by Frank Morin
“Before you do, I need to ask you a favor off-line,” Tomas said.
“I will contact you as soon as we finish our business here,” Quentin said.
“Gregorios, you’re sure they’re looking for the forbidden runes?” Tomas asked.
“They have to be.”
“How bad if they get them?” Eirene asked.
Alter spoke. “With the master runes they already control, they can siphon millions of souls. Couple that with forbidden runes, and they’ll become all but invincible.”
“I knew it wouldn’t be easy,” Sarah muttered.
Gregorios took a long, slow breath. “It’s ugly, but it is what it is. We stop Paul today before he can secure those runes.”
If they failed, there might be no way to stop him.
“The Tenth will take the hill,” Tomas confirmed.
“Yurak will be ready to move on the Castel as soon as we get clearance,” Harriet said.
“And what about the chance they’re still going for the master rune?” Sarah asked.
Gregorios hated splitting their forces, but they had no choice. Spartacus represented a threat they could not ignore, but so did Paul.
Eirene spoke. “That’s why I need you back here, dear. You and I are returning to the fall of Rome. The original one. That has to be the memory he’s looking for. We’ll stop him.”
“Let’s hope we find the machine on the hill and destroy it,” Gregorios said.
“Roger,” Tomas said. “We will be prepared to engage Paul and neutralize while he’s sleeping.”
Gregorios doubted it would be that easy.
“I’m catching a ride with one of the mobile units,” Sarah said. “I’ll be back at Suntara in ten minutes.”
Eirene gave Gregorios a kiss, eliciting a scowl from Alter. “Don’t have too much fun without me” she said.
“I should go with Sarah and Eirene,” Alter said.
“No, you come with us,” Gregorios said. “Paul will reveal himself, and I’m betting it’ll be at the Castel. I need you to take him there. But first, you need to make a phone call.”
Alter’s scowl deepened. The last thing he wanted was to reach out to his family, but Gregorios couldn’t ignore any possible help, not this time.
Before everyone dropped off the line to get to work, Harriett said, “So we’ve gotten the bad news. Is there any good to go with it?”
Gregorios allowed a vicious grin. “I haven’t stormed a castle in centuries.”
Chapter Seventy-Nine
How many lives did I waste, looking for happiness in noble pursuits? The simple truth finally became undeniable. Mortals seek nobility to give meaning to their single, short lives. I, on the other hand, have all the time in the world, so my time is best spent seeking pleasure, eating well and, most importantly, acquiring jewelry.
~Zuri, facetaker council member
Gregorios jumped down from the lead troop transport, which had stopped just southwest of the Castel Sant’Angelo, at the termination of the Via della Conciliazione. The road, usually packed with tourists, led straight from the Castel to St. Peter’s Basilica. It made a good staging area for their assault. They wouldn’t need to slog uphill or cross moats to reach this castle.
The Castel loomed over everything, with the Tiber River flowing past to Gregorios’ right. It passed just south of the Castel, spanned by the Ponte Sant’Angelo where Spartacus and his century had crossed. In ancient days, Spartacus would have dropped that bridge, but the Castel sat far enough back from the bank that it didn’t matter. Gregorios’ forces could approach from every side. The gardens of the Parco Adriano formed a star-shaped perimeter around the Castel on the three non-river sides, giving Spartacus some buffer from the roads, but not offering much by way of defense.
For one claiming to be enlightened, Spartacus was doing a great job of lining up enemies eager to put a bullet into his head. Most days, Gregorios would have stood at the front of that line, but he still hoped to somehow salvage Tomas’ suit.
The Castel itself was a stout, round tower rising out of a square base, protected by an outer wall. The wall held octagonal bastions on each corner that had been designed for artillery placements when it was used as a fortress. The artillery had been long since removed, but no doubt Spartacus brought enough weapons to hold off the local carabinieri forces until he could locate the forbidden runes.
