
Granger.”

Mai
grabbed Tommy by the hand and dragged him into the living room, Fang following,
apparently oblivious to the affect she had on the poor young man afflicted with
a serious case of Yellow Fever. Reading gave her the once over, discretely, a
sudden stabbing pain in his chest causing him to almost gasp as he realized how
much she reminded him of Kinti from behind.

He bit
his cheek, the pain forcing the nightmare away.

Sandra
emerged from the kitchen with two chairs and Reading took them from her. “Allow
me.”

“Ooh,
such a gentleman. Keep it up and I might just trade Greg in for you.”

“I heard
that!”

“You
were meant to!” said Sandra, giving Reading a wink as she disappeared back into
the kitchen.

“I was
shot in the back, chivalry went with my legs!”

“That
excuse lost all meaning when you started walking again!” Sandra reemerged with
two additional ice-filled glasses.

She
placed them on the tray then gave her husband a peck. “It’s okay, dear, when
you’re fully recovered I’m going to work you to the bone.”

Milton
reached forward and grabbed her butt, dragging her into the chair with him.
“Looking forward to it!” He bit her gently on the shoulder as she giggled.

“Stop,
you’re terrible!”

He
pushed her back to her feet and she fixed her hair. “Sorry you had to see that.
My husband knows no bounds.”

Reading
was grinning, never tiring of seeing friends happy. He just wondered if he’d
ever find happiness like that. He and his ex-wife had a few good years, though
those memories were so far in the past they were basically gone, the emotions
of the events lost to the textbook summary his mind now stored. And the much
rawer memories of Kinti were too painful to think of, the joyful thoughts
almost always stomped by the memory of her painful death.

I’d
rather be lonely all my life than experience that type of pain again.

“So you
were mentioning the Triarii.”

The room
became silent at Tommy’s words. Reading stared at him. “Excuse me? Where did
you hear about them?”

Tommy’s
stunned expression at Reading’s snapped question showed he knew he had
overstepped some unknown line. “I’m sorry, I overheard your conversation when
you were leaving the lab.”

“You
should forget that name.”

Tommy
flushed and Mai’s eyes were suddenly wide with worry. She pressed herself
against him. “I, umm, I looked them up.”

“And I
assume you found nothing.”

Tommy
nodded.

“Good.”

“Until I
poked around the dark web.”

Reading
dropped into his seat, closing his eyes. “Bloody hell.” He sighed then looked at
Tommy. “What did you find?”

“These
guys are serious!” said an unleashed Tommy, eager to unburden himself with the
knowledge he had apparently gleaned. “They’re headquartered in London. Did you
know that the thing the professors were caught up in a few years ago was
related to them?”

Everyone
in the room nodded, much to Tommy and Mai’s surprise.

“Oh.”
The wind in Tommy’s sails died. “Umm, what else don’t we know?”

Reading’s
eyes bored into Tommy’s. “A lot, and it’s going to stay that way for your own
protection.”

“Okay,
umm, well, it might be too late for that. I decided to put some bots out there
to watch for anything involving the UK that was unusual, and I found
something.”

Reading
wasn’t sure whether he should be angry with the boy or not. “What?”

Tommy
fished a tablet from his backpack, tapping it several times before handing it
to Reading. It showed a large number of links. “What am I looking at?”

“A bunch
of reports coming out of Surrey, just outside of London, about a massive gun
fight at an old estate.”

Reading
felt his chest tighten and he exchanged glances with Milton and his wife before
peering back at the screen, Tommy continuing.

 “When
the police arrived everyone was gone, just the bodies left behind.”

“Odd for
the UK.” Reading turned to Tommy. “What makes you think this has anything to do
with Jim and Laura?”

Tommy
took the tablet and brought up a photo. “Look at this. It just hit LiveLeak,
that’s why we came here.”

Reading
looked at the photo of a dead body, then back at Tommy. “So, hardly remarkable.”

“No,
man, you’re missing it. Somebody got shots of things before they cordoned off
the area.”

“So
what?”

“So
what? So that means these are photos you’re never going to see. The state
controls the message, and if the state doesn’t want the message to be heard,
you’re never going to hear it. This”—he jabbed a finger at the tablet—“is the
great equalizer. Unfiltered news, available to the masses, uncontrolled by the
government and their corporate overlords.”

Reading
rolled his eyes. “This better be leading somewhere.”

Tommy
grabbed the tablet, using his fingers to zoom in on the photograph, then jammed
it back into Reading’s hand. “What do you see?”

Reading
glared at him then stared at the photo, now zoomed in on the dead body’s wrist.

