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

by J. Robert Kennedy

  He had been granted the position, and the rest was history.

  A history known only to those within the Triarii.

  He rarely saw his old classmates now, but when he did he was forced to be vague about what he had done, having settled years ago on telling them he couldn’t talk about it, it classified government work.

  This always shut them up, and impressed them.

  He had been proud of his work, of what he had dedicated his life to, but now it was all falling apart.

  Under his watch.

  He was just glad his father had passed before the troubles began in earnest with the incident in London.

  As one was apt to do in these situations, he not only blamed himself, but also searched his memory for something he could have done differently.

  He should have been tougher.

  He should have rooted out the Deniers long ago so today would never have happened.

  Why do they insist on being so reckless?

  As he watched the lights glaring in the distance, reflecting off the clouds above, a small part of him wanted them to succeed in harnessing the energy, another part wanted them to fail, to have the entire area torn apart in a massive explosion, putting an end once and for all to this debate.

  The truth would be discovered when ready to be revealed.

  Of that, he had no doubt.

  He had reread the digitized versions of the ancient scrolls referring to Ananias’ final words, words he hadn’t read since he was a boy. He believed the scrolls, they written as historic accounts, not opinions, and preserved over the millennia by his predecessors.

  And Ananias had referred to thirteen skulls.

  The legend of Ananias had been of an old man with the ravings of a lunatic, because for centuries there had been no other skulls found, and for over a millennia, housing the Oracles of Jupiter and Zeus together had resulted in no harm, unlike what Ananias had assured them.

  Which was why when the third skull was found and brought to London, no one had thought twice about putting it with the others.

  The result had been devastating, and with over a thousand years having passed, the warnings of Ananias had been forgotten, few reading the scrolls that far back as they were so fragile.

  But the digitization effort he had pioneered when becoming Proconsul now afforded him that luxury, and what he had read was fascinating. All he had read before were references and copies, copies that were incomplete or incorrect, written by men influenced after the disaster, probably in an attempt to protect the legacy of the founders.

  But Ananias knew too much to have been what was previously thought.

  Thirteen.

  He had predicted the number of skulls.

  He had predicted disaster if they were joined.

  And he had told the founders to seek out and protect the skulls, allowing them to pass through the hands of men until they were ready, at which point their power would be harnessed and the dawn of a new age would begin.

  He sighed, the lights appearing to get brighter on the horizon, though it could just be his imagination.

  Martin, don’t screw this up.

  He had faith in the skulls, had faith they were here for a purpose, and he couldn’t believe they would wipe man from the face of the earth should something go wrong. Whoever or whatever had put them here had a purpose. What that purpose was, he didn’t know, though it couldn’t be to destroy. Not on a global scale.

  Perhaps they merely destroy those who aren’t ready.

  He frowned.

  We’re not ready.

  “Sir! We’re experiencing some sort of interference on those bands you wanted monitored. Sounds like somebody is transmitting but it’s encrypted.”

  Kennedy lowered his binoculars, returning to the warmth of the bridge. “Source?”

  “No way to know, not with our instruments.” The Captain nodded at the shore. “But if I had to guess.”

  Kennedy agreed, it the only logical answer.

  “Do you think they know the professors’ friends have arrived?”

  Kennedy nodded. “Without a doubt.”

  “Should we join them?”

  Kennedy shook his head. “No. We’ll let them deal with the Deniers, and just pray the skulls remain unharmed.”

  “And the professors?”

  “Are of no concern to us.”

  Lower Level, Denier Installation, Iceland

  Dawson booted the door open, Niner stepping inside, he quickly following, his weapon raised as he scanned left to right, Niner the opposite.

  “Clear!”

  “Clear!”

  He heard the same echo across the hall as Spock and Leather did the same. They had no idea where the professors were being held, which meant they couldn’t bypass any of the nearly dozen rooms along the hallway leading from their entry point. It was slow work that meant more hostiles would be on the way, yet it was necessary.

  It also prevented someone from coming up behind them.

  Yet so far every room had been found empty, merely storage or office space.

  Apparently everyone was watching the show.

  Or pursuing Atlas and the others outside.

  He hated having one of his men out there without Delta backup, but Leather’s men were excellent, all ex-Special Forces, mostly British SAS, so they were good. Damned good. And they’d have the big man’s back.

  He smiled.

  There was no way he was fitting in that vent.

  “Company,” hissed Niner, the sound of footfalls echoing in the hallway.

  “Prepare to engage,” whispered Dawson as he took a knee in the doorway, Niner just behind him, standing. Across the hall, Leather and Spock did the same.

  And they waited.

  The boots on institutional linoleum continued to get louder, the first black-suited guard appearing moments later, followed by three others.

  They held their fire.

  Until the first man spotted them.

  “Open fire!”

  A series of quick bursts and the four were down, not a shot returned.

  “Let’s clear this damn corridor.”

