The Thirteenth Legion (A James Acton Thriller, #15) (James Acton Thrillers) (26 page)

And duty
should be enough.

Though
it wouldn’t be if their future were to unfold as he expected it would.

“Old man!”

The room
became silent as everyone looked at him then Ananias, sitting in the corner,
rocking back and forth in his chair, a smile on his face, his hands clasped
around a heavy cane fashioned for him by one of the men two years before.

“Yes, my
son?”

“You
claim to know the truth behind the skull, yet you refuse to tell us what that
truth is. A decision needs to be made. Here. Tonight. I need more information
in order to make the correct one. Will you finally reveal what you know?”

The
smile grew. “And what decision is that?”

“Our
future. What is to become of us.”

The old
man’s head bobbed. “It is an important one, that is. But you already know in
your heart what the right decision is. You need nothing from me. You merely
need the courage to commit, and all will be well.”

Flavus
felt his chest tighten slightly in frustration as his jaw clenched. He jabbed a
thumb over his shoulder at the chest. “If we return to Rome, what will happen?”

The old
man shook his head vigorously. “You mustn’t, as you already know.”

“But
why? Is it cursed?”

“Whether
it is cursed or not is irrelevant. Your emperor gave you an order and you must
obey.”

“He is
no longer the emperor. He is dead.”

“When
one ruler dies, do you ignore all his decrees automatically? If that were the
case, there would be chaos, each new emperor having to reissue all previous
decrees from centuries before.” He shook his head. “No, you know as a soldier
that the decree stands.” He nodded toward the chest. “The skull must never
again be taken to Rome.”

“Then let’s
just bury it and be done with it!”

Tepid
agreement from the room at Atticus’ outburst suggested to Flavus they knew why
they couldn’t do that.

For the
same reason they couldn’t take the skull back to Rome.

The
emperor had decreed the Thirteenth Legion not only take the skull to Britannia,
but also assure it never return.

For
all time.

Flavus
sighed then murmured the three words that had been haunting him. “For all
time.”

“Sir?”

Flavus
turned to Atticus. “For all time,” he repeated, louder. “Our orders, from the
mouth of the emperor himself, were for the Thirteenth to take the skull to
Britannia, and ensure it never returned to Rome
for all time.
”

“But
what does that mean?” asked Atticus, slamming his cup onto the table, wine
spilling over the edges. “For all time? What is that? Eternity? After we’re
dead? Are we to forgo Elysium and instead remain here, our spirits forever
condemned to guard this damned thing!”

“He
really needs to get laid,” muttered Livius, the room roaring in laughter,
Atticus joining in before Flavus held up his hand, ending the frivolity.

“You are
right, my friend. It is an impossible order for
us
to keep.”

Atticus
leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “You say
us
as if there are others
who can fulfill
our
duty. We are sworn to secrecy of who we are and what
we guard. How can we possibly bring in others, for that
is
what you are
talking about, isn’t it? Others to replace us after we are gone?”

Flavus
nodded, slowly looking about the room at the men gathered. He was the youngest
there by almost a decade, some of the men in their forties. His eyes came to
rest on the old man who had a smile on his face that suggested he knew exactly
what Flavus was considering.

Ananias
nodded slightly, as if giving his blessing.

Flavus
sucked in a quick breath then looked at his men. “
We
are the Triarii,
the last of the Thirteenth, the greatest legion Rome ever fielded.” Cheers and
raised glasses interrupted him, an interruption Flavus allowed. “But
we
cannot possibly guard Rome from the dangers of this sculpture, this skull, this
oracle of the gods”—he raised his eyebrows slightly and tilted his head back as
he found the words he was searching for that would have some spiritual meaning
to his men—“this Oracle of Jupiter. If our duty is indeed eternal, then it will
be future generations that must continue our duty after we are gone.”

The room
was subdued now, the wine forgotten, their desire for female companionship
pushed aside as they all listened to their leader. “What is it you are saying,
Legate?” asked Atticus.

Flavus smiled,
his decision made. “No matter how much we may hate this miserable patch of
rock, no matter how much we miss the warm sun on our faces, the beautiful women
of Rome, the greatness that is the Empire, we will never see it again.” He spread
his arms out. “
This
is our home now. And our duty hasn’t changed.
We
are the Triarii.
We
are the Thirteenth Legion. Rome is where our hearts
lie, but
here
is where our duty has taken us. We have known it for
years. We will never leave this land, and our duty cannot be passed on to just
anyone. We need people we can trust to carry on our legacy, to carry on our
duty.”

He
leaned forward, the rest of the room joining. “We need families. Families that
can continue the duty handed to us. Families we can
trust
to not betray
the
honor
bestowed upon us, the honor of protecting the greatest empire
to have ever ruled the world.” He rose, kicking his chair back and lifting his
glass high. “Brothers! Romans! Let
this
be our home, let us embrace it
with all our hearts and bring joy into our lives by doing so! The past is done.
It is time to look to our future! What say you, men? Shall we get Atticus a
woman so she can bear him many sons, sons who will continue our duty for all
time?”