Despite his flashy entrance, Spartacus was burning borrowed time. He lacked the men to hold the Castel for long, and would need as many as possible to help scour the Castel for the runes. Gregorios doubted he knew where to find them. That meant an exhaustive search.
Gregorios didn’t plan to give them that much time. He just needed authorization from the carabinieri to launch his assault. The fools were hesitating, despite being clearly out of their depth. It wouldn’t take long now, but he wondered how many more men would have to die.
He hated working in the open. Tomas’ force didn’t need to jump through all the red tape to assault the Palatine Hill. They’d move in, get it done, and be gone, especially since the bulk of Rome’s security forces were focused on Spartacus.
“This place is too visible, yes?” Bastien commented. He’d followed Gregorios from the truck. He nodded toward the hovering news copters. “Every move will be recorded.”
“It could get ugly,” Gregorios agreed, thinking of the dangers of investigations after the bullets stopped flying and the dust settled. Facetakers thrived in the shadows, as did the heka. Even though elements within every government were aware of them, it was in everyone’s best interest to keep the secret. Spartacus risked a lot more than the lives of a few men with his brazen, daylight attack.
Already word was spreading that there was something strange about the terrorists. Well, stranger than men dressed as Roman legionnaires capturing a non-critical historical site like the Castel.
The local carabinieri had first tried snipers. Although the fifty caliber bullets knocked heka down, they stood a moment later, looking unharmed. A helicopter full of the Gruppo di Intervento Speciale was shot from the sky by Spartacus’ men with a shoulder-fired missile. The elite airborne tactical response unit might have been the right choice in other circumstances, but not today.
Spartacus hadn’t stopped there. Explosions had erupted through the gardens of the Parco Adriano, shaking the ground all the way to where Gregorios had stood a quarter mile away. The air still smelled of scorched earth and cinders. The gardens all around the Castel were shattered, and the blasts had killed several police officers.
The carabinieri commander, a middle-aged man with steel-gray hair and a haggard expression, had chosen anger over wisdom. He stood near the mobile command vehicle, and instead of authorizing Gregorios’ team to begin their assault, he ordered an armored truck to try blowing the main gate.
As the truck rumbled over the Ponte Sant’Angelo, the commander exclaimed to one of his men, “We’re not going to blow up the whole building. Just the gate. That’s a historic landmark.”
“Spartacus can leverage this much today,” Bastien commented. “Fear of damaging the historical site will prevent a full assault with the heavy weapons.”
“We’ll be on soon,” Gregorios said. “But their enhancements are stronger than normal.” No matter how tough, few heka could survive a fifty caliber round to the head.
“Perhaps they enjoy yet another rune web, no?”
“I’m starting to think so,” Gregorios agreed.
Paul had planned every stage of his uprising with consummate skill.
“Such a web will cost many souls,” Bastien said thoughtfully. “It is unlikely such a web was built in the Castel.”
“I doubt it. A web strong enough to protect that many men on the move is highest-level enchanter work. Paul has that level of talent, but even for them, it would take a while to get running. Unless they’ve got a rune warrior we don’t know about.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Bastien said.
&nbs
p; Gregorios grimaced. No, that would make his team’s job significantly harder. He wished he’d discovered Sarah’s gift sooner. She was making tremendous strides in mastering the fundamentals of battle ciphers, but with a few weeks’ planning, she could become a force to rival anything Paul could come up with. If nothing else, they could really use that steel skin ability she’d stumbled upon.
The eight-wheeled Freccia armored fighting vehicle rolling across the Ponte Sant’Angelo Bridge over the Tiber River, aimed at the main gate. It approached fast, covered by a fresh barrage of useless supporting fire.
Snipers knocked heka down again and again. The commander of the Italian forces had decided the terrorists must have a new kind of body armor concealed under their Roman helms and breastplates, despite reports of hits to exposed skin. Willful blindness in the mind of a commander always meant pain for his men.
