The Blood Gospel

by Rebecca Cantrell James Rollins

  Rhun spoke hurriedly to the two in Latin. Erin listened, not showing that she understood. Jordan maintained his usual guard, his palm resting on the stock of his shouldered submachine gun. He plainly didn’t trust any of them.

  Erin followed his example and feigned interest in the map on the screen as she eavesdropped.

  Rhun quickly related everything in terse Latin: about the prophecy, about Erin and Jordan, about the book they sought and the enemy they faced. As he mentioned the word Belial, both Nadia and Emmanuel tensed.

  Once finished, Rhun turned to Leopold. “You’ve readied what I asked?”

  Leopold nodded. “Three bikes. They’re already gassed and waiting for you.”

  Erin glanced back to the map, to a thin white track that wound through the mountains. It seemed they weren’t going to be traversing that torturous route via car or truck.

  “If you are ready,” Rhun asked, taking Erin and Jordan in with a single glance.

  Erin could only nod—but even that gesture was false. She hated to leave the familiar territory of dusty books, leather chairs, and the cold certainty of the computer screen. But she was committed.

  As Leopold led them back up the stairs, Jordan hung back with her, touching her wrist, allowing his hand to linger.

  He bent close to her ear, his breath chasing across her cheek. “Anything I need to know about what they just said?”

  Of course, her act hadn’t fooled him. He knew she had been eavesdropping. She struggled to answer his question, but her mind was too busy registering his proximity—and how a part of her longed to close the last inch.

  She had to repeat the question in her head before she answered. “Nothing important. He just filled the others in.”

  “Keep me apprised,” he whispered.

  She glanced over at his eyes, then down to his lips, remembering how they’d felt against hers in Jerusalem.

  “Dr. Granger?” Rhun called from the top of the stairs. “Sergeant Stone?”

  Jordan gestured for her to proceed ahead of him. “Duty calls.”

  Rather breathless—and not only from the climb—Erin hurried toward the Sanguinists.

  Once outside, she found the night much colder, the fog much thicker. She could barely make out the outline of their Mercedes sedan.

  As they rounded past the car, Jordan whistled appreciatively.

  Three black motorcycles, accented with red piping, sat parked on the dried grass ahead. They didn’t seem like much to Erin, but Jordan was clearly impressed.

  “Ducati Streetfighters,” he commented happily. “With magnesium rims and what looks like carbon silencers on the exhaust. Nice. Apparently it’s good to be pope.”

  Erin had a more practical concern, comparing the number of passengers and the number of bikes. “Who is riding with whom?”

  Nadia raised the corner of her mouth in a tiny smile, which went a long way toward humanizing her. “For an even weight distribution, I shall take Sergeant Stone.”

  Erin hesitated. She still didn’t fully understand the role of a female Sanguinist. If Rhun was a priest, was Nadia some sort of nun, equally sworn to the Church? Whatever the circumstance, the look she gave Jordan was anything but chaste.

  Jordan apparently had his own thoughts on the matter, crossing to one of the bikes. “I can drive.” From the edge to his voice, it was clear that he wanted to drive one of these bikes. “And I prefer that Erin and I stick together.”

  “You will slow us down,” Nadia said, her dark eyes twinkling with amusement.

  Erin bristled, but she knew, after watching Rhun drive the sedan, that her and Jordan’s reflexes were no match for a Sanguinist’s.

  Jordan must have recognized it, too, sighing heavily with a curt nod.

  Emmanuel crossed and hooked a leg possessively over one of the bikes, not saying a word. Jordan followed Nadia to another.

  “You shall ride with me, Dr. Granger,” Rhun said, motioning to the third motorcycle.

  “I don’t know if—”

  Rhun stepped past her objection and crossed to the bike, mounting with a flourish of his long coat. Twisting in his seat, he patted the leather behind him with one gloved hand. “I believe you stated ‘the book demands our best.’ Those were your words, were they not?”

  “They were.” She hated to admit it and climbed behind him. “Shouldn’t we be wearing helmets?”

  Nadia laughed, and her bike roared to life.

