The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) (10 page)

I let my last statement trail off, hoping the point
would sink in before things got more awkward than they already
were. Her silence only confirmed my suspicions that the story I got
from Santino wasn’t the whole one. I decided to go easy on her.

“Look. I’ll understand if you don’t tell me what’s
going on now. We have plenty of time to get to know each other more
before…”

She rolled onto her back again and took a deep
breath. “No, you’re right. You’ve obviously heard the story from
one of the other guys about why I reacted to your arrival, but what
I told them wasn’t completely true. I betrothed, actually, but it
wasn’t out of love. It was an arranged marriage agreed upon before
I was even born, forced upon me by my father, as my fiancé’s father
did upon him.”

As far as I was concerned, arranged marriages were
all but extinct, but I did know in some societies they were still
common. I had no idea the Germans practiced it, but in the high
class society I assumed Helena was from, it was probably more
prevalent than most thought.

She took another deep breath before continuing.

“He was a nice,” she continued, a small smile
tugging at her lips before it just as quickly vanished, “and as
children we were rather close, but there was never anything between
us deeper than friendship. I was trapped by an agreement and Papa
watched me like a hawk. We tried being intimate with each other but
it didn’t work. It just didn’t feel right. It felt forced and
unnatural. It’s why I eventually joined the military. I thought
that I could just run away from my problems without ever having to
face them.”

She paused, but I didn’t interrupt.

“He was killed in a car accident not too long ago.
He was drinking and hadn’t been paying attention when he ran off
the Autobahn and collided with a tree. He and his passenger were
killed instantly.” She sniffled, before her voice rose angrily. “He
was with another woman! A prostitute. Meanwhile, there I was, a
perfect little angel, while he was off doing whatever the fuck he
wanted while no one said a thing about it!”

I noticed her eyes were moistening with tears of
sadness and rage, and I could feel the anger in her voice.

“If you two were so distant, why are you so sad and
angry, and why did you tell the guys that story about being cheated
on, and nothing more?”

She stayed silent as she pondered her answer, and I
thought she was about to clam up completely. I suddenly felt like
an ass for pressuring her to tell me something that I guess wasn’t
exactly relevant to our professional relationship. It was something
we would need to talk about sooner or later, but I shouldn’t have
pushed her.

I put a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.

“Helena, you can trust me.”

“God damn it, Hunter, I’ve known you all of an hour
and it’s scary I’m telling you anything. Trust me. I’m not used to
that.”

I looked at her with a neutral expression. I didn’t
want to offer her a reason to give up more than she was ready for,
but I didn’t want her to stop either.

She took another breath and continued, releasing
years of pent up frustration. “He didn’t deserve to die, and we
were still, if anything, friends. He may have been cheating on our
relationship, but there wasn’t much of one anyway. I told the guys
the story about being cheated on because I wanted to fit in.
Everybody has a story like that, except me, and what were the
chances that the next guy who walked in would look even remotely
like him and immediately do something that made me feel like I did
with him?”

“Pretty good I guess.”

“Yeah, pretty good.”

“I am sorry for that.”

She sighed. “It’s okay.”

“So, do I really remind you that much of him?”

She looked away before answering. “Yes and no. I was
so focused on shooting that when I saw you, I didn’t even think. I
just saw a tall man with brown hair, and I immediately thought of
him. I thought of what he represented. A lie. A life of loneliness
and years of anger, frustration and pain. He represented the life I
had but didn’t want. One I shouldn’t have had. A life wasted. It’s
all I could think about while we were in the armory and your
asinine comment did not help.”

I felt a small smile tug at my lips. “Sorry.”

“I said it was okay. I’m free now, but I suppose I
still need some time to put my life in order. I guess I should be
thankful that I actually like the military.”

I nodded in agreement and waited for her to make eye
contact again. “You know I’m not him, right? You don’t have to be
reminded of him when you see me anymore.”

“I know,” she said slowly. “Thank you.”

