The Last Roman: Book One: Exile Page 7

  Passing several ships, Marcus climbed up a narrow gangway. His stern expression silenced the sailor standing at the railing.

  "Get the captain," Marcus snapped.

  Nodding, the man glanced at the strange party and disappeared into the darkness. A few moments later, the disheveled and groggy captain appeared. His expression grew from surprise to concern as he studied the group of women huddled behind Marcus.

  "What's going on?"

  "We're leaving, now," Marcus said.

  "We can't leave now! It's the middle of the damn night!"

  "I don't care what time it is." Marcus paused, deciding that greed would trump fear. "If you get us to the open sea by dawn, I'll double your payment."

  The Sicilian squinted in the darkness, the surrounding sailors awaiting his reply. He looked down at the bundle Marcus carried, then at the girls standing behind him.

  He nodded to the sailor next to him. "Awaken the crew; we sail now. And show these passengers to the cargo hold." He turned back toward Marcus. "That's all the space we have available."

  "Not a problem."

  "Where do we sail next?"

  "Antioch."

  "Very well."

  "I'll be in my cabin. I don't want to be disturbed." Without waiting for a reply, Marcus disappeared toward the stairway and down into the hold.

  They were slicing through open water by daybreak, the galley swaying as they plowed through the rolling breakers. Marcus sat on the edge of a narrow bunk and studied Natalia in the growing daylight. As he moved a thin strand of hair from her cheek, her eyes flickered. A smile crept onto her lips as she recognized him.

  "Hi sweetie," he said.

  "Hello." She looked around the small cabin. "Where are we?"

  "Safe."

  She nodded. "Are the children with your father?"

  He forced a smile. "Yes, they are."

  "Good," she whispered. "I'm so tired."

  "You rest, sweetie." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

  As the sun set, Marcus stood near the bow and watched seagulls swoop back and forth across the ship's path. He sensed Sabrina come up beside him, but he didn't turn to greet her.

  "I'm sorry."

  Marcus looked down at the railing, then squinted back at one of the plunging gulls. "At least she didn't die in that…in that place."

  "Who was she to you?"

  "My wife."

  "Ah. You're Marcus. She talked about you all the time." Sabrina reached out and took his hand. "She never stopped loving you, and she knew that one day you'd be reunited."

  Marcus pursed his lips and fought back the tears as he nodded.

  She squeezed his hand and walked away.

  He turned back to the choppy seas. Yesterday, rage consumed his every moment. That rage was gone, and it left behind an emptiness. He knew it would take forever to fill that emptiness.

  He was right.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  All spirits are enslaved that serve things evil.

  —Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1819

  Thomas picked at the table and then took a drink from his small wooden cup. The wine was stale and bitter. Just like us, he thought as he glanced at the others sitting around the room.

  It was amazing how things could change so quickly. Less than two weeks ago, they had enjoyed a groundswell of support and were about to make a triumphant entrance into Jerusalem. Now they were cowering from both Roman and Jewish authorities, unsure of how to proceed. And his companions were buckling under the stress. They believed Jesus was resurrected, and that he had appeared to them. Thomas shook his head and took another swig, this one long enough to drain his cup.

  He reached forward and grabbed the nearby pitcher, but it was empty. Thomas looked beyond the table to the locked door, wondering if it was safe to go down to the tavern and get more wine. He had yet to decide when a familiar voice broke the silence.

  "Peace be with you!"

  The men stumbled to their feet. There, in their midst, stood the Master. His gentle eyes drifted between them, smiling at each one of his disciples. It settled on Thomas, and Jesus motioned for him to stand. Thomas pushed his chair back and stood, head lowered. The others crowded around as Jesus pulled his tunic aside, revealing an angry, open wound.

  "See my wounds. I want you to touch them," Jesus instructed. "Stop doubting and believe."

  Tears filled Thomas's eyes, but he could not reply.

  "You must do so."

  Thomas nodded and extended his right hand forward, fingers slipping into the wound. He stiffened, eyes looking up at his Savior as he slumped to the ground. "My Lord and my God!"

  "Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet believed," Jesus said.

  Thomas slipped from consciousness; he would never see the Master again.

  Modern Day

  Monaco

  A crash of thunder snapped Thomas awake. It was followed by the steady patter of falling rain that filled the darkened chamber, rising each time the wind drove the downpour against the heavy glass. He sat beneath a massive window, facing the abyss. A bolt of lightning crackled through the night, lighting up his stoic features. The storm was now moving away, having released its heavy burden upon the city.

  Another flash lit up the darkness, followed by a rumble that almost masked the soft buzzer.

  He spun his chair toward a black marble desk and pushed a button. "Yes?"

  "Lazarus is here," a voice said.

  "Send him in."

  As the door swung forward, light from the anteroom spilled into the chamber. Lazarus crossed the room, his footsteps echoing before him. He was of medium height with short black hair and a more prominent nose than his face required. He carried himself with a confidence that did not always stand the test.

  "What happened?" Thomas reached forward and poured himself a drink.

  "Levi was an imbecile," Lazarus stated. "I told you his extracurricular activities were going to get him killed."

