Book of Bravery: A Novel 2,000 Plus Years in the Making

CHAPTER VIII

Countdown

By 7 pm, the diner was half full of customers. Bill was busy making drinks, and Lance was long gone; the tremor in Rome seen earlier on the TV was enough to send him home to his family. Quintus, however, remained at the counter, watching TV and drinking umpteen cups of coffee. Luckily, he was impervious to the effects of caffeine. In the past 24 hours, he'd already watched more television than he had in the past decade. It was an extraordinary time.

Quintus checked his watch again. It wasn't long until the big quake was due to hit Rome, according to Goyette's prediction. Over the course of history, he had seen many ruined towns and cities, especially the wasteland of Eastern Europe following the Mongol invasions and later in Western Europe during World War II. The thought of something similar befalling Rome soured his gut, but he had to see if it would eventuate.

If Goyette's quake did transpire, it was evidence enough that what Tai had trained him for had come. In such a development, he'd cancel his job interview scheduled for the next day and get himself to an international airport to catch a flight to China. The only thing that his teacher told him was that when the end times arrived, he would have to return to White Dragon Mountain. He wasn't sure if his mission remained valid, but Tai's words were all he had to go on.

Quintus sensed the people in the traffic outside the diner were driving home or at least somewhere with a TV or WiFi to watch what would transpire, to see if the end really was nigh. But he failed to pick up that among them, there were some, like those in a white Humvee and a following black limousine, who couldn't care less about the fate of the world.

Unsavory

A downside of my telling you this story is I must listen to or be inside the heads of some unsavory characters. On this occasion, I was an unseen witness to a conversation between five men in the back of the stretched limousine that had just driven past the diner.

All of them were simply appalling individuals, including 34-year-old Albert Peach, the account manager from Black Crest. He was as spineless as he was morally corrupt. Among the others were Marx's henchmen — Vacher and Irfan. You should already have a fair idea of who they are.

Seated opposite the Black Crest staff were the Amado drug cartel's Hector Herera and his sidekick Antonio Chavez. The Amado were sadists; beheadings were their trademark.

Fueled by alcohol and other substances, all five were full of loose talk and bravado. Despite the 'jolliness' of it all, Irfan was looking back, checking for tails. Herera slapped him on the knee.

'You're making me nervous tipo! No one's going to tangle with us,' the cartel lieutenant said.

Herera thumbed towards his driver and another tough-looking brute in the front.

'My warriors are former Mexican special forces, same as the guys in the Humvee. All U.S. trained,' he said with exaggerated pride. 'No doubt Marx hires quality also, eh?' he said, referring to Irfan and Vacher.

'Yeah, these guys were both black ops,' Peach said way too eagerly.

Vacher gave Peach a displeased sideways glance.

'Who said anything about black ops?' Vacher asked Peach. 'Do you even know anything about black ops?

Herera butted in.

'C'mon, no one cares. Relax guys,' he said. 'I'm hungry; let's eat.'

Herera tapped his driver on the shoulder and issued orders in Spanish.

'Felix, find us somewhere to eat. American food is okay. In fact, go back to that old-style diner we passed before. Tell the Humvee to follow.'