The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) Page 4

  The man continued to smile at me as he stood up and rounded the desk to stand at arm’s reach. As he came to a stop, he held out his right hand, which held a rather large ring. I understood, and knelt before him, kissing the ring, before rising again to my feet. Straightening, I was surprised to see the man’s smile was larger than before, as he seemed to settle into a completely relaxed and informal manner.

  “Sit, sit,” he said. “We have little to discuss, and it is important that we have you continue your journey as quickly as possible.”

  I took my seat, noticing that Father Vincent had vanished.

  Sneaky.

  The old man sat down carefully, faintly showing his age. Folding his hands on the desk in front of him, he stared directly into my eyes. He wasn’t so intimidating that he made me feel uncomfortable, but his look was enough to ensure that I knew who was in charge.

  “So,” he began, opening his hands. “It is my understanding that you have been left completely in the dark concerning why you are here. You know that we are in the middle of not only a crusade, but World War III, that my life has been directly threatened, and that terrorists were very nearly successful at taking it. Finally, you know that I have created an off shoot of my Swiss Guard, for which I have recruited from the best of all Christendom to provide additional aid and protection to my person. Have I left anything out?”

  “No, sir. That just about covers it.” I kept my responses short. We were both busy men. No reason to delay our meeting with frivolous pleasantries or endearing platitudes.

  Perhaps sensing my directness, he smiled again, and quickly shifted topics. “We know all about your upbringing and have been watching you for quite some time. Do not be alarmed. We just wanted to make sure we knew everything we needed to in our potential candidates. But, as you are finally here, it is time to send you on your way.”

  I leaned forward, in order to hear as clearly as I could.

  “You are here to join an elite group of soldiers whose sole purpose is to seek out and eliminate any potential threat to the wellbeing of myself or the ground on which you stand. My Swiss Guard is fully capable of defending this establishment from many threats, including an all-out siege, but it is the small, indirect kinds of warfare that the mere guard cannot defend against. Nuclear and biological attacks must be stopped at the source, and that is where your team comes in.” He paused to look at me questioningly. “Is this acceptable to you, Mr. Hunter?”

  I nodded, suspecting such an assignment. That suited me just fine.

  “Desperate times,” I said.

  He returned my nod. “Indeed. I do not relish the need for such a force, but the dangers of today sometimes dictate preemptive action.” He paused again, his body language indicating he wasn’t quite finished, but it wasn’t long before his composure returned. “Now, do you have any questions?”

  “Just one. Who are we?”

  The man smiled once again. “You have no official unit designation, but to me, you are known as Praetorians. Do you know who they were?”

  “They were once the elite bodyguard of the Roman Caesars during the days of the Roman Empire.”

  “I thought you would know. You have inquisitive eyes, always open to learning new things. You are correct. You are Praetorians, a tribute to the men of antiquity who once protected the leaders of this great city. Now, since you have no further questions, allow me to introduce you to Major Dillon McDougal, formally of His Majesty’s SAS. He will be your commanding officer. King William was kind enough to lend him to our efforts.”

  McDougal nodded, which I returned in kind.

  “Now, my son, this is where we must part ways,” the man said, standing and raising his ringed hand once again.

  I rose to kiss his ring, and was once again surprised, in this day of surprises, as the man rotated his hand, offering a handshake instead. Tentatively, I gripped his hand, surprised at the strength he possessed, and shook firmly.

  “Thank you. It will be an honor to serve as so many have before me.”

  “The honor is all mine, young man,” Pope Gregory XXI replied. “You also have my thanks and my prayers.”

  I nodded and released his grip. McDougal started for the door and I quickly fell into step behind him.

  On my way out I heard Pope Gregory quietly whisper under his breath, “God be with you, my son, and God speed.”

  Following behind McDougal, I asked, “Where to, Major?”

  “Where else?” He replied. “To meet your squad.”