  He booted open the last door on the left, Niner rushing in, the room clear once again. Stepping over the bodies, they reached the end of the corridor, it splitting off in two directions. To the right were another half dozen doors and a dead end, to the left a corridor with several others branching off, and more doors.

  With windowed rooms.

  “This way looks more important.”

  Spock, covering their rear, spoke up. “Didn’t the last intel suggest they went willingly?”

  Dawson nodded. “That’s what Fang relayed, yes.”

  “Then if they went willingly, they’re probably not being held in a room as prisoners.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You know those two. They’re always at the center of the action. I’ll bet Niner’s salary that they’re in that control room we saw.”

  Dawson pursed his lips, thinking. Spock was right. If Acton had any say about it, he’d be right in the mix, trying to do something to either stop what was going on, or make sure whatever was going on didn’t destroy the damned island.

  And searching room by room was taking too long.

  “Okay, let’s find that control room.”

  He took point, the others staggered behind him, Niner covering their six as he headed toward a rather serious looking door at the end of the corridor.

  Somebody stepped into the corridor, weapon raised, lead belching toward them. Dawson leapt to his left, the butt of his weapon leading, shattering the glass of one of the offices. He hit the floor hard on the other side, Niner landing on him a moment later as the distinctive sound of MP5s responding filled the air. Dawson jumped to his feet, leaning out the shattered window and adding his own fire.

  Leather and Spock were prone, pouring on a steady stream at the junction ahead, the barrels from several guns making appearances around the corners as thei
r opponents fired blindly.

  And missed.

  For now.

  “Fire in the hole!” shouted Niner, pulling the pin on a flashbang, tossing it down the corridor. Dawson stepped back, his Sonic Defenders protecting his ears from the deafening explosion.

  Those down the corridor weren’t so well equipped.

  Screams of agony erupted, Dawson leaping through the window as Leather and Spock charged forward, Niner on their heels. Short bursts from Leather and Spock silenced the cries and whimpers before Dawson had eyes on the targets.

  “We need to thin these guys out a bit.” He activated his comm. “Zero-Seven, Zero-One. Detonate, I repeat, detonate.”

  Outside the Denier Installation, Iceland

  Atlas flicked the arming switch on the remote detonator. “Zero-Seven to all teams, fire in the hole.” He pressed the trigger and a large explosion tore through the night sky to their right, the two hostiles about to reach the shore crying out in agony as their bodies were hurled backward. The security lighting flickered for a moment, then returned, though dimmer than before.

  Must have switched to batteries.

  Which meant they had indeed just blown the primary power source.

  “Open fire,” signaled Atlas, the three sniper teams immediately eliminating the targets in their assigned zones, the bodies dropping, no shots fired, their positions still secure.

  Something suddenly appeared to their right, thirty feet from their position.

  Shit!

  “Take cover!”

  Atlas dropped behind the rock, flattening himself against the ground as best he could as sentry guns opened fire from all directions. He did a quick check on Moore who gave him a thumbs up, he impressively calm.

  These SAS boys are the real deal.

  Atlas listened, there at least half a dozen, if not more, distinctive sets of gunfire around them. He pressed his earpiece tighter. “Sniper Teams One and Three, report.”

  “Sniper Team One, we’re good, over.”

  “Team Three good, over.”

  Atlas breathed a sigh of relief as he flipped onto his stomach, raising his head slightly. It was difficult to tell where the weapon positions were, so close to ground, the sound echoing off the rocky landscape, the ricochets loud on the other side of the very rocks they were taking cover behind. He raised his head a little more, getting a view behind them.

  “Looks like we’re clear behind.”

  Moore pushed himself up, resting his back against the rock. “Agreed.”

  “We’ve gotta take these damned things out.” Atlas poked his head up then immediately ducked. “Okay. One at our two o’clock, ten meters out.” Atlas pulled a high explosive grenade from his ammo belt and loaded the M203 40mm grenade launcher attached to his MP5.

  Moore smiled. “Good thing you brought those.”

  “BD was a Boy Scout. As soon as he heard about the automated systems outside London, he added them to the requisition order.”

  “Be prepared.” Moore shifted position. “I’ll spot, you shoot.”

  Atlas grinned. “Time for some fun.” He activated his comm. “Sniper Teams, use your HE grenades and take those weapons out.” He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing in his head exactly where the one weapon he had spotted was.

  He popped up, fired then dropped, the explosion shaking the ground as he reloaded, a spray of pulverized rock covering the area around them, the sound almost a light rain. He poked his head back up then dropped, a smile on his face at the sight of the mangled wreckage.

  “One down.”

  Moore smiled. “Nice shooting.” He cocked an ear, trying to get a bead on another weapon as the sound of the other teams taking action were heard. Moore’s head darted up, quickly scanning left to right before dropping back down. “Eleven o’clock, thirty meters, mounted on top of what I’m guessing isn’t a genuine rock.”

