To Crown a Caesar (The Praetorian Series: Book II) (32 page)

Santino stopped in front of the man and bowed slightly.  His radio, hidden beneath his robes, was set to VOX so that Helena and I could keep track of the conversation.

“Greetings,” Santino said, opening his arms in a wide gesture.  He sniffed the air haughtily and looked up.  “Such a fine night.  I have always found the stars to be a wondrous backdrop when dealing in such unique items.”

I rolled my eyes, as I continued to observe them through my scope.

Santino’s cover was that of a roving Greek salesmen of unique goods and items, a cover Gaius had concocted when convincing the dealer to negotiate with him.  Apparently, Santino owned a store in Corinth that specialized in obscure and expensive items, the kinds that would go great with whatever frivolous decoration the excessively rich already had.  But while Gaius had provided the cover, Santino had developed the character all on his own.  His beard was overgrown and bushy and he had slicked back his hair with some kind of product.

I suspected it was lard, but
I didn’t really want to know.

Finally, Santino had stood in front of the mirror earlier today and rehearsed h
is demeanor, facial contortions and dialect for hours, and by the time he was done, he’d become a completely different person.  When we’d departed a few hours ago, Santino’s Latin had a distinguishable Greek dialect, his eyes suggested he was a born haggler, his smile was nowhere to be seen, and he had the personality of a trader who thought he was much better at his job than he really was, even if had the repertoire and eclectic inventory to back it up.  He was arrogant and cocky, natural for Santino, but also an unprepared nincompoop, someone who’d lucked his way through life… also probably natural for Santino.

I zoomed in my scope just a bit to get a better look at their figures.

“A fine night indeed, sir,” the dealer replied.  “I do enjoy these early morning dealings as well.  I just hope you brought enough money to carry on as long as needed.”

Santino placed his hands on his stomach and chuckled brassily.  “We’ll just see if your little item is worthy of a place amongst my ware.”

“That will not be a problem, sir,” the man said, and I knew he had to be smiling.  “I feel you will be most impressed.”

Santino harrumphed in dismissal, and looked around the stadium’s entrance, waiting for his fellow barterer to show up.

The guy was late.  If Gaius wasn’t bullshiting us, then the other buyer would be one of his Praetorian buddies.  There was no doubt he wouldn’t show up alone, so I glassed the rooftops looking for anybody dressed in black.

It seemed clear.

I clicked my PTT button.  “3-2, 3-1.  Do you have a visual on possible tangos?”

“Negative, 3-1,” Helena replied.  “All clear so far.”

“Copy,” I transmitted.

I shook my head.  Something felt off about this.  Professionals like Gaius and Marcus’ Praetorians wouldn’t be late unless they had good reason, or were
perhaps scouting the place as well.  I felt safe almost seven hundred yards away, but even so, I manipulated the touch screen on my forearm to flip through the image from the fisheye cams on my eye piece.  I knew it would have contacted me if they’d sensed any movement already, but it couldn’t hurt to check.

I wasn’t surprised when I found nothing.  We were very far away and well hidden.  My scope even had a honeycomb patterned cover over the front lens to reduce the chance of lens flares from incoming light.

Still, something didn’t feel right.

I tilted my rifle to look down the road Santino had
just been traveling on.  I saw two men dressed in dark clothing make their way towards the plaza.  As soon as they turned the corner, they became instant targets.  They walked up to the dealer and waited, offering no form of greeting.

The dealer seemed nonplussed by the fact the other buyer hadn’t come alone, but ignored it and began his transaction.

“Greetings to you all,” he began.  “Thank you for displaying interest in the item I have brought here tonight.  I believe you will find it most fascinating.  If you have any questions, now would be the time to ask them.  If you will begin, sir.…” he trailed off, indicating one of the Praetorians.

Both men remained silent
, failing to offer their names.

“Fine,” the dealer replied.  “And you, sir?”