  II

  Praetorians

  Rome, Italy

  July, 2021 AD

  McDougal led the way towards the elevator from which I had just arrived. Once inside, he pressed his thumb against a pad on the elevator panel, activating the car to descend rapidly into the bowels of the Vatican. The ride didn’t last long, and soon the doors opened to a long, white hallway, not the tunnels I had expected. We must have arrived on another subterranean level. The hallway was well lit and had the metallic sheen and sterility normally associated with some sort of military or medical complex.

  New ones.

  At the first door, McDougal again pressed his thumb against a pad and the door slid open. As I followed him inside, I took in my surroundings in a glance, focusing briefly on as many details as I could. The immediate area consisted of a few benches, lockers, and doors to a shower facility. To my right was a complete weight room facility, equipped with cardiovascular machines and a boxing ring. To my left was a mess hall and recreation area. Directly ahead was a small arms firing range and obstacle course fit for training with weapons and gear.

  I was definitely impressed.

  Most training facilities possessed all of the present amenities, but never in such a single, vast area, obviously specialized to serve two purposes. First, to conserve space as an underground facility would need to be as compact as possible. Second, to produce a more familial atmosphere where everyone present can interact with one another regardless of what they were doing. It was the perfect environment for assimilating a team of strangers who did not have the luxury of going through a rigorous and lengthy training process meant to build bonds of friendship and trust.

  I spotted five figures scattered throughout the facility. The first two were easily found as they were prominently displayed sparring in the boxing ring. One man outweighed me by at least fifty pounds and had a few inches on me as well, while the other man was short, ripped and wiry. He reminded me of Bruce Lee. A third man was using a bench press machine behind the boxing ring, but only his calves and feet were visible.

  The fourth figure I noticed was a woman. She was facing away from me and all I could see was black hair, tied up in a short pony tail that didn’t quite reach the nape of her neck, and a lithe body covered by a tight tank top and BDU pants. She was at the other end of the facility, sitting at the long range rifle section of the shooting range, her eye buried in the lens of scope.

  The final figure was sitting at the mess hall drinking a vanilla smoothie through a straw, leaning back in a chair with his legs crossed atop the table, one of his boots lying on the ground next to his chair – a relaxed demeanor that surprised me. Most soldiers, even when off duty, portrayed slightly more poise and discipline while on station, but what really shocked me was that I knew this guy, and his lackadaisical attitude immediately made sense.

  “Well, well, well…” I called out cheerfully with a smile on my face. “If it isn’t the sexiest man this side of the Air Force. Johnny Santino.”

  The man turned, nearly falling out of his chair in surprise.

  “Jacob? Is that you? Good God, it’s been forever,” he said, pulling me into a friendly bear hug and lifting me off the ground. “How long has it been? A year? Since that op over North Korea?”

  I rolled my eyes. He knew damn well it hadn’t been that long. “You mean the time when you and your little ninja buddies couldn’t make the extraction because your little tootsies got all cut up, and my SEALs had to com
e bail you out?” Santino must have been that member of Delta that had transferred earlier. He’d started his Special Forces career as a Green Beret, a clandestine team that specialized in tactical instruction. Back in Vietnam, they were so sneaky that many theorized they executed their missions barefoot, making them targets of both easy jibs and respect simultaneously. “I see you’re still putting your feet at risk,” I joked, pointing at his bootless foot after he finally put me down.

  “I take it you two know each other,” McDougal said as he approached quietly.

  “That’s correct, sir. Although, I am a bit surprised to see his pretty face here at all.”

  Santino sneered at me. During basic training he took some shrapnel from a grenade accident, leaving him with a rather nasty web of scars on the right side of his face. It wasn’t that bad really, and it gave him a dashing, heroic look that the ladies always seemed to slobber over.

  “We’re both Catholic, Jacob. I guess they just wanted another Italian around here, and called me in first.”

  “When I first heard they had recruited from Delta, I had my suspicion it was you, but I figured your patriotism would outweigh your faith. Guess I was wrong.”

