The Thirteenth Legion (A James Acton Thriller, #15) (James Acton Thrillers) (3 page)

Outside Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

Faisal gently pushed his laughing boys inside their almost palatial
home. As a member of the Saudi royal family, life was good. Extremely good. He
had more money than he knew what to do with thanks to the generous stipends
paid out by the family, and though he was far down the line of succession,
there was so much money to go around, it meant little whether he was ten times
removed or fifteen.

He was
rich.

Life was
good.

And he
had to do little for it, other than run his small corner of the kingdom, with
an iron fist granted him by blood.

A good
life.

He just
hoped the rumors of the treasury being broke within five years due to the low
price of oil were just that. Rumors. He knew the reasoning behind it. Saudi oil
production costs hovered around $10 a barrel, a price no one outside of the
Middle East could compete with. Their aim was to bankrupt shale oil and oil
sand production, then lower production, jacking up the price.

But the
plan had to work before they ran out of money.

“Safiya!
We’re home!”

He
pulled off his gloves, tossing them to his manservant, then dropped in a chair,
his boots promptly pulled off. He looked at his servant. “Where is she?”

“I don’t
know, sir. I had thought she was home.”

“Of
course she’s home, she’s not allowed to leave!” He shoved his now bare feet
into sandals and dismissed the boys, heading toward their bedchambers.

Perhaps
she’s asleep.

He felt
a stirring down below.

Maybe
I’ll wake her with a surprise!

He
pushed aside the slightly ajar door to their bedchambers and smiled, his wife
lying on the bed, a satin sheet covering her. He closed the door, locking it,
then stripped naked, his excitement now raging as he grabbed the end of the sheet
and yanked it aside.

He cried
out.

Two
round holes, dripping with blood, were torn through her back, a pool of blood
soaking the sheets. He spun toward the far wall, screaming for help, staring at
the sheets hanging there, pulled aside. The door to his secret vault lay open
and his heart leapt into his throat. He rushed forward into the room, surveying
his treasures, the stacks of cash in various currencies and gems of varying
sizes and settings, ignored, his eyes seeking what he already knew was missing.

He
collapsed to his knees as his servants pounded at the locked door.

It’s
gone!

Golgotha, Judea
April 10
^th
, 30 AD

Decanus Vitus strode into the room, one of the prefect’s assistants,
Junius, bowing, holding out his hand and stopping him. “A warning, sire, the
prefect is not in a good mood.”

Vitus pursed
his lips, then nodded. “Thank you for that.” He held up a small bag. “Perhaps
this will improve it.”

Junius
smiled, his eyes widening slightly. “A gift?”

“You
could call it that. A curiosity at the least.”

Prefect
Pontius Pilate’s voice echoed down the walls, his words shouted, though
unclear. Apparently, a group of soldiers was missing, the Jewish elders demanding
their deaths for blasphemy. Strange things were afoot since the Rabi claiming
to be the King of the Jews and the son of their god, had been crucified at the
behest of the Jewish elders. Vitus had heard rumors that Pilate had reluctantly
agreed, his wife urging him not to, he even giving the crowds the choice
between the peaceful man’s life, or that of a murderer.

The
crowd had chosen.

Vitus thought
poorly.

But
control of Judea was paramount, and tenuous. Pilate, as prefect of the region,
couldn’t risk losing control, so in an effort to placate the locals, gave the
elders wide leeway in administering their own affairs as long as they didn’t
interfere with Rome’s will.

And in
this case, some religious man being executed meant little to them.

A group
of senior officers marched by, not pleased by what they had heard, a hint of
fear in the eyes, Vitus not sure of the source, everyone still on edge after
the violent storm that erupted the moment this man called Jesus had gasped his
last breath.

The aide
held out his hand. “He will see you now.”

Vitus strode
with confidence into Pilate’s office, snapping to attention then delivering a
salute. “Decanus Vitus, I have—”

Pilate
cut him off with a raised hand. “I understand you were witness to the
crucifixion?”

“From a
distance, Prefect. I was at the foot of the hill.”

“And you
witnessed the storm? Did it start as they say, the moment he died?”

Vitus thought
for a moment, choosing his words cautiously. “I cannot say with any certainty.
The skies darkened I think before he died, but there was a shaking of the earth
followed by a much more severe storm, that I do believe began when he died.”

“And
what makes you say so, if you were so far away?”

Vitus gulped.
“I heard the wails of his loved ones just after the ground shook. I heard them
before, but they were much more pronounced after.”

Pilate
nodded slowly, apparently satisfied with this response. Vitus breathed, not
realizing he had been holding it. Pilate looked up, though not at him, as if
addressing someone else. “These Jews are a difficult people to rule. They
believe fervently in their god, and I get the distinct impression merely
tolerate us, as if they think they could overthrow us at a moment’s notice, as
if we were the ancient Egyptians of old. I sometimes wonder if we will have ten
plagues visited upon us at some point.” He suddenly stared directly at Vitus.
“I understand you have something for me?”