  4:10 A.M.

  Rhun tensed when Erin’s arms slipped around his waist. Even through his leather, he felt the heat of her limbs wrapped low over his midsection. For a moment he fought between elbowing her away and pulling her closer.

  Instead, he stuck to the practical requirements of the moment. “Have you ridden before?” he asked, keeping his gaze fixed to the fog-shrouded dark forest.

  “Once, a long time ago,” she said.

  He felt her heart race against his back. She was more frightened than her tone indicated.

  “I will keep you safe,” he promised her, hoping it was true.

  She nodded behind him, but her heart did not slow.

  Jordan gave a thumbs-up from the back of Nadia’s bike as she throttled her engine to a muffled roar. Emmanuel simply gunned his bike and tore away, not waiting.

  Nadia followed after him.

  As Rhun urged his bike forward more gently, Erin’s arms tightened around him. Her body slid forward until it pressed against his. Her animal warmth flowed into his back, and his body fought against leaning into it.

  He must not permit baser instincts to control him. He was a priest, and with God’s help, he would fulfill his mission. He murmured a short prayer and focused on Nadia’s rapidly disappearing red taillight.

  He sped faster—and faster still.

  Black tree trunks whipped past on both sides. The blue beam of his headlight penetrated the heavy blanket of fog. He kept his eyes on the uneven road. One misjudgment, and they would crash.

  Ahead of him, Nadia and Emmanuel poured on more speed. He matched it.

  Erin buried her face between his shoulder blades. Her breaths came quick and shallow, and her heartbeat skittered like a rabbit’s.

  Not panicked yet, but close.

  Despite his prayers and promises, his body quickened in response to her fear.

  4:12 A.M.

  Jordan leaned hard into the curve. Nearby trees blurred into a long line of black topped by dark green. Wind stung his eyes. His jacket flapped behind him.

  Nadia opened up the throttle on the next straightaway, a rare stretch along this twisting dirt course. He flicked a quick glance over her shoulder at the speedometer: 254 kilometers per hour. That came out to a little more than 150 miles per hour.

  It felt like flying.

  He felt more than heard Nadia’s laugh as she pushed the bike to go faster.

  Unable to stop himself, Jordan matched her enthusiasm, laughing along with her, ebullient and feeling free for the first time since Masada.

  Nadia leaned the bike over for another curve. His left knee skimmed a fraction of an inch above the gravel, his face not more than a foot from the rocks that tumbled by under them. One wrong move from either of them, and he was dead.

  A part of him hated to be at the mercy of her skill.

  No more than a spectator to her dexterity.

  Still, he smiled into the wind, tucked in tight against her cold, hard form, and simply abandoned himself to the ride.

  32

  October 27, 4:43 A.M., CET

  Harmsfeld, Germany

  When the motorcycle finally slowed, Erin risked opening her eyes. For most of the journey, she had ridden blind, sheltered behind Rhun’s broad back, but she was still left windburned and rattled.

  Ahead, a spatter of lights revealed the reason for Rhun’s slowing pace. They had reached the mountain hamlet of Harmsfeld. He slowed their pace to a crawl as he crept through the center of the sleeping village. The small Bavarian town looked like it had just emerg
ed from a medieval time capsule, complete with dark houses with red tile roofs, stacked stone walls, and painted wooden flower boxes adorning most windows. A single church with a Gothic-style steeple marked a village square, a space that probably converted into a farmers’ market during the day.

  She searched past Rhun’s shoulder for the other two bikes, but she saw no sign of them on the cobblestone street, a testament to the more cautious pace Rhun had set with her as his passenger.

  Still, she felt like she’d left her stomach in the parking lot of Ettal Abbey.

  As they left the village, a silvery expanse of lake appeared. Its still surface held a perfect reflection of the starlit skies above, the surrounding forest hugging its banks, and the craggy peaks that enclosed the valley.

  Erin spotted the others, parked beside a beach next to a wooden dock. Its ash-gray pilings were darker than the waters that gently lapped at them.