And
gasped.

It was
the Triarii tattoo.

1st Special Forces Operational Detachment - Delta HQ, Fort Bragg,
North Carolina
A.k.a. "The Unit"

Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson stepped into the gym,
the sound of the country’s best working out hard, music to his ears. He loved
training, lived for it, and on most days while on duty and not deployed, his
team, Bravo Team, could be found either exercising, training or studying. Not a
man in the unit didn’t speak multiple languages, were masters at hacking, could
shoot, toss, throw or hurl every manner of weapon imaginable, and operate any
vehicle, whether car, boat, plane or transport vehicle, that they might
encounter in the field.

They
were Delta Force, officially 1
^st
Special Forces Operational
Detachment—Delta, America’s best and most secretive Special Operations force,
and the only military unit that could legally operate on American soil should
the President deem it necessary, he having the power to suspend Posse Comitatus
for this unit only.

They
were lethal, they were dangerous, and they were dancing.

Dawson
shook his head, a smile on his face as Jimmy and Niner danced in synch in the
square circle, Atlas standing in one corner looking on in disbelief, Spock in
the other, both with gloves on, there apparently a bout underway.

Dawson
walked toward them, the rest of his team surrounding the ring. “What is this?”

Sergeant
Carl “Niner” Sung waved. “We’re the half-time entertainment.” Sergeant Gerry
“Jimmy Olsen” Hudson spun, pushed his ass out toward Dawson, then smacked it
with an “Oooh”, repeated immediately by Niner, who added a smack to Jimmy’s
ass. “We’ve been practicing.”

“I can
tell. Let’s see how that goes over in Raqqa. The ISIS boys will probably toss
you off a building.”

Niner
blew kisses to the clapping onlookers then daintily held the ropes for Jimmy to
exit the ring. “A good USO show is what those boys need. They need to loosen
up. All that killin’ and goat humpin’ has got to make a man tense.”

Dawson
chuckled as the others gathered around him, Atlas and Spock leaning on the
ropes. “I’ve got something, off the books, if anyone’s interested.”

Sergeant
Leon “Atlas” James swept Spock’s feet from under him, the operator smacking the
floor, hard. “I’m in. Not sure about him.”

Sergeant
Will “Spock” Lightman rolled onto his back, cocking an eyebrow as he stared up
at Atlas. “Not exactly fair.”

“Life
isn’t fair. You think just because BD starts to talk, the enemy won’t attack? I
don’t think so.”

Niner
leapt up onto the ring, grabbing the top rope and swinging over it, launching
two feet squarely into the massive Atlas’ chest.

The man
didn’t budge, Niner merely dropping unceremoniously onto the canvas.

And
Spock.

Atlas
feigned a shot at Niner’s face.

“Hey,
not the face. I’m too pretty and besides, I plan on being a male model when
this career is over.”

“Now
that I’d pay to see.” Atlas reached down and hauled Spock to his feet, his
massive muscles rippling, his nickname assigned in his early days when someone
spotted him working out on one knee, a large medicine ball on his shoulder,
Atlas Shrugged immediately coming to someone’s mind. It was a nickname Atlas
bore with pride.

Niner
helped himself to his feet, Atlas not offering a hand. “Huh, I didn’t know you
swung on that side of the vine.” Niner bent over and smacked his ass, replaying
the end of his dance. “How’s that? Feelin’ something?”

Atlas
turned to Dawson. “Please, BD, if we go on an op, can we leave him behind?”

Dawson
shook his head, the smile gone. “Fun’s over. Yesterday Professor Acton and his
wife were kidnapped at gunpoint at the Home Depot in Annapolis. Several people
were killed. Eye witnesses say those killed were the first to attempt the
abduction, then a second group arrived, killed the first group, then took the
professors.”

Niner
whistled. “Christ, these two are just magnets for trouble. Who’s so hated that
two
groups try to kidnap them at once?”

Dawson
continued. “Acton’s phone was destroyed and tossed out of the van, Professor
Palmer’s was left at the scene.”

Jimmy,
his nickname earned after someone learned he had been editor of his high school
paper, sat perched on the edge of the ring. “Any contact since?”

“None,
however Agent Hugh Reading—you all remember him”—nods from all around—“had a
meeting with the Triarii—”

Niner
groaned. “Shit, not them again?”

“Yup,
one and the same. They are claiming that Martin Chaney has betrayed the
organization and is behind their abduction. At this point we don’t know who the
good guys are and who the bad guys are, but your mission, should you choose to
accept it—”

Niner
pointed at Dawson, looking at the others. “I like that.”