  He put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m not sure how I feel about you thinking so much about me, Jake, kinda creepy, but it’ll be good to work together again. This time on a more permanent basis. And, hey, I hear you’ve been promoted. McDougal told me the new guy was a Lieutenant Commander in the Navy. Looks like I’ll have to start saluting you from now on.” Before removing his hand from my shoulder, he pinched at my Hawaiian shirt and pulled on it slightly. “Nice shirt, by the way,” he commented.

  I smiled. “Thanks, and don’t worry about saluting, the only thing I care about is the bigger pension.”

  His smile faltered and he cupped his chin between thumb and forefinger in thought. “I wonder why I wasn’t promoted when the President sent me off…”

  “I hate to break up the reunion, but now would be a good time to clear up a few things,” McDougal interrupted, looking at me. “First of all, ‘Captain’ Santino is no longer a captain as you understand it, but a lieutenant once more.”

  “Sir? He was demoted?”

  “No, not demoted per se, but merely realigned into a new chain of command. In fact, you are now a lieutenant as well.”

  Figures. I knew it would only last a few days before I was at the bottom of the food chain again, but at least my bank account would still reflect my old rank. I sighed, feigning disappointment with a lazy shrug while McDougal continued.

  “We did not want to strip any member of the team of their rank, but we needed to consolidate our system so as to avoid confusion. The chain of command is simple and you would most likely recognize it from your American Army. I’m team leader and highest ranking officer as a major. My second in command is a captain, and the rest of you are of equal rank as lieutenants. Any questions?”

  “No, sir,” I responded. “Sounds straight forward to me.”

  “Glad I was able to clear that up, mate. Now, would you like to meet the rest of your squad?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Follow me.”

  Leaving Santino to finish his smoothie, we started towards the boxing ring when I heard the distinct crack, crack, crack of a high powered rifle firing in rapid succession. I glanced over at the young woman sitting at the shooting range as she summoned her paper target from far down range. Considering the amount of time it took for the target to reach her, I estimated that it began its journey from pretty far out. When the woman pulled off the target and held it to the light, I noticed a neat smiley face in perfect formation on the target’s head.

  The woman was a fantastic shot, and the smug smile at the corner of her mouth indicated she knew it, and had an ego about it.

  It figured.

  Snipers always were hot heads.

  Meanwhile, the two men in the ring continued to pound on one another with distinctively different styles. The bigger man, wearing blue trunks, was clearly a brawler who’d participated in one too many bar fights over the years. His lunges and long swings were meant to inflict major punishment, at the expense of finesse, mobility and his hit count.

  The second man, in red trunks, fought like an experienced martial artist, well-schooled in hand to hand combat. He utilized jabs, chops, kicks, counters, and stayed extremely mobile, dancing in and out, and side to side. Despite his fluid grace and obvious fighting superiority, his opponent just shrugged off his blows and continued to rain his own clumsy shots with little success.

  After about five minutes of constant fighting, with both men sweating profusely, the man in red trunks finally found his opening. As the man in blue threw a powerful right hook towards his opponents face, the smaller man easily spun to his attacker’s right side, twirling beneath his upraised arm. Now at the man’s back, it was easy to pull off a spinning leg sweep that took the big man to the mat, and the smaller man’s elbow to his neck.

  A few heartbeats passed as the pair stared at one another before the big man started laughing and allowed the other to help him up.

  “I thought I had you there with that last hook, but you are too damn quick, mon ami. How many shots did I actually land in that fight? Three? And those barely connected, as if you knew they were coming. How do you do that?”

  “I’ve been studying martial arts since I was able to crawl,” the smaller man replied. “It’s not just about fighting, but learning how to anticipate your opponent. Read them. But don’t worry, you’re doing better. I’ll make a warrior out of you yet.”

  The two continued to chat when McDougal cleared his throat.