Vitus stared
blankly for a moment, then lifted the forgotten bag. “Yes, something that was
found only moments after the ground shook. A large boulder rolled down the hill
where the crucifixion took place, then split in two. This was found inside.” He
untied the string binding the bag, then reached inside, pulling out the
surprisingly heavy object, placing it on the prefect’s desk.

A shiver
raced up his spine and he noticed that Pilate himself shook slightly as well,
rubbing his arms, goosebumps visible despite the heat. “What is it?”

“I’m not
certain, Prefect, a curiosity for certain. Please, keep it with the complements
of the soldiers who serve you.”

Pilate
nodded, staring at the curiosity intently before picking it up. “Heavy.”

“Indeed.”

He
turned it, holding it up to a candle burning on his desk, the light playing
about it, giving it an eerie glow. “Fascinating.” He tore his eyes away,
looking up at Vitus. “This pleases me. Thank your men, and give them an extra
ration of wine for their brave service.”

Vitus smiled.
“Yes, Prefect. Thank you, Prefect.”

“You are
dismissed.”

Vitus snapped
out another salute then turned, marching from his leader’s presence, passing
the aide at the doorway, a smile on his face, he apparently pleased his
master’s mood had improved.

“Junius!
Come here!”

The man flinched,
obviously the Junius referred to, rushing toward Pilate’s desk as Vitus left
the room.

But his
mood quickly turned, for he was certain he knew whose heads the Jewish leaders
were demanding, and they were men under his command, good men, men who didn’t
deserve to die.

I
must warn them.

He
glanced back and felt his chest tighten, for if the prefect were to find out, his
own head would be added to the pile.

Despite
the gift he had just bestowed.

Junius rushed into the prefect’s office, his eyes immediately
locking onto the object held in Pilate’s hands. A chill ran through him, reminding
him of the terror he had experienced when the ground had shook and the storm had
nearly overwhelmed them. It had been vicious, terrifying, and he had wanted to
hide in a corner until it was over.

Pilate
had shown no fear, and demanded none be shown by his staff, an order no one
dared disobey, he clearly in a foul mood.

“What is
it, Prefect?”

“A
rather unique sculpture, don’t you think?”

Junius
stared at it, his hands trembling to reach out and touch it, an action he dared
not take whilst the prefect was so engaged. “It-it is that. I don’t think I
have ever seen anything like it.”

“Nor I.
They claim it was inside a stone, broken in half when that Jew was crucified.”

Junius
bowed repeatedly, unsure of what to say, it sounding fantastic to him. He
didn’t believe in the Jewish god, though he had to admit his faith had been
shaken enough to hedge his bets, directing a silent prayer to him. And if this
sculpture were related to what had happened, then their god’s power was truly
great.

And
perhaps he was more real than any of his own gods.

I’ve
never had a prayer answered, at least not one I could say wouldn’t have
happened anyway.

Suddenly
Pilate placed the object on his desk. “Take it.”

“Yes, Prefect.”
Junius reached forward, lifting the object and turning it toward him, it
seeming to stare back at him. He gasped, an uncontrollable shiver rushing over
his body, he nearly dropping it.

“Be
careful, you fool!”

“Y-yes, Prefect.”
He carefully placed it back in the bag the Decanus had brought it in, tying the
string around the top. “Wh-what should I do with it?”

“Take
it, put it somewhere. I don’t care. I don’t have time for it.”

“Y-yes, Prefect.”

He
turned to leave when Pilate barked a final command at him.

“But
don’t dispose of it! I may have use of it someday.”

“Y-yes, Prefect.”

Junius rushed
out of the room, gripping the object tightly to his chest, heading toward his
own modest office. He placed the bag on a shelf carved into the wall, then sat,
taking several deep breaths as he tried to get control of his frazzled nerves.

There
was a knock at the door, sending his heart racing once again.

“Enter!”

The door
opened and an old man stepped inside, closing the door behind him. But
was
he an old man? He appeared frail, yet his posture was good, his stride and
motions strong. If Junius were to see him walking in the dark, merely a dimly
lit shadow, he would swear he was half the age he appeared to be.

“What do
you want?”

The man
nodded toward the shelf with the sculpture.

“My name
is Ananias, and I have come to speak to you about your new acquisition.”

Acton Residence, St. Paul, Maryland
Present Day

“It was strange. He looked scared.”

Professor
James Acton’s eyes narrowed as he looked at his wife, Professor Laura Palmer.
Their friend, Hugh Reading, was on speaker, Acton’s cellphone sitting on the
couch behind them, they having one of the more riveting conversations he could
recall having, at least recently.

“Scared
of
you
?” asked Laura.

“That’s
what I thought at first, but then like I said, someone started chasing him. He
got in a car and the guy was going to take a shot but I stopped him.”

Acton shook
his head. Their friend, for he did think of Martin Chaney as a friend, had been
missing for over a year. They weren’t as close with him as Reading, though they
had spent social time together, Chaney even coming to one of their digs in
Egypt. It was there that he had been shot, trying to protect some of Laura’s
students.

And it
was there that things had descended into a mysterious spiral that deepened with
each ongoing day. Chaney had slipped into a coma, then came out of it,
appearing in Venice when they had found an artifact the Triarii for centuries had
been searching for.