  "Yes, it was bound to happen." Thomas took a sip. "What did Marcus get?"

  "Pretty much everything. Files, samples, and Levi's phone."

  "Any idea where he is?"

  "Not yet. I have a team working on it."

  "We need to take care of this, once and for all."

  "I've tried a half-dozen times," Lazarus said. "He's one elusive motherfucker."

  "Well, it's time we up the ante."

  "What do you want to do?"

  "We've talked about it for a while." Thomas nodded. "Burn it down."

  "Everything?"

  "Yep. Take it all away."

  "Will do." Lazarus started to walk away, then stopped. "Are you sure?"

  There was a long pause as Thomas looked up. "Absolutely."

  Paris

  Muted rays from the morning sun leaked past the heavy curtain and crept into Marcus' muddled dreams. As he shifted beneath the covers, the dull ache in his shoulder took him back to the night before. It was not a pleasant journey. He pushed the covers aside, reached back, and felt the edges of a bandage. He looked down and saw another just below his ribcage. Marcus sat up, peeled off the latter and inspected the wound. It was neatly stitched, the flesh puckered and light pink. It would be fully healed by lunchtime and nothing but a faint scar by evening. Lord knows he had plenty of them.

  He lifted the blankets and swung his feet to the cold wooden floor. He reached for a nearby pack of cigarettes, lit one up, and after several puffs, stood and walked to the bathroom. Turning on the light, he started the shower. Cigarette dangling from his lips, he peeled off the other bandages and threw them into the trash can.

  He tossed the butt into the toilet, stepped out of his sweats and into the shower. He placed both hands on the wall, lowering his head to soak his entire body. His mind drifted back to the girls. They were dead because he had let Levi take them home. There was a time when he might not have made that decision, but somewhere along the way, he had changed. Marcus cl
osed his eyes and waited for their faces to fade. He gave up when the hot water ran out.

  He dried off and wrapped a towel around his waist. After getting dressed, he exited the bedroom to find Sam pouring a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

  "How are you feeling?" She held up the cup for him.

  "Sore. And a headache."

  "Well, this won't help." She handed him his phone. "You have a text from Ramirez? He wants to Facetime as soon as you are awake."

  "Fuck me."

  "Who is he?"

  "The Cardinal Secretary of State."

  "Wow, sounds important."

  "It is. His office runs all the political and diplomatic functions for the Vatican."

  "What does he want?"

  "We unofficially liaise with his office."

  "You work for him?"

  "No." Marcus scowled. "He makes requests; we sometimes help. We try to stay aligned. It worked much smoother with his predecessors."

  "So, you sometimes work for him."

  Marcus glared at her and took a sip of coffee.

  "You gonna call him?"

  "Yeah, I'll be out in a minute."

  "Okay."

  Marcus moved back into the bedroom, pulled up the text, then began a Facetime call with Ramirez.

  "Hello?" A young-looking priest answered the call.

  "Yes. The Cardinal wanted me to call him. It's Marcus."

  "Hold, please." The screen went black as he set it faced down. A few minutes later, the Cardinal glared into the camera, his chubby cheeks flushed.

  "Marcus! Are you in Paris?"

  "Maybe."

  "Why? I don't remember discussing that. Or the trip to London last week, for that matter."

  "I don't have to clear my travel plans with you," Marcus snapped back.

  "We have an agreement. You are not to jeopardize the Church with your activities." The Cardinal leaned forward, his face filling the screen. "Your antics are drawing attention, and I can't risk exposing the Church to your…indiscretions. Go back to Boston until I decide what to do next."

  "Let's be clear. I don't give a fuck what you think, and I don't take orders from you. I've bled a thousand times for the Church, and I'll be damned if I let you lecture me on what's best for it."

  "You're dangerously close—"

  "Close to what?"

  "Go home, Marcus." The call ended.

  Standing, he grabbed the phone and threw it against the brick wall. It shattered into a dozen pieces. Startled by the sound, Sam came storming into the room.

  "Everything okay?"

  "Yeah." Marcus rubbed his chin.

  "I see that call went well." Her eyes fell to the broken pieces scattered across the wooden floor.

  "It was great. And we need a new phone." He exhaled. "Tell me you had some luck with the files."

  "Not without the password. It's beyond my skill set."

  "Who's our Paris contact? Simon?"

  "Dead."

  Marcus frowned. "When?"

  "Two months ago. Skiing accident."

  "Antonin?"

  "Prison," she countered.

  "Okay, this isn't working. Who do you suggest?"

  "Sebastien."

  "He's in Paris? I thought he was in some castle in Transylvania."

  "He's from Albania, not Romania," she corrected. "And he moved here about five months ago. Family issues."

  "I don't know. He's pretty good, but there's something strange about him. Seems immature."

  "He's better than you think. And he's not dead or in prison."

  "Good point. Let's get a hold of him."

  "Already did. We meet in an hour."

  "Why didn't you say so?"

  She just shrugged. "Want to get a crepe before we go?"

  "Duh, of course."