  “If the two of you are finished, I’d like to introduce you to our final member. This is Lieutenant Jacob Hunter. Hunter, let me introduce Lieutenant James Wang,” he said indicating the smaller man, “and this rather large brute is Lieutenant Jeanne Bordeaux.”

  I nodded. “Nice to meet you both.”

  Bordeaux offered a smile and wave, while Wang bowed slightly and offered a very British, possibly Welsh, “ello.”

  To say Bordeaux was a large man was an understatement. His legs were the size of tree trunks and his arms like honey baked hams, while his shirtless upper body was just as intimidating. In all my time in the military, I can’t remember many men who matched him in size. Yet, despite his massive frame, his features were oddly gentle. He had a thin face, with a chiseled jaw and cheeks, and a slightly pointy nose. Sandy brown hair, and scruffy facial hair gave me the impression he was pretty successful at picking up women at night clubs.

  His boxing partner, Wang, was the polar opposite. Only five and a half feet tall, I estimated even the woman at the sniper range was taller than he was. Not only was he small in height, but also thin in girth. That said, even if Bordeaux hadn’t known what kind of fighter he was, he would probably think twice about getting into a fight with him. His thin body was ripped with muscles in places I didn’t know you could have them. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit to learn he could out-bench me.

  He had a round face and narrow eyes that appealed to his surname’s ethnicity but his nose and his mouth had a distinctly western quality to them.

  I was about to inquire into their backgrounds when the man previously using the chest press bench came into view. The man, wearing shorts and a sleeveless undershirt, was well muscled, and bore a striking resemblance to Father Vincent from my car ride in. It wasn’t until he came around the last corner to face me, that I realized it was Father Vincent.

  “Father Vincent,” I stammered. “What are you doing here?”

  The priest smiled, “I’m part of the team, Hunter. Indeed, I am a man of the cloth, but prior to taking my vows, I served in the Swiss Guard, and before that, the Swiss military.”

  “Really?” I asked skeptically

  He rolled his eyes. “I was a soldier before you were even in primary school, but when my term of service was up with the Guard, I discovered a higher calling. I was ordai
ned and came to serve here at the Vatican, where until recently I served as both priest and Pope Gregory’s personal bodyguard, cleverly hidden as a fellow servant of God. Currently, I serve as the team’s liaison with His Holiness, but don’t worry, I still know how to handle myself in a fight.”

  I was still trying to process this new information when he continued.

  “When I’m on duty, you may refer to me as Vincent, or Vince, as my mother used to call me, I suppose. I don’t want my position to add any undue stress and distance between us, but while I wear my collar or preside over the team, I am once again Father Vincent.”

  I glanced at McDougal, who confirmed Vincent’s story with a nod. “Captain Vincent’s story is all true, lad. He’s been a soldier longer than I have and will serve as my XO and take command should he need to. You’ll receive more details at the briefing, but let’s introduce you to our final member first, and have you perform a quick inspection of your gear as well.”

  That sounded like a reasonable plan to me. I was not only looking forward to meeting the last member of the team, but to have the familiar grip of my beloved rifle in my hands once again. With a quick nod to Vincent, and with Bordeaux and Wang once again sparring in the ring, we made our way to the range where the woman was retrieving a second target. The large sheet of paper had but a single small hole, dead center-mass. Upon closer inspection, I noticed the hole was really the culmination of multiple shots all fired almost directly upon one another, an extremely impressive feat, even if the distance between shooter and target had not been as great as before.

  She spent a few seconds studying the target as we approached, but her head jerked in our direction when we got close. I wasn’t entirely surprised she noticed us, but many snipers were notorious for sever tunnel vision due to the constant use of their scopes. I knew this because it was something I suffered from slightly myself. It was a good indicator of what to expect out of her, but I didn’t really have long to think about it. When the woman completed her turn and I finally had the chance to get a good look at her, all I could focus on were light green eyes, so bright and piercing that they bordered on a color meant only for those deemed clinically insane.