Mortar teams launched a simultaneous attack. Incendiary rounds rained down over the outer wall of the Castel, but even though waves of liquid fire blazed across the heka positions, they were not consumed. The intense heat did drive them back long enough for the truck to close on the gate, and the thick smoke and flames seemed to cause some confusion.
Heka positioned atop the bastions and the central tower returned fire. Rocket-propelled grenades streaked from the wall to explode into nearby buildings and police lines. At least one of the heka possessed a fifty-caliber sniper rifle and knew how to use it. He began to fire, and several policemen fell screaming to the pavement.
“The sniper aims to wound,” Bastien pointed out. “To cause havoc and confusion.”
“It’s an effective tactic,” Gregorios said. For every officer wounded, several more stopped firing to render aid, and the waiting medics were soon overwhelmed with wounded.
“The web, she is very strong,” Bastien commented as they crouched behind their armored troop transport out of the line of fire.
“Get the men ready,” Gregorios said. “Once the police blow the gate, it’s going to get ugly and I don’t want too many innocents killed.”
“We are prepared,” Bastien said. “And Harriett reported in. She is in position with Yurak two clicks from here. They’ve called up the special equipment.”
The armored vehicle reached the gate and stopped right against it. Half a dozen soldiers jumped out of the back and attached plastic explosives along the gate’s perimeter. They used a lot of C4.
“Historical landmark or not,” Bastien said, peering through his binoculars. “They mean to blow much of the wall.”
The soldiers rushed back inside the truck and it began to speed back across the bridge.
“Blow it,” the commander ordered.
The last section of the bridge, closest to the Castel and directly under the armored truck, disintegrated in a spectacular explosion. The truck flipped over from the force of the blast before tumbling into the river amid a rain of stone debris.
The commander gaped. “Not the bridge. The gate!”
“We never mined the bridge,” an officer cried. “It had to be the terrorists.”
“Blow the gate!” shouted the commander. “I want those terrorists dead.”
Thankfully, someone other than the poor men in the doomed transport vehicle controlled the remote detonation. The C4 exploded in a fireball that obscured the gates for several seconds. The shockwave shook the truck beside Gregorios, his body vibrating from the intensity of the sound, but no debris rained down around them.
When the smoke cleared, the commander threw his headset on the ground. “I don’t believe it!”
The gate still stood, looking unaffected by the gigantic explosion.
“That web’s a lot more extensive than we thought,” Gregorios said.
“Oui,” Bastien nodded, then spoke into his throat mike. “Grapples will be required. Repeat, prepare grapples.”
Atop the wall, one of the heka dressed as a Roman soldier made an obscene gesture and urinated off the wall. Three snipers shot him at the same time. He fell from sight, but the soldiers’ cheers faded to curses when the man stood again.
“One of the snipers reports hitting that one in the privates,” a soldier reported. “No way he’s armored down there.”
Looking desperate, the commander turned to Gregorios. “You say your forces are trained to deal with this kind of threat?”
“Better than anyone.”
“Very well. I authorize you to storm that castle and rout those terrorists. Keep damage to the structure to a minimum. You’re responsible for any casualties you suffer.”
“Keep your men back,” Gregorios said. “We have more troops inbound.”
He turned to Bastien. “We’re going to hit them from two sides. Tell Harriett that Yurak’s got the main gate. We’ll lead our unit in a flanking maneuver.”
He pounded on the side of the truck, and Alter jumped out. “Where do you want me?”
“You’re with me.”
“Until that web is down, the advantage is not ours,” Bastien said.
“Stick to the training,” Gregorios said. “Break out Quentin’s toys. We’re going to need them. Harriett can keep the heka busy until we strike.”
“She is best suited for this,” Bastien agreed. “But she cannot unleash everything while that web remains. Even she is not accustomed to disabling protected heka while scaling a medieval castle wall.”
“We’ll get the web down.”
“If only we could bring Sarah here,” Bastien said. “She could break it.”
