The Thirteenth Legion (A James Acton Thriller, #15) (James Acton Thrillers) (4 page)

And then
had disappeared.

It had
deeply troubled their good friend, Reading, the two men very close. Reading was
a bit of a loner after his divorce many years ago, he and his son estranged
until only recently. And he had found love once only to have it tragically
ripped from him, the poor soul swearing off ever falling in love again.

It
pained both him and Laura, knowing what their friend was going through.

And it
had thrilled them when Reading had called, his excited utterance of “I saw
Martin!” momentarily giving them hope the two would be reunited.

But it
wasn’t to be so, apparently.

“And you
said it was Rodney who tried to shoot him.”

“Yes.”

Laura
leaned toward the phone. “Are you sure? He seemed like a nice young man when I
met him.”

“Same
here,” agreed Acton. “He was clearly indoctrinated into the Triarii, but then
again, so was Martin.”

“Exactly!”
exploded Reading. “They’re both members of that damned cult! And remember what
we were told, that there’s some sort of split in the Triarii. Clearly Rodney is
on the other side and has been after Martin.”

“Maybe
that’s why he disappeared? He’s afraid for his life?”

Reading
grunted. “Could be.” He sighed. “Things were never really the same after
London, you know, when we all met.”

Acton
laughed. “How could we forget? You two spent your time chasing me down as a
multiple murder suspect.”

“I
didn’t arrest you, did I?”

Laura
dropped her chin. “You arrested me!”

“Nooo, I
merely took you in for questioning.”

“Huh,
not how I remember it. It was come in voluntarily, or I’ll arrest you.”

Reading
laughed. “Sounds like something I’d say. But after I found out Martin was part
of this Triarii, and was more loyal to them than the Yard, it just wasn’t the
same. He tried, I know, to patch things up, and I think we were headed there,
but after he disappeared…” He growled. “A man can’t have two masters.”

“Agreed,”
said Acton, “but he did help save Laura.”

“Yes,
but in doing so, betrayed his oath. He could have just as easily got her
killed.”

Acton
squeezed his wife’s shoulder. “But he didn’t.”

“True,
but he should be a copper first, cult member second.”

Acton
glanced at Laura, they both sensing the pain their friend was in. He could only
imagine how he would feel if his best friend, Gregory Milton, were to disappear
without a trace, but not before telling the university he’d be leaving.

It meant
Chaney had disappeared of his own free will. It may have been
self-preservation, yet if he had time to submit the paperwork to leave his job
temporarily, surely he could have called his supposed best friend.

“Well,
you saw him today, and I don’t believe in coincidences, so I think that means
he wants to see you.”

“I think
you’re right. He looked directly at me, so he knew I was there.”

“Are you
going to keep looking for him?”

“Absolutely.
If he’s in trouble, he needs my help.”

Laura
pursed her lips, then spoke. “Maybe you need to talk to the Triarii directly.”

“That’s
exactly where I’m heading now.”

Hope Trailer Park, New Mexico

Leroy flipped the black-tailed jackrabbit on the grill, the aroma
filling his nostrils, causing his eyes to close so he could focus his ecstasy
on the one sense. The secret was the marinade, a combination of herbs, spices, oils,
and a hint of lighter fluid he and his wife had come up with over years of experimentation.
There was nothing that could blacken a piece of meat faster than a combustible
liquid. Sure, the government bureaucrats and their Bilderberg masters said it
was dangerous, but he didn’t believe a thing they said.

If
the government says something is bad, then they don’t want you to know how good
it actually is.

He
avoided all modern medicines and genetically modified foods, and that included
pretty much anything in the meat department. He trapped and hunted his own
food, had been for years, and he was as healthy as they come, not that he’d
trust a doctor to confirm his assertion.

Fit as a
fiddle, his wife would say. He was in good shape, could see for miles, and his
hearing was fantastic.

He
opened his eyes, the sound of a vehicle approaching pushing his enjoyment of
his dinner to the side. Peering at the dark SUV, too fine a vehicle for anyone
living in these parts, he immediately became suspicious. He flicked aside a
latch on the barbeque platform, positioning his foot for what might be about to
happen, thankful his wife was visiting friends down the dusty dirt road.

I’m
ready for you bastards.

The
government had finally come, tired of him challenging their lies on the Internet,
calling them out on their deception of the American people.

But he
was prepared.

Four men
stepped out, weapons raised.

He
pressed his foot down.

The
barbeque slid forward, its solid metal front easily absorbing the bullets fired
at him. He jumped down the escape hatch hidden under the barbeque, hitting the
ground, pulling on a lever that reset the entire contraption built years ago.
Unless those government agents could figure out how to work it, he was safe.