  Rhun roared up next to the other bikes and finally braked to a stop. She forced her hands to unclench from the front of his jacket, unhooking her arms from him and climbing off the bike on shaky legs. She tottered forward like an old lady.

  Near the dock, the other three pushed a wooden dory across the mud and into the moonlit water. Jordan’s excited tone echoed off the water to her, expressing how much he had enjoyed his ride. Something he said caused Nadia to laugh, the sound unexpectedly carefree.

  Jordan noted Erin’s bowlegged approach and called to her. “How was it?”

  She gave him the shakiest thumbs-up of her life, which drew a laugh from him.

  Rhun glided past her like a shadow.

  Nadia eyed the two of them as they reached the shoreline, as if trying to read some secret message.

  Emmanuel simply gave the small rowboat a final heave into the water, set it to floating, and climbed on board. He moved to the front, then sat there as unmoving as the figurehead on a pirate ship.

  Nadia leaped as lithely as some jungle cat into the boat.

  Jordan stayed on the beach to help Erin into the dory. She took hold of his hand and climbed in, noticing the white paint was peeling off the wide wooden planks of the seats. It didn’t look like the most seaworthy of boats. She freed her flashlight, turned it on, and shone it at the bottom of the boat.

  No water inside.

  Yet.

  “Did you have an enjoyable ride?” Nadia asked, and moved to the side so Erin could join her on the middle seat.

  Rhun and Jordan sat on the plank behind them while Emmanuel continued his lone vigil at the bow.

  “On the way back, I think I’ll call a cab,” Erin said.

  “Or you can ride with me on the way back,” Jordan said, staring longingly back toward where they had hidden the three Ducati bikes. “That is, if we’re not over deadline.”

  Rhun dug his paddle into the water so hard that the boat lurched to the side.

  Nadia glanced at him and whispered something in a teasing undertone too faint for Erin to discern. Rhun’s back stiffened, which broadened Nadia’s smile.

  The female Sanguinist then handed Erin a heavy wooden paddle. “I believe we four must paddle while Emmanuel rests.”

  Emmanuel ignored her and settled back against the gunwale.

  Soon Erin was stroking her paddle through the water, trying to settle into the rhythm of the others. As they glided across the surface, fog rolled thicker over the lake, swallowing them up and dimming the moonlight. The dory now bobbed through a ghostly world where Erin could see only a few yards ahead.

  Jordan touched her back, and she jumped.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Look down.”

  He angled his small flashlight into the dark water. The beam stretched down through the murk like a probing finger. Far below, the mottled light traced across a human form. Erin held her breath and leaned closer to the surface. Emerald-green algae draped from an uplifted arm, the curve of a cheek. It was a statue of a man on a rearing horse. Underneath it rested the huge bowl of a fountain.

  Fascinated, she freed her own flashlight and played it in a wider circle, revealing the uncanny sight of rectangular forms of ruined houses and lonely stone hearths.

  Nadia explained, “According to Brother Leopold, the local Nazis—likely of the Ahnenerbe—had this lake enlarged, damming the river on the far side and flooding the town below. Some claim the Nazis sealed anyone who protested in their own homes, along with their families, drowning them as punishment.”

  Below, a school of silvery fish ghosted through Erin’s light. She shivered, wondering how many people had died and were entombed down there.

  Jordan’s voice took on a somber tone. “They must have done it to hide the entrance to the bunker beneath the lake.”

  Erin had seen enough and switched off her light.

  “I assume you both can swim?” Nadia asked.

  Erin nodded, although she knew she wasn’t the strongest swimmer. She had learned the basics in college, mostly to appease her roommate, who was convinced she would fall off a dock someday and drown. Erin conceded the practicality of the skill, took the class, but still hated the water.

  Jordan, predictably, had better credentials. “I was a lifeguard in high school. Done a bit of training since. I think I’ll be okay.”

  Erin had never thought to ask how deep the entrance was to the bunker. What if she couldn’t make it all the way down and had to wait in the boat? Or what if the entire place was simply flooded?

