The Thirteenth Legion (A James Acton Thriller, #15) (James Acton Thrillers) (27 page)

And
Acton had no damned clue why he was here.

He was
terrified, why, he didn’t know, though as he continued his breathing exercise,
he began to calm, his racing pulse easing, the roar in his ears, the hammering
in his chest, subsiding, his wife’s ministrations helping. He looked up at her.
“Thanks.”

She
smiled down at him. “Better?”

He
nodded. “Much.”

She
wiped the sweat off his brow with her fingers, her eyes wide in excitement. “I
can’t believe this is happening!”

He stared
back at his gauge, it not having budged from the zero reading since the process
had begun moments before. The screen in front of him showed images cycling
between various cameras documenting this important moment in Triarii history,
all the data apparently live streaming to secure servers on the other side of
the planet, just in case something were to go wrong.

He had
questioned the choice of locations when he had heard it. “Why are you going
through with this if you think there’s the chance you might blow up half the
planet?”

Chaney
had smiled at him as if humoring a child. “It’s merely a precaution. If we
truly thought that might happen, we wouldn’t proceed. We’re not insane, simply
abundantly cautious.”

But the
zeal in the eyes of those manning the control room suggested otherwise, and
even his wife’s had him realizing that those who had spent their lives
dedicated to the skulls, even outside of the Triarii, had been affected by
them.

And so
had he.

He
wanted
something to happen. Anything. Not a disaster of course, but he found himself
praying for something to happen, for the needle to move, for the skulls to
actually release energy of some sort. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it would give
some meaning to all the death that had surrounded them over the years. His
students in Peru, the Triarii in London and around the world, the Delta Force
members that had died before he had become friends with their surviving
comrades.

For
young Robbie Andrews who had sacrificed his life trying to save his professor.

Years of
fear, of nightmares, of death, of guilt, wouldn’t come to an end tonight, though
they might at least be given some meaning. Did they all die, did they all
suffer for some curious sculptures with no meaning, or did they die because
these skulls
were
actually special?

There
has
to be something. It can’t have all been for
nothing!

“Advance
another ten millimeters.”

Acton
tore his eyes from the skulls and focused on the gauge in front of him.

“Movement
complete. Report on readings.”

His
needle hadn’t budged.

“Negative
indications,” reported another voice over the speaker.

He eyed
the right hand side of the gauge, the large red swath indicating the danger
zone. If the needle entered that area, even for a moment, he was to hit the
button and abort the operation, the skulls immediately retracting away from
each other and into nonconductive holding chambers.

They all
had such a button.

But he
was the control. The only one here not motivated by a near religious fervor to
discover the truth.

Though
he was definitely caught up in the moment.

“Advance
another ten millimeters.”

Again,
his gauge showed nothing. He looked up at the skulls and wondered if indeed
something were to go wrong, would the precautions the Triarii had taken be
enough. They were operating under the assumption that they would be dealing
with some sort of power that could be harnessed like electricity. What if it
were some sort of explosive force, or worse, radiation?

Get a
grip, Jim!

He shook
his head, watching his gauge as the skulls advanced again. His mind was running
wild with scenarios as the excitement around him pulled him in, and if he weren’t
careful, he’d forget his true purpose here.

To make
sure things didn’t go too far.

“Advance
another ten millimeters.”

And
still nothing.

Exactly
as he had expected.

It
was
disappointing. He had been hoping for an Indiana Jones moment, where a little
bit of the mystical might prove to be real, returning wonder to the world if
only in a small way.

But he
was a scientist.

Even if
something were to happen here tonight, it would be for a scientific reason, not
supernatural.
If
something were to happen, then it would have something
to do with the composition of the skulls, their refractory properties, or
something else scientists who specialized in these things would be able to
explain.

But the
supernatural?

Never.

He
closed his eyes for a moment, they burning with fatigue.

But
it would be nice.

“Advance
another ten millimeters.”

The
needle jumped as did he, before it settled back down to zero. He spun toward
Laura.

“Did you
see that!”

Off the coast from the Denier Installation, Iceland

Proconsul Kennedy stood at the prow of the ship, watching through
binoculars the events unfolding in the distance. He could make out little
beyond the bright lights now coming from the installation, their position
intentionally far enough that they would be protected from any potential blast.

Any
blast worth surviving.

“The
drone is in position now, sir.”

Kennedy nodded,
returning to the bridge, a display showing the footage from their drone
launched a few minutes ago.

“I never
thought I’d see the day,” muttered Terry Simmons, one of the crew, as they all
stared, Kennedy counting the skulls.

Thirteen.

All
of them.

“They’re
really going to do it!” cried another. “They’re insane!”

Kennedy nodded
then closed his eyes, tilting his head toward the heavens.

May
the gods protect us all.

Outside the Denier Installation, Iceland

Leather held position behind a large rock, listening. All he could
hear was his own breathing and the sound of the ocean, it loud enough
unfortunately to obscure anything that might be approaching. He scanned the
area with his night vision goggles.