Gregorios considered the idea. It was tempting, but he shook his head. “That may be part of why Paul’s set it up like this. If he can draw Sarah here, he’s got the memoryscape to himself. She’s the best chance at preventing him from getting another master rune.”
“I could have stopped him,” Alter muttered.
“You’re back-up in case he shows up here instead,” Gregorios said. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your chance to fight.” He tapped his tactical earpiece, switching to Tomas’ channel.
“Status?” he asked without preamble.
“Strike force is almost in position,” Tomas said. “Moving on the sentries in sixty seconds.”
“We have evidence of an advanced protective rune web.”
“I hate those.”
“It’s been a long time,” Gregorios agreed. “It may be based on the hill like the one Sarah subverted earlier. Taking that hill has become top priority. Get it done, Captain.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gregorios hoped Tomas had learned from history. They needed that rune web disabled, but this time all the blood spilled would be from friends and family.
No suicide charges.
Chapter Eighty
Thank the gods for a little space. Of course I appreciate the runes Spartacus endowed upon me, and I’ll follow him to the uttermost end, but you must admit, Castus, his quest for vengeance is going to kill us all. We could have escaped to Gaul by now, but he insists on promoting a war against the facetakers. With my enhancements, I fear no mortal man, but I wager Gregorios and Eirene would scare Zeus himself. Particularly Eirene.
~Gannicus, one of Spartacus’ lieutenants during the Third Servile War
Tomas hopped out of the back of the van that had parked near the Forum, just north of Palatine Hill. Six troop transport trucks, disguised to look like large delivery vehicles, were pulling to a stop nearby. Between the men in those trucks and advanced teams already moving into position, Tomas commanded almost two hundred men.
He hoped they would be enough.
“Talk to me,” he spoke into the earpiece.
Domenico responded immediately. “Captain, I have confirmed the police know nothing of closures on Palatine Hill. I’m positioned near the Arch of Titus and I’ve spotted two other watchers higher up on the hill. Those men are not uniformed.”
Tomas muttered a curse. So much for sneaking up on the enemy. Not that he had really expected to slip in unnoticed after Rosetta’s spectacular suicide
and the sniping of that watcher. The enemy had to know someone was coming, but he’d hoped to keep them guessing a little longer.
Tomas tapped his earpiece. “Anaru, are you in position?”
“Thirty seconds,” his second responded. The big Maori would lead a second contingent around the south side of the hill, along the Via dei Cerchi that ran between what was left of the Circus Maximus and the ruins of the baths of Septimus Severus. The ruin-covered slope would provide excellent cover.
Tomas sent his five-man sniper team into a nearby church. Disguised as workers, they would ascend the square tower that rose three stories above the roof of the church. They’d have a perfect position to cover Tomas’s team when they moved against the north side of the hill.
“Team two in position,” Anaru reported as Tomas led the first squad toward Domenico’s position. Civilians they passed took one look at their weapons and fled. He hoped they noticed “Polizia” emblazoned across their bulletproof vests.
The mission was clear. Take the hill, disrupt the web, overwhelm any resistance. At least this time he wasn’t leading a cavalry charge of the light brigade into the face of heavy artillery.
“Give me one minute and make your move,” he ordered Anaru.
He donned an ample leather jacket to cover his bulletproof vest, left his helmet with one of his men, and stepped out of cover.
“Domenico, I’m coming to you.” They needed to maintain any element of surprise they could. A hundred armed men moving through the Roman Forum would spark a panic and alert the enemy of their approach. Once the spotters were neutralized, they’d send enforcers dressed as police to shepherd civilians out of the area. The rest of the force would move in.
The first strike had to be quick, and silent.
Domenico met him at the Arch of Titus at the edge of the ruined Forum, and the two strolled south toward the barricaded entrance to the Palatine Hill. Enough tourists packed the area even this early in the morning, snapping photos and gawking at the ruins, that the guard failed to note their approach until they were close.