  Emmanuel spoke his first word since leaving the abbey, a command that startled Erin with its fierceness. “Stop.”

  He pointed into black water in front of the boat.

  Jordan shifted forward and shone his flashlight into the water to reveal a rounded arch far below, its crest velvet with algae.

  Emmanuel lowered the anchor into the water so slowly that it barely made a splash. Once the dory was secure, he slipped off his cassock, balled it up, and secured it under his leather armor. Then, quick as a fish, he dove and followed the anchor line down.

  Blond hair streamed behind him as he sank away.

  Erin watched his progress, judging the depth of the water. Maybe twenty feet. She could dive that deep, but what then? Would she have to explore the tunnels underwater?

  Her throat closed up.

  “You both wait here,” Rhun said, and signaled to Nadia.

  The pair dove overboard, rocking the boat, carrying lights down with them. Erin put a hand on each gunwale to steady it, glad to be alone in the boat with Jordan.

  “Not much of a swimmer, are you?” Jordan asked with a smile.

  “How could you tell?”

  He threaded the paddles under the seats, then straightened. “Your shoulders inch up to your ears when you get nervous.”

  She made a mental note to stop doing that and gestured to the Sanguinists below. “I sure can’t swim like them.”

  Through the water, she watched the trio try to shift what appeared to be a large metal hatch.

  “They cheat,” Jordan said. “They don’t need to breathe, remember? Just one more weird thing to add to the list.”

  “You have a list?”

  He ticked items off on his fingers. “No heartbeat, free-flowing blood, allergic to silver. Did I miss anything?”

  “How about the way they can sit still as statues or move twice as fast as we do?”

  “There’s that. And the fact that they prey on humans.”

  “Sanguinists don’t,” she reminded him. “That’s one of their laws.”

  “Law or not, I can tell they still want to. That lust is still in them.” He leaned forward. “I’ve seen the way Rhun looks at you, like he’s both fascinated and hungry.”

  “Quit it! He does not.”

  She had to turn away, hiding her lack of conviction in her words, the memory of what had transpired in the subterranean chapel in Jerusalem still fresh in her mind.

  “Just be careful around him,” Jordan added.

  Erin glanced back again, hearing a catch in his voice. W
as he right, or was he simply jealous? She wasn’t sure which proposition she found more worrisome.

  Just then, a sleek black head popped up next to the boat. Nadia. “The door is open. The bunker is sealed with an air lock. We must enter together, close the first door, and open the second.”

  She swam a yard off and waved an arm for Erin and Jordan to follow.

  Always a soldier, Jordan dove immediately. He surfaced quickly, rolled onto his back, and stared at Erin with a big grin.

  “Water’s fine,” he said, the shiver in his voice belying his words.

  Nadia could read the true reason for Erin’s hesitation. “If you are frightened, perhaps you had best remain with the boat.”

  Screw that.

  Erin stood and leaped into the water. The snowmelt cold of the lake shocked her, as if trying to force reason back into her skull, to encourage her to return to the safety of the boat.

  Instead, she took a deep breath and dove straight for the open door below.

  5:05 A.M.

  At the bottom of the lake, Rhun heard their two heartbeats change when Erin and Jordan entered the water. He stuck his head out of the archway door and shone his waterproof flashlight up, offering them a beacon to follow. Silver moonlight from the surface silhouetted their dark forms as they kicked and pawed their way downward.

  The soldier swam swiftly and economically. He could have reached the bottom in seconds, but he hung back, keeping watch on Erin.

  She, on the other hand, was a terrible swimmer. Her movements were jerky with panic and her heart raced. Still, Rhun respected her for having the courage to try. Without the heavy grimwolf coat weighing her down, he doubted that she would have made it.

  Once she got close enough, Rhun reached out, seized her arm, and pulled her through the archway and into the small flooded air lock. Less than a second later, Nadia and Jordan swam in.

  Together, the pair tugged the outer hatch closed.

  Metal thudded into place. A quick clanking sounded as they spun the door lock. Rhun’s flashlight revealed concrete walls surrounding them—and the frightened face of Erin.