The men
burst to their feet, glasses raised, a roar of approval shaking the walls.

And the
little old man watched on, apparently pleased, though hunched over a little
more than Flavus had seen before.

As if he
had aged decades.

Outside the Denier Installation, Iceland
Present Day

This is unbelievable!

Dawson
lay prone, the hard rock-strewn surface jabbing into him, making him wish he
had a ghillie suit on, its thick burlap at least providing some cushioning. As
he and the others peered through their binoculars, the silence after the
initial gasps suggested they were all as amazed as he was.

What had
been barren landscape in the satellite photos was now awash in bright lights,
large camouflaged doors having slid open, revealing an intensely white circle
at least a hundred feet across. After his eyes had adjusted, he was able to
make out what appeared to be a state of the art laboratory with men and women
in jumpsuits, rushing around as if something big were about to happen.

He
didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

Leather
grunted. “Are those what I think they are?”

Dawson
nodded, shifting his focus to the thirteen arms projected above the lab in a
circle. “If you mean a whole whack of crystal skulls, then yes, it would appear
so.”

“I’ve
heard about them but I’ve never actually seen one.”

“Wait
’til you see one up close,” muttered Dawson. “It’s a whole different
experience.”

“In what
way?”

“It’s
creepy, for lack of a better word. When I saw it the first time, it sent chills
up and down my spine. It was weird. It takes a lot to weird me out, but this
did.”

Leather
pulled away from his binoculars, glancing over at Dawson, saying nothing.

Dawson
looked at him. “I’ve seen a lot of weird shit in my life, but I still think
about it to this day.”

Leather
returned to peering through his binoculars. “Sounds like I need to see one up
close.”

“You
enjoy nightmares?” asked Niner.

“Nope,
but I’ve been doolally since I was a kid when my parents let me watch The Time
Machine.”

Niner
rolled to his side, staring at Leather with a grin. “Me too! When the Morlocks
came out that first time? Man, I’ve had nightmares about that going on twenty
years. That and pink elephants. And now the word doolally.”

Atlas’
voice rumbled. “Pink elephants? I’m not even going to ask.”

“I think
you just did.”

“Save it
for your shrink’s couch.”

Dawson
surveyed the area around the large opening. “With those bright lights we should
be able to get into position undetected.”

“Agreed,”
said Leather.

“Colonel,
have two of your men get down to the shore and set the charges on those power
lines, then get the hell out of there. I’m guessing the place will be swarming
with guards as soon as they go off. I want to try and keep the killing to a
minimum if we can.”

“Do you
think that’s possible?”

Dawson
grunted. “I’m not optimistic. If they start firing, I want sniper teams here,
here and here,” he said, indicating the three positions. “Take out anything in
sight, but watch out for our professors.” He lowered his binoculars, looking to
his left and right at the men on the ridge. “You all know what they look like?”
he asked, his question for the benefit of Leather’s team.

Leather
was the only one to reply. “We’ve been guarding them for several years now, so
don’t worry.”

Dawson
grinned at him. “Forgot about that.” He raised his binoculars, searching for
the air vent Langley had found. “We’re going to have to try and get in through
that air vent. If we can effect entry, we’ll signal you to detonate the
charges.”

“Something’s
happening,” said Spock.

Dawson
adjusted his view, the lab coming back into sight. His eyes narrowed, those in
the lab clearly focusing on their panels, others staring up at the skulls
overhead. “Okay, I think their experiment is about to start.”

“Which
means this entire area could be about to blow,” said Niner.

“Then
let’s boogey. I don’t care what they’re doing, but they do, which means they’re
probably distracted.”

He rose.

“Let’s
move!”

Control Center, Denier Installation, Iceland

Acton’s heart slammed against his ribcage as his head pivoted
between staring at the needle in front of him and up at the skulls moving
almost imperceptibly overhead. His right hand hovered over a large red button,
his other gripped the edge of the panel.

He was
sweating and shaking all over.

Laura
put a hand on his shoulder and he flinched, almost hitting the button.

“Relax,
dear.”

He
nodded, taking a deep, slow breath, then holding it before exhaling slowly out
his mouth, the tactical breathing exercise calming his adrenaline-fueled
excitement.

“Sit.”
Chaney pointed at the chair bolted to the floor in front of Acton’s terminal.
“You’ll be able to see better and perhaps not hit that button prematurely.” He
gave Acton a wink then turned back toward the center of the room.

Acton
frowned, knowing he had been caught. He sat, Laura standing behind him,
massaging his shoulders as the activity continued around them, the voice of the
woman controlling the proceedings echoing overhead through speakers, apparently
the entire complex listening in. It made sense. The installation wasn’t manned
by just anybody—it was manned by believers. They were not just Deniers, but Triarii,
all men and women who had dedicated their lives to the crystal skulls and what
they represented.

All
eager to discover the truth.

From the
scientist who manned one of the terminals, to the man who pushed the broom in a
lonely corridor.

Today
they were all equals.