He
sprinted down the tunnel, it extending for several hundred feet, taking him
deeper into his property and farther from the road. Yanking on another lever,
he was suddenly flooded with light. He climbed up through the hood of a Jaguar
he had discovered abandoned roadside a few years ago, several gunshot blasts to
the engine telling him the pissed off Texan who had owned it had learned the
hard way you don’t travel long distances in one of these.

He
stepped out onto the ground, the destroyed engine long since removed, then
gently closed the hood, the gunfire having ceased. Peering out from behind the
large rock concealing the Jag from the roadway, he spotted the four men leaving
his trailer, the SUV soon departing in a cloud of dust.

He
waited for them to disappear then sprinted back to his home, rushing inside. He
glanced about, nothing out of place, but he knew what they had come for. He
threw open the door to his small office and punched the wall, his safe open,
his most prized possession gone.

“Bastards!”

Golgotha, Judea
36 AD, 6 years after the crucifixion

Prefect Pontius Pilate sat at his desk, his wife behind him,
massaging his shoulders, she sensing his tension. He had been recalled to Rome,
they not happy with how he had dealt with the Samaritan uprising. He had tried
his best, of that he was certain, yet his best hadn’t been enough.

But that
couldn’t be the reason.

He was
good at his job, he was more than capable, yet everything that could go wrong
had gone wrong.

And he
couldn’t understand it. He was certain he had somehow annoyed the gods, they
having forsaken him years ago. His wife was convinced it was because he had
allowed the crucifixion of the Jewish Rabi, Jesus. He had to admit the thought
had crossed his mind. Over the years, story had become legend had become myth,
many of his subjects convinced the man had been reborn, resurrected from the
dead, even some of his own troops having deserted, they yet to be found.

These
followers of Jesus were becoming a bigger problem every day.

But it
was no longer his problem.

Junius entered
the office then froze. “Oh, I’m sorry for interrupting, I didn’t realize—”

“It’s
okay, Junius, I was just leaving,” said Pilate’s wife, a wife he realized more
now than ever, he loved, she having stood by his side, unwavering all these
years. She would never let him know how much she had hated it here in this
desolate, remote land, so far from the Rome she loved.

She was
a good wife.

And he
was certain she now worshipped this man Jesus.

He
watched her leave then turned his attention to Junius, a loyal aide if there
ever was one. He was going to miss him, his successor Marcellus having
requested he remain for continuity.

“Prefect,
I was wondering what you wanted to do with this?”

Junius
held up the sculpture found so many years ago and Pilate felt a shiver radiate
up his spine and outward.

Then his
jaw threatened to drop.

He
pointed at the eyes staring back at him. “
That
is the cause of all our
problems.”

Junius’
eyes narrowed, puzzled. “Prefect?”

“From
the day that damned thing graced these walls, things have gone badly for us.
Get that thing out of my sight!”

“So
you’re not taking it with you?”

“Absolutely
not! Let my replacement deal with the evil that this thing brings. I for one
will be happy when it is in my past and forgotten to time.” He sighed, giving
the sculpture one last look. “I swear it is staring into my soul, judging me in
some way I cannot understand, to some measure no man could possibly meet.” He
flicked his wrist, dismissing Junius. “Do with it as you please, but make
certain it never reaches Rome.”

Grunewald, Berlin, Germany
Present Day

Martin Chaney sat in a rather comfortable, high back chair, the
sumptuous leather, generously padded, wrapping itself around him. He closed his
eyes, it the first chance he had had all day to relax.

“So what
happened?”

He
opened his eyes, his joy killed by their Berlin contact, Dietrich, as he
entered the room, two tall glasses of beer in hand. He passed one to Chaney.

“Thanks.”
He took a long drag, savoring the brew, Germans having mastered the formula
centuries ago. He rested the glass on the arm of the chair. “There was a second
tail that I missed.”

“Who?”

“Rodney
Underwood.”

“Sheisse.”
Dietrich raised his glass slightly. “You are lucky. I have heard he has become
what you Brits might call a nutter.”

Chaney
nodded, a frown creasing his face. He knew Rodney, had known him for years. He
was a good man and good friend, and to have him as an adversary was heart
wrenching.

But
that’s what happens in a civil war.

Friend
against friend.

Brother
against brother.

And he
considered Rodney both.

The rift
that had existed in the Triarii for eight hundred years was finally coming to a
head, and there could be only one winner. In the end, either the crystal skulls
they had been entrusted with to protect would be united, or they would remain
separated, the fear of what might happen if they were brought together dividing
the ancient organization since the disaster in London in 1212, the Great Fire
levelling much of the city, three united skulls sitting in the epicenter, unscathed.