I gave her a reassuring smile. “No problem. Besides,
I’m sure I’m way better…”

I was cut off as a shadow loomed over us. Together,
we looked up to see Santino standing there. He hesitated before
saying anything, probably deciding whether or not to tell a joke or
not, remembering the last time he tried to say something funny.
Deciding on tact over humor, he held out his hands to help us off
the ground. Each of us gripping a hand, he hauled us to our
feet.

“Briefing,” was all he needed to say.

***

The team assembled in the small briefing room for
the second time since our inception. This time, Helena and I were
the first to arrive and took the same seats we’d originally
occupied. McDougal noticed our newfound friendship and looked back
down at his notes. I saw him shake his head, obviously relieved
that the kids were able to settle down and play nice. It wasn’t
long before the rest of the team filed into the room and took their
seats. Once everyone was comfortable, McDougal started his
presentation.

“I know we haven’t had much time together, none
really, but you’re all highly trained operatives, elite, familiar
to confusing situations, and it’s time to get to work. American
intelligence has information confirming a direct threat against the
Pope. Some kind of biological concoction cooked up and readied for
use.”

He paused, taking a deep breath before
continuing.

“This is the kind of threat we were designed to
handle, mates. Most of our allies’ special operations teams are
otherwise engaged in other theaters around the globe, and we are
being called on to take action. The first Praetorian team is
already in the field, so our deployment time has been advanced. Any
questions?”

There were none.

“Righto. Our target is a small fishing town off the
Mediterranean coast of Syria. Population is around two thousand
indigenous residents known to have harbored terrorists in the past.
Intel has informed us of a cave just outside of town where
satellite imagery has shown mass transit and large amounts of cargo
transported in and out. We suspect these cargo containers are what
we’re looking for.”

He turned on the monitor and called up some photos
of the town, the cave, the cargo containers, and a bearded man,
wearing aviator sunglasses and a long, leather trench coat.

“A joint CIA and SIS task force has been searching
for known terrorist, Mushin Abdullah, for years but has been
unsuccessful. He’s a bioengineer whose resume spans back to the
eighties and his work with the Russians, and we know he was the man
who created the weapon used against Israel and the Vatican.”

Bordeaux fidgeted next to me in reaction to
McDougal’s words, but he didn’t say anything.

I wonder what that was about.

“An analysis of the bodies found at both sites
produced a list of necessary compounds he needs to make more of the
agent. Intelligence compiled the list and cross referenced it with
shipping manifests scattered throughout the Middle East. The man is
not an idiot. His list went through a number of intermediaries,
with numerous phony IDs and falsified bank accounts. What got him
was a slip up in logistics, resulting in most of his purchases
ending up at the same place at the same time. We can probably thank
some middle management lackey for that mistake. Either way, we have
an opportunity to take out the one man capable of making this
rubbish, as well as one of the primary coordinators behind both
attacks.”

McDougal paused, looking at each of us in turn,
letting the impact of his words sink in. Satisfied he had our
attention, he continued.

“Everything he needs has collected in those
containers. We know they will be imported from a dockyard on the
Mediterranean, and moved by vehicle to the cave. Our assumption is
that he’s hiding out there. Our plan is to sneak into a few of
these containers and infiltrate the facility right under his
nose.”

He clicked a stylus and the multitude of images
shifted to satellite imagery of the port and immediate area.

“Here’s the plan. We infiltrate the cargo ship after
hitching a ride on the HMS Triumph, one of Britain’s nuclear
submarines in the area. We’ll rendezvous with them in the
Tyrrhenian Sea where they will take us the rest of the way. Once
aboard the cargo ship, we’ll locate these containers and stuff
ourselves into as few as possible. Then, we take a ride.”

He utilized his stylus again, enlarging the image to
encompass the port and town, highlighting the predicted route in
red. He then shifted the image to show just the town and the
location of the cave.

“Once the trucks reach this position,” he pointed to
an area just before the edge of town, “Lieutenant Strauss will
disembark and take position within the town to provide sniper
support. You up for this, Strauss?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied sternly with a sidelong
glance at me.