All
clear.

He
motioned for Jeffrey Moore, one of his trusted men, to advance, he rushing
forward toward the cables Langley had spotted, Leather holding his position as
he continued to scan the area for any hostiles. He flipped his goggles up, the
bright light from the complex a couple of hundred meters away simply too much
for them to work effectively across the entire area. It was causing deep
shadows everywhere, shadows that could hide the enemy, though if he was right,
it was an enemy so distracted by what was happening, they could probably park a
tank on their front door and no one would notice.

If they
knew where the damned front door was.

Moore
rushed back, giving a thumbs up. “I was able to remove the cover. They were
definitely cable bundles, but some pipes as well. Hard to say what’s inside.
Could be more cables or some sort of drainage.”

Leather
nodded. “Good. Let’s hope they lead to their primary power source and not just
some damned sewage disposal.”

Moore
grinned. “If it is, then I guess we’re really blowing the shit out of the
place.”

Leather
didn’t bite. “Your charges are set?”

Moore
held up the detonator. “Ready to blow the shit—”

Leather
held out his hand. “I’ll take that.”

Moore
placed the detonator in Leather’s palm. “Don’t trust me?”

“Once I
knock you out you won’t be able to operate this.”

“So, no
more jokes?”

“No more
jokes.”

Dawson knelt behind Niner as the operator examined the vent Langley
had discovered. They had managed to reach the position without encountering any
opposition, and to this point, none of the teams had seen any hostiles, nor
encountered any of the sentry guns that had him so concerned. If they could
actually gain entry here, they might be able to avoid them all together, if
they did exist.

But
things never seemed to go according to plan.

Not when
the Triarii were involved.

Niner
turned. “Definitely leads somewhere.”

“Sensors?”

“Yup,
but I’ve bypassed them, no problem.” Niner leaned over slightly, nodding toward
Atlas. “But we do have another problem.”

Dawson’s
eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”

“Well,
my sexy ass is going to fit in this no problem, but there’s no way my brotha’s
big boned figure is getting in here.”

Atlas
crawled over from his covering position and peered at the narrow opening. “Umm,
as much as I
hate
to agree with this scrawny excuse for a man, I think
he’s right.”

Dawson
frowned. “Okay, we’re a man short.”

“Greenhorn!”

Atlas
turned toward the challenge, Dawson ignoring it, he recognizing Leather’s
voice. “Tenderfoot!” responded the big man as he resumed his covering position.

Leather
and one of his men joined them. “Charges set.”

Dawson
nodded. “Were they cables like Langley suspected?”

“Affirmative.
Plus some piping. Hopefully they’re power lines otherwise your diversion is
just going to be a loud bang.”

Dawson
pointed toward the opening as Niner removed the grate with a cringe, no alarms
sounding anywhere, though a silent one could still be flashing on someone’s
panel inside. “We’re a man short.” He jerked his thumb at Atlas. “My friend
here is carrying some winter weight.”

“Hey,
four percent body fat,” rumbled Atlas in protest.

“And my
Uncle Charlie is the other ninety-six,” interjected Niner.

Dawson chuckled.
“Care to join our act?”

Leather
smiled. “Absolutely.”

Dawson
turned to Atlas. “Okay, you take the Colonel’s position in Sniper Team Two.
Keep your eyes and ears open, this could turn into a Charlie-Foxtrot quickly.”

“Roger
that.”

Leather
handed the detonator over to Atlas. “You best hang onto this.” Atlas took the
small device and tucked it into a pocket, Velcroing it shut.

Dawson
activated his comm. “Control, Zero-One, anything on our mission parameters,
over?”

“Zero-One,
Control. Negative. It’s going up the chain quietly. Nobody wants to admit this
is going on. Right now, we’ve designated this as a CIA op with classified
operators. No one knows who you are. That should protect you, but right now I
can’t give you the all clear to use deadly force unless it’s absolutely
necessary. Remember, you’re on a foreign ally’s soil.”

“Understood,
Control.” Dawson and Leather exchanged knowing glances, both having been in
positions like this before, he was sure. Somebody was covering their ass back
home, which he had to admit he understood. After all, they
were
off the
books, and they
were
dealing with a cult of skull worshippers that were
so secret, even among the intel community, that few knew they existed, and
fewer still knew that the late president had not only been killed by one of the
Triarii, but had been a member of this breakaway sect known as the Deniers.

In fact,
it was a miracle they were getting the support they were, considering the
situation. If it were him making the decisions, without a personal connection
to the professors, he would have probably washed his hands of the entire
matter.

But it
wasn’t him making the big picture decisions, he was making the more important
ones on the ground.

“And the
experiment?”

“No word
on that. Exercise your discretion. Bottom line, Zero-One, is that you and your
team aren’t there, we don’t know who you are, and you’re free to do whatever
you feel is necessary as this isn’t a sanctioned op, and if something goes
wrong, your government will deny any and all knowledge of you.”