  "Here we are." She took the last bite of her crepe.

  They had walked about twenty minutes from their apartment, stopping at a vendor along the way. Marcus wiped his mouth and hands with a napkin and dropped it into a nearby trash can. Looking back at the building, he noticed a gold placard.

  "Is this the Albanian Embassy?"

  "Yep." She motioned him toward the door.

  "Are you serious?"

  "Ah, yeah."

  He rolled his eyes, stepped through the revolving door and entered a small lobby. To the right was a desk with a single guard, whose eyes narrowed as he watched them enter the room. Next to him was a metal detector; the rest of the area roped off except for an opening for people to exit. A couch and two chairs stood to the left, one of which was occupied by a teenage boy with his face buried in his phone.

  "So, now what?"

  Sam was already texting on her phone and looked up after finishing. "He should be here."

  "Sam?"

  Sam looked up to see the teenage boy standing next to her. He was about five-foot-tall, with short black hair and bright blue eyes. He had on a black Ramones t-shirt and a pair of ripped skinny jeans.

  "Yes, can I help you?"

  "Are you here to meet with Sebastien?" His English was perfect, with just a hint of an eastern European accent.

  "Yes," Marcus said. "Do you know him?"

  "I'm Sebastien."

  Marcus looked over at Sam, who had a stunned look on her face.

  Before they could respond, Sebastien nodded toward the desk. "Not here, follow me."

  They stopped in front of the guard.

  "You'll need to leave your weapons. You can pick them up later."

  Marcus frowned and retrieved his pistol from his waistband, along with several extra clips. He set them in a metal case the guard opened for them. Sebastien looked toward Sam.

  "I don't need a gun. I've got him." She tilted her head toward Marcus.

  The guard locked the box and put it under the desk. Then he stood and held out a plastic tub for their phones. They walked through the detector, retrieving their phones afterward. They followed Sebastien down a long hallway before stopping at an elevator near the end. Sebastian checked his phone several times as they waited for the door to open.

  Once inside, Sebastien put his thumb over a pad as the door closed. The pad turned green, and the elevator descended for what seemed like three or four floors. Sebastien watched the puzzled expression on Marcus' face in the elevator's stainless-steel walls.

  "We've only gone down two floors. It's a slow elevator because it's old. Like everything else in this stupid building."

  "I didn't know there were basements that deep."

  "They built this one on top of an old catacomb. It was easy to go deeper."

  Marcus nodded but could not help himself. "I'm sorry. How long have you been doing this?"

  The door opened, and Sebastien stepped out.

  "What do you mean, this? Hacking? Since I was like eight years old."

  "I mean doing jobs for other people." Marcus followed him out.

  "I don't know. Four years? I went to this prep school for ex-pats. That's where I learned English and how to make money by stealing and breaking into shit online." He led them down a hallway and into an office/game room/bedroom. "Then my dad got a job in the government, and I met some different dudes. That's when my biz took off."

  He motioned for them to sit down, then sat in a chair in front of an enormous desk. Multiple screens filled the wall above them. One was a split feed of all the security cameras in the building. Another was playing South Park, and a third was a YouTube channel of some first-person shooter game.

  "How did you end up in Paris?" Sam, having wandered around the room, stopped and looked at some comics on a table.

  "My dad became the ambassador. Totally sucks. The internet here is shit."

  "I'm sorry to hear that." Marcus glanced over at Sam.

  Sebastien stared at Marcus. "Is there a problem?"

  Marcus' eyes shifted from Sam to Sebastien and then back. Sam shook her head.

  "No problem," Marcus said.

  "Good, because I don't meet in person, fo
r this precise reason. Adults can be dicks."

  "No, we're good." Sam tilted her head toward Marcus. "He's the only dick."

  "Okay, cool. I already cracked the files you sent me. I'd be almost embarrassed to charge you for that." He turned toward the desk. "But it still looks like a bunch of useless shit to me."

  "Can you get into his email?" Marcus leaned over his shoulder.

  "Does he use email?"

  "I doubt it," Sam cut in. "See if he had WhatsApp on his laptop."

  "He does." Sebastien opened WhatsApp and logged in using the computer's autosave password data. "Ok, what are we looking for?"

  "No dick pics," Sam warned.

  "Got it."

  Marcus looked over the teenager's shoulder, scanning the conversations.

  "There—'T'."

  T

  What's your status?

  I found him. I'll send the files.

  T

  Good. And the samples?

  They're safe.

  T

  Take them to him in Rome.

  Why does he need them?

  T

  Just do it.

  "Good start. It looks like he used email. Can you find that?" Sam asked.

  "Yeah, give me a few minutes. You guys want something to eat or drink? There's a refrigerator over there." He casually pointed to the other side of the room. "If you could grab me a Yoo-hoo, that would be great."

  Sam stood up, looking at Marcus. "Do you want anything?"

  "No, thanks."

  "OK, I think I'm in his email." Sebastien opened an email with some attachments. "We have multiple files. Anything look tasty?"

  He sat back and looked at Marcus, who scanned the contents and pointed out one from the list.