  Atlas nodded, repositioning himself, bullets still spraying over their heads at random intervals as the weapons continued to unleash lead in all directions, whoever had activated them clearly setting them to go beyond simple motion detection. Atlas popped up, his eyes scanning his eleven o’clock, honing in on the weapon.

  He dropped as it spun toward him, concentrated fire now on their position. Atlas crawled over the rocks, grunting as a sharp stone made its presence known. The gunfire continued on his former position, Moore hunkered down, tossing rocks in the air to keep the motion sensors entertained.

  Atlas took a knee then raised his upper body, firing his round then dropping as the explosion silenced the weapon, Moore catching his last rock and giving a thumbs up.

  And then there was silence.

  Atlas slowly rose, quickly scanning the area then repeating, this time more slowly.

  Nothing.

  “Sniper Teams, report.”

  “Team One, secure.”

  “Team Three, secure.”

  “Keep your eyes open. They may have deactivated the weapons just to draw us out. Keep a watch for additional hostiles as well. They know we’re here so they’ll be more careful.” He pointed toward where the guards had emerged and Moore nodded, rising. “Team Two, moving in. Teams One and Three, provide cover.”

  Control Center, Denier Installation, Iceland

  “Advance another twenty millimeters.”

  Acton watched as Cooper glared at Chaney. “Sir, the power levels are reaching our capacity to bleed off! It looks like the wiring to the microwave bleeders has been damaged. There’s nowhere for the power to go!”

  Chaney ignored her. “Twenty millimeters. Now!”

  “Martin, we’ve already proven our theory! There’s no point in continuing!”

  Acton gasped, pushing Laura behind him as Chaney pulled a gun and aimed it at Cooper, the poor women turning fifty shades of gray as she nearly collapsed.

  “Another twenty, or I shoot.”

  Chaney’s voice was cold, desperate.

  Something was wrong.

  All the readings clearly showed that something was happening. Energy was being generated, the hum in the room was now loud enough to be annoying.

  His theory was proven.

  So why is he so insistent on keeping it going?

  Acton looked at Laura, her eyes holding the same questions he had.

  Why, if the experiment had succeeded, was Chaney so desperate to keep going and risk all their lives?

  He glanced at the security monitors, the Delta team still advancing.

  Toward what, he had no idea, the layout of the facility a mystery.

  He just hoped it wasn’t a mystery to them.

  Lower Level, Denier Installation, Iceland

  Dawson came to a halt, peering around the corner of a four-way junction. It was clear, though again there was no way to know which way to go except forward.

  Which hadn’t worked so far, the facility a mystery.

  “Okay, any suggestions as to which way to go?”

  Niner pointed up at the ceiling. “I just assumed you were following those, like I was.”

  Dawson looked up and shook his head, large bundles of cables and piping evident. He followed them back to see them stretching the length of the hallway. They turned left at their current position. He deadpanned Niner. “Just testing you.”

  “Sure you were.”

  Dawson grinned then pointed up. “Let’s assume these lead to the center of the action.”

  Spock crossed to the other side. “And that the professors are in the thick of it.”

  Dawson nodded. “If they’re not, whoever is there will know where the hell they are.”

  He stepped into the hall, heading down the corridor to their left. He raised his weapon and took out a camera with a single shot.

  No point making it too easy for them.

  Control Center, Denier Installation, Iceland

  “Sir! We only have five minutes on the generator!”

  Cooper spun toward the tech who had just delivered what Acton sensed might be the
final nail in all their coffins. If the control room were to lose power, there might be nothing that could stop the reaction occurring over their heads.

  Cooper leaned over the tech’s shoulder. “How is that possible? There should be hours of power left.”

  The tech shook his head. “I don’t know. Something is drawing power at an incredible rate.”

  “What could be causing that?”

  “I don’t know. It shouldn’t be happening. Beyond emergency lighting, all power is being directed to the control room.”

  Cooper shook her head. “No, we’re generating power here, not using it. This makes no sense.”

  Acton watched the events unfolding in front of them, the jubilation of earlier gone, desperation now the rule of the day. Everyone knew the Delta team was getting closer and apparently, something had happened outside as well.

  There’s only four on the monitor. More of them must be outside!

  The more the merrier.

  And the sooner the better.

  Chaney was off his rocker, insisting they continue to proceed with an experiment that had proven they were right all along, everyone in the room clearly opposed.

  Yet he continued to hold his weapon on them, pacing in silence to the side.

  Which was odd.

  Why isn’t he questioning the latest thing to go wrong?

  Acton watched their captor, their friend—former friend—as he fidgeted and paced, his eyes growing more desperate with each passing moment as he stared at the readings then the skulls overhead.

  It’s as if he’s waiting for something to happen.

  But what? It had already happened. The skulls had generated their power, of that there was no doubt, the gauges proved it. And the hum was exactly as described in the ancient texts.

  What more does he need?