The Last Roman (The Praetorian Series - Book I) by Edward Crichton
Part of my orders had been to appear at the Vatican in civilian dress, and since I had lived in Hawaii for the past few years, I had little else in my closet but Hawaiian shirts. It wasn’t until I emerged from the elevator into the swarm of tourists a few minutes ago that I understood the reason for the orders. As I came to a halt a few paces away from the desk and snapped a salute, I felt ridiculous doing so in the garishly patterned shirt.
“Lieutenant Commander Jacob Hunter reporting as ordered, sir.”
The old man sitting behind the desk smiled and kept me holding the salute for a few seconds before waving me off.
“I can understand your instinct to salute, my son,” the man said in clear but accented English, “but I am not your commander. At ease, or whatever it is you military types say.”
I lowered my arm slowly, easing myself into a more comfortable standing position, but remained razor straight.
“Thank you, sir. I wasn’t sure whether to salute, or kneel, or what. I’m a little out of my element.”
The man continued to smile at me as he stood up and rounded the desk to stand within 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, and he seemed to have settled into a completely relaxed and informal manner.
“Sit, sit,” he said. “We have little to discuss, but it is important that 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, the members of which I have recruited from the best of all Christendom, adding additional security 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 about 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 a 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 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, but was once again surprised, in this day of surprises, as the man rotated his hand to offer 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.”