“Xanthias,” Santino said.  Xanthias the slave had been one of the characters in my Greek text books back in college.  Like Santino, he had been a lazy bastard who never listened to his owner, Dicaeopolis.  “I have but one question.  Where did you acquire this item?”

That was the only question any of us wanted to know.  We knew the rest.

“It was an inheritance,” he replied.  “My uncle obtained it four years ago.  He was a legionnaire with the
XV Primigenia
, but died last year while on campaign in Britain.  His personal items were returned to our family in Greece, and I found the item you will be bidding on tonight.  Trust me, sir, it was completely legal.  A spoil of war.”

Spoil of war, my ass.  This asshole’s uncle must have stolen it from Varus sometime after the Battle for Rome.  There had been six thousand men in that legion, along with an equal number of auxilia, and while they all knew me, I’d only interacted with an extremely small number of them.  Most of them were good men, but there were always a few brigands in a group.  I wondered if the man even knew what he was taking.

The dealer continued to chat when Helena’s voice cackled in my ear.

“Contact.  Eleven o’clock, your position.”

My body automatically tracked my rifle towards the area Helena indicated, and I saw exactly what we were looking for.  The two men wore tight fitting clothing, probably black, but I couldn’t tell due to the green tint of my scope.  Each man had a
gladius
, or Roman short sword, encased in a sheath strapped to their backs.  Along their belts was an assortment of pouches, as well as a half dozen throwing knives held in place by what resembled shotgun shell pockets.  One man had a compact bow across his back as well, along with a quiver of arrows at his thigh.  The other man had no bow or quiver, but had an additional blade at his waist.

I looked around for other contacts and found them easily.  I spotted nine other pairs, each similarly armed, and encircling Santino’s position unnoticed.

“Eighteen count,” I told Helena.

“Twenty two,” she corrected.  “Four more atop the hippodrome.”

I glassed the entrance and high walls of the stadium and saw the four she was referring to.

“Confirm
ed, twenty two tangos.”

“Wait
one,” she said.  A minute later, I heard her voice again.  “Confirmed, twenty two tangos.”

I hadn’t spotted anymore either.  “Confirm positive ID on Georgia or Missouri?”

“Negative.”

That wasn’t good news.  Either Gaius and Marcus
weren’t here, which unless my math was really that bad couldn’t be the case, or they hadn’t activated the infrared beacons I had given them.  Either way, it could prove detrimental to the mission.

“Solid copy, prepare to engage on my mark.”

She double clicked her radio.

I took a deep breath
and let it out slowly.  My forehead glistened slightly with nervous perspiration, but I forced myself to focus, grasping for all that training thrown at me over the course of my career.  It wasn’t my ass on the line.  It was Santino’s.  It was my job to keep my cool when there were others relying on me.  I continued to observe the interlopers, waiting for them to do something that would force me to end them.

“So,” I heard the dealer say in my ear, “let us begin the bidding.”

“Wait,” Santino said.  “Can we not see the object, first?”

“Of course.  How silly of me.”

The man maneuvered a simple satchel from his back and pulled out a spherical item wrapped in a dark cloth.  He carefully unwrapped the package, revealing one of the blue time traveling orbs.  As I looked at it through my scope, I half expected to feel some kind of connection with it like I had the last time I was near it, but I was happy to note that I felt nothing.  It appeared inert, its color and texture appearing more like a blue bowling ball than the glowing magical device that got us here.

“It’s a blue… ball,” Santino said, unimpressed.

“Yes, but observe,” the dealer replied.

Still holding the
orb with the cloth in his left hand, he reached out with his right and poked it with a finger on his right.  Immediately, the orb began to shine brightly.

Well, shit.

Did this guy possess the same blood line Varus and I did?

He had to.  I
t was the only explanation for his ability to activate it.

R
ight?

How many more people
were there that could control this thing?