“Brilliant. Hunter, you’re with the team. We’ll need
more shooters inside for this one.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now. Our primary objective is to recover the high
value target: Mushin Abdullah. When we see him, we try and take
him, but if he turns out to be too much to handle, we take him out.
Wang, you’re on hostage transportation. Keep him quiet, but keep
him mobile, we may need to cut and run. If I give the order, take
him out.”

“Not a problem, sir,” Wang said confidently.

“Okay. Bordeaux, once we’re out, we blow the entire
place, Abdullah or no. Bring enough C-4 to bring down the
house.”

“It’s what I do best, sir.”

“Cheers. Finally, we’ll have a little extra backup
on this one. Two days ago, the CIA was gracious enough to store
some extra equipment we may need in a safe house inside of town.
They’ve also made contact with the local resistance. If things get
hairy, and we need to hole up and wait for extraction, that’s where
we’ll regroup.”

Well, that seemed odd. Why would we need additional
supplies for a simple smash and grab mission? Worst case scenario
is that we have to hump it back to the docks on foot, but that
shouldn’t take more than a few hours.

I continued pondering until McDougal continued.

“Our contact’s name is Omar. He’ll be watching the
docks upon our arrival and will signal us when he’s ready for our
insertion. Again, if things go bad, we’ll have his local militia
for backup, but we can’t rely on them. We’ll fall back to the
equipment cache and call for extraction, but only as a last resort.
Hopefully, we’ll be able to get in, plant the charges, secure the
high value target, sneak out, and wait for the place to blow on a
timed delay. I’m not holding my breath on that one, so prepare for
the worst. We’ll be moving out at 1300. It’s now 0900, so get your
gear, and get some rest. Any final questions?”

I raised my hand. “Sir, rules of engagement?”

“The townspeople are harboring known terrorists. If
they get in the way, take them out. Let God sort out the rest.
Anything else?”

He glanced around the room one final time. Everyone
was silent.

"All right, dismissed.”

***

A few hours later, the team assembled in the armory,
the first time I had seen everyone congregated in the small room at
one time. Each member of the team was going through their
equipment, and checking their weapons. Wang with his UMP submachine
gun, McDougal with a G36C assault rifle, Bordeaux with the Mk 48
Mod 0 version of the M249 SAW light machine gun, which fired the
larger 7.62x51mm round, and Vincent had an M4 carbine. Santino had
an HK416, similar to mine.

The HK416 had been designed by a Green Beret when
the M4 was deemed “too unreliable” by military brass. One end
result was a far more efficient and dependable rifle in the form of
the Heckler & Koch 416. Any gun designed by those guys was good
enough for me.

Strauss was preparing two weapons. A German made AMP
Technical Services DSR-1 was her primary rifle. It was an efficient
sniper rifle that fired the same large round as Bordeaux’s SAW, but
while not as handy in a large scale firefight, it was obviously far
more accurate. McDougal had informed her that a M107 .50 caliber
Barrett sniper rifle, similar to the one she and I had trained with
earlier, was waiting at the weapons cache.

I again wondered at the purpose of such a cache,
especially one containing such a powerful rifle.

Whatever. Out of sight, out of mind. At least
hopefully.

Her second weapon was a Belgium engineered FN P90
personnel defense weapon. Preferred by tank and helicopter
operators, its compact bull pup design gave it the size of an UMP,
but thanks to a more unique round, its firepower and range was far
greater than its size suggested. Its fifty round magazine and
anti-armor rounds made it a sniper’s perfect secondary weapon.

As for me, I already had my rifle secure and my
wetsuit on, and was just completing preparations on my re-breather
gear well ahead of everyone else.

The Draeger Mk V breathing apparatus has been
standard issue for SEALs for over thirty years, its design and
function so effective. Instead of regular scuba gear, where a
wearer breathes from an isolated oxygen source, the Mk V recycles
the air breathed. With it, I could remain submerged beneath an
enemy dock for the better part of a day, as long as I kept my
breathing under control. The new Mk VI, developed only a few years
ago, merely needed to have its internals cleaned, as opposed to
having them replaced, an operation one can do in the field.