Alex Lukeman
The Cup
The PROJECT is an elite counter-terrorism/intelligence unit answering only to the President of the United States.
Elizabeth Harker: Director of the Project. Formerly part of the task force investigating 9/11 until sidelined for challenging the findings. Picked by the president to head up the Project for her independent thinking and sharp intelligence.
Nick Carter: Former major, USMC. The team leader in the field, with years of combat experience. Suffers from occasional PTSD and nightmares. He's got it more or less under control.
Selena Connor: Highly intelligent, a renowned linguist in ancient languages and expert in martial arts. Independently wealthy, the result of an inheritance. Introduced into Nick's violent world by accident, she is now a full fledged member of the Project team.
Lamont Cameron: Former Navy Seal, of Ethiopian descent. Expert in all things water related. His humorous attitude sometimes drives Elizabeth Harker to distraction. A tough cookie.
Ronnie Peete: Nick's oldest friend and a fellow RECON Marine. Expert with explosives, weapons and all things mechanical. A full blooded Navajo, Ronnie brings solidity and the wisdom of his culture to the team.
Stephanie Willits: Elizabeth Harker's deputy; computer guru. Stephanie maintains the Project's Cray computers. She can hack into any system as needed. Among other duties, she is responsible for the satellite communication network that keeps Harker up to speed and the team connected in the field.
"Woe to the inhabiters of the earth and of the sea! For the Devil is come down among you, having great wrath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short time… "
PROLOGUE: Milan, 395 CE
The Emperor of Rome lay dying.
The odor of his decaying, swollen body filled the room. His two sons had been sent away with a final kiss a half hour before and now his confessor knelt by the bed reciting prayers. Two of the emperor's generals looked on.
Death was in the room.
The priest finished his prayers and bent to hear the emperor's whispered words.
"Anastasius… send them away."
The priest stood, an imposing figure in a black robe, a man who knew he spoke with the authority of God. His look was fierce.
"He commands you all to leave."
"We must witness the death."
The speaker was Stillicho, guardian of Honorius, the ten-year-old boy who would rule in the West. Next to him stood Flavius Rufinus, guardian of Theodosius' other son, Arcadius. He would rule in the East.
"Obey your emperor." The priest's voice was stern. "Soon enough you can do as you will."
The two men bowed and backed out of the room, closing the door behind them. Theodosius spoke to the priest again, his voice little more than a whisper.
"Where…?"
"I will take it to the monastery, Majesty. All will be well."
"These men… Rufinus and the others. They are corrupt. They must not have it."
A violent fit of coughing seized him. He clutched at the covers and struggled for breath. Anastasius held the emperor's head and wiped mucus from his lips with a cloth.
The spasm passed. Theodosius fell back against his pillows. He raised a trembling hand and pointed at an ornate standing cabinet across the room.
"… the cabinet."
The priest went to the cabinet and opened the door, reached in and took out a package the size of a loaf of bread, wrapped in cloth of gold. A harsh, gasping rattle made him turn in time to see Theodosius draw his final breath.
The last emperor of one Roman Empire was dead.
The priest closed the dead man's eyes, made the sign of the cross and said another prayer for Theodosius' soul. He slipped the package under his robes, into the secret pouch he'd sewn to hold it. Now there was nothing left to do but allow the vultures to assemble.
He threw open the doors. A dozen people waited in the antechamber.
"The emperor is dead."
"At last," Rufinus said.
He brushed rudely past the white-haired priest and went into the room, followed by the others.
Anastasius waited until they were all inside and then slipped away. Under his robes, the package felt hot against his body.
He was an old man, and a long journey lay before him.
CHAPTER 1
The man in the picture was naked, nailed to the side of a wooden building. A circlet of barbed wire was jammed onto his head. Burns and gouges disfigured his body. He'd probably been dead by the time the birds went for his eyes.
It was a sunny, late autumn day in Virginia, the tail end of an Indian summer. The door to the patio was open and the smell of burning leaves was in the air.
The Project team had gathered in Director Elizabeth Harker's office. Elizabeth sat at her desk, her feet barely touching the floor. Most of the furniture in the world wasn't built for petite people like her. She made up for her size with intensity and intelligence.
She'd dressed in her usual combination of black pantsuit and white blouse. The blouse blended into her milk white skin and set off her emerald green eyes, eyes that could crinkle with laughter or burn holes in someone who had earned her displeasure.
The picture cast a dark shadow across the beauty of the day outside. Selena Connor felt her stomach turn as she looked at the photograph.
She brushed a strand of reddish blonde hair away from her head with a nervous movement. Selena was what some would call a classic beauty. Her eyes were either blue or violet, depending on the light. High cheekbones, a natural beauty mark over her lip and full lips meant her face was memorable. She was someone people looked at twice.
Selena was one of the world's experts in ancient languages. She'd married Nick Carter almost a year before, but still used her maiden name for the times when she needed to call upon her reputation.
She handed the picture to Lamont Cameron, sitting next to her.
"What kind of sick mind would do something like that?"
He looked at it and shook his head.
"The human kind, I guess. The worst part of it."
Lamont was one of the four people who made up the field team, along with Nick Carter, Selena and Ronnie Peete. He'd been a Navy SEAL before Nick and Ronnie recruited him for the Project.
Lamont's face was a striking combination of colors and contrasts. Blue eyes had been handed down by forgotten ancestors in Ethiopia. A pinkish scar stood out on his coffee colored skin, a souvenir of Iraq that ran over his right eye and across his nose. One look told you he'd spent time in places where people had tried hard to kill him. When he smiled, it was the most natural thing in the world. When he was angry, he had the kind of face that frightened children.
Lamont passed the picture to Ronnie Peete.
Ronnie was the do everything member of the team. He could pick a lock or blow up a building with equal ease. Doing it all was part of what was required by a Gunnery Sergeant in the Marines, his former occupation. He was a full blooded Navajo and looked it. It was easy to imagine him mounted bareback on a horse and riding hard at you with a war hammer in his hand.
He looked at the picture.
"That man died hard," he said.
He handed the photograph on to Nick Carter, Selena's husband and the fourth member of the field team. Nick commanded the team in the field. He'd been a major in the Marines before Harker recruited him.
"Who is he?" Nick asked.
He handed the picture back to his boss.
"Vilgot Andersson," Elizabeth said. "The picture was taken in Sweden. He was part of a task force dealing with immigrants coming from the Middle East. Some of them are terrorists pretending to be refugees. Andersson discovered that someone was selling Middle East antiquities stolen from places captured by ISIS, like Palmyra and Nimrud. The Swedes think he was killed because he stumbled onto an ISIS cell, part of a larger network."