I winced, expecting the jolt of intense pain that accompanied the time travel process, but felt nothing.  When I opened my eyes I saw that we were still in Byzantium.  I looked through my scope again, zooming it in as far as I could, and looked at the
orb.  Once again, I saw clouds swirling within it, like observing a hurricane from outer space, but nothing else.  No shapes, objects, or human forms were evident within, and the only thing I could theorize was that there was no one on the other end of the orb, whether they were calling or answering.

I wondered why not.

I pulled back the power on my scope, resetting it for an accurate shot.  Both Santino and his haggling opponent appeared shocked at what they saw.  All three men stumbled back a step before regaining their composure.

“Most impressive,” Santino said.  “Quite the spoil of war, indeed.”

“Yes, it is very beautiful.  The glow will dim over time until it becomes opaque once again.  Now, Mr. Xanthias, if you will, the starting bid is three hundred…”

“Enough of this,” the Praetorian
exclaimed loudly.  “I claim this object in the name of the Empress of Rome, Augustina Agrippina.”

The seller huddled his arms against his chest, resting the ball
protectively against his body.

“You have no such authority,” he countered.

“Indeed,” the Praetorian said, pulling his sword from his belt.  Without pause, he stabbed the dealer through the chest.  Reacting out of pain and surprise, the man stumbled backwards, throwing his hands over his head as he fell.  The orb flew from his grip and Santino, quick on his feet, reached out and snagged it.  Still playing the Greek merchant, he took a few steps back, cradling the spherical object and holding out his free hand in a Heisman-like pose.

“Please,
please, we can work something out.  Name your price.”

The Praetorian took a step towards him, pointing his sword at Santino’s neck.

“This can end two ways,” the man told Santino.  “Both end with your death.  All you control is its swiftness.”

Santino didn’t respond verbally, but his body language did his speaking for him
.  His posture straightened, his fear resided, and he was grinning from ear to ear.  The two Romans, including the one holding the sword, shifted on their feet in surprise at how quickly the man before them had suddenly grown a spine.

“You really don’t want to do that,” Santino informed them
calmly, already placing the orb in a bag of his own, cocky as ever.  “There’s a very pretty lady out there who’s got your number, and I don’t mean that in a good way.”

“What?!”  The Praetorian growled, only
slightly more lost than I was.  He moved forward again, just enough to obscure my shot.  “Hand it over, fool!”

Santino sighed and looked at the ground, shaking his head.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, buddy.”

As soon as he finished his warning, he took a quick step to his left.  He looked ov
er his shoulder, glanced around and seemed satisfied with his new position.  The two Romans looked at each other in confusion.  Santino stood there, rocking on his feet, clapping his hands and snapping his fingers impatiently.  Looking just as confused as everyone watching him by now, he glanced around again, then at his watch, before he smacked his thigh in realization.  He took another step to the left and pointed his finger at the Roman like a pistol, snapping his hand back, mimicking the firing of a “gun.”

Nothing happened.

Santino looked at his hand in confusion.  He smacked his wrist with his other hand, and tugged on his thumb, as though he were unjamming it.  Apparently satisfied at whatever he had been doing, he took careful aim once again and “fired.”  This time the armed Roman’s neck exploded in a stream of arterial blood and gore.  Behind him, the other Roman fell backwards as a small crater formed near his left shoulder blade.  Both men crumpled dead before they hit the ground.

“What took you so long?”  Santino asked, putting his ear piece in place.

“Sorry,” Helena replied.  “I didn’t want it to look too easy.”

“Women,” he said.  “Always making things more difficult than they really are.
”

I ignored their banter as I focused on Helena’s precision shot.  She’d angled it perfectly and aimed at one of the few spots on a person’s body that allowed a bullet to penetrate with enough
force while still remain intact so that it could successfully kill a second target behind the first.  Her suppressor equipped DSR1 hadn’t even made a peep from anyone else’s perspective but her own, and I hoped the superstitious Romans actually thought Santino had shot their friends.