“That and the fact that he feels the boy is too easily influenced.”
Jesus had that effect. His words swallowed your heart whole and made it beat all the stronger. Once emboldened, one could not keep one’s affections hidden. “Kyle still should not have been so presumptuous to you.”
Jesus seemed confused, then laughed. “Dear Judas, he was not resentful of me, but of you. He feels Ameil treats you more like a father than he, and he fears if you spend a season alone with him that Kyle will lose him forever.”
To this Judas could not argue. He and Ameil had forged a strong bond. So strong that he found himself bitter that they would now be separated. Jesus must have seen the transformation in his face.
“No one would blame you if you chose not to join us. The rest have the luxury of having their families follow in our footsteps. I know how divided your heart must be, and I would not force such a painful choice upon you.”
Even though Jesus’ words were kind, Judas could not help but wonder why the Savior had made certain to name him as one of the rarified Twelve and honor him with tending the ministry’s purse before telling him of Ameil. It seemed Jesus meant to strengthen his sense of duty to equal that to his nephew.
“The boy…” Judas could not even finish his sentence. How had the child become so important to him? Ameil was not even from his loins, yet his heart ached at the thought of leaving him behind. Who would Judas teach to braid horsehair so tightly that you could use it as a lash for a scabbard? Whose silly, boyish antics would he laugh at each afternoon?
“I will leave you with this overnight, my friend.”
Jesus went to exit the room, but Judas held out the bag of coins.
His friend frowned. “Will you give it no more consideration?”
Judas could only shake his head. At once it was an impossible decision, and yet one so easy to make. Jesus was a grown man. He had the full blessing of God upon his head. How could the Savior need him as Ameil did? For it was Judas who fathered the child. It did not matter that they shared only diluted blood. Ameil was as much Judas’ as Kyle’s. He could not abandon the child to follow Jesus, no matter how his heart wished it so.
He closed his friend’s fingers over the leather drawstrings. “Andrew will make an excellent keeper of the purse, Jesus. James will not fret if you choose Andrew instead, and I think the others might be happier as well.”
“Not Magdalene,” Jesus said. “She holds you in great esteem.”
“Perhaps, but I think she will understand best that Ameil needs me.”
Without further argument Jesus left the room. Judas was at the same time relieved that his friend had not tried harder to tempt him, but also sad that Jesus could so easily part. His assessment was correct, then.
As he had feared for so long, the Savior had little need of Judas’ company.
CHAPTER 14
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Underground tunnels beneath Budapest
As they made their way through an especially low tunnel, Brandt’s legs cramped at the slow pace and cool air. What should have been a brisk walk back to the underground chapel of St. Matthias Church had turned into an arduous trek.
It turned out that their tourist map only gave a vague impression of Budapest’s labyrinth, rather than a representation of their actual conformation. Since this vast network of tunnels was off-limits to the public, there were no signs to warn them of the dozens of switchbacks, dead ends, and double cul-de-sacs.
The green glow of their chemical sticks cast an eerie glow on the textured walls. Formed over centuries of dribbling mineral water, every wall had a unique pattern. Some looked as if an artist had used a paintbrush to swirl the rock into seashell patterns, while others were marred like they had survived smallpox. Another appeared feathered and gnarled, similar to a coral reef only without being underwater. There were more than fifteen distinct types of patterns displayed in this cave system.
Or at least that’s what Lopez’s guidebook said.
For Brandt, these tunnels were nothing more than a means to an end. And the sooner they were out of the damp, unnaturally cool air, the better. A leather skirt was not exactly comfortable in fifty-two-degree weather.
On point, Svengurd had done his best to utilize the map and his compass, but advancement was slow at best. Between the cramped quarters and undocumented switchbacks, they had lost almost an hour.
An hour during which Rebecca might have been tortured or worse. But there was simply no hurrying this process along. Svengurd had slowed them to a crawl so they could study the smooth tunnel walls. Through trial and error they had realized that the manner in which the spring water dribbled down the limestone walls held clues to where the tunnel was leading. Rivulets deep into the stone usually meant they were on a major artery, while walls that were only dewy with moisture were more often than not dead ends.
The burgeoning number of stalactites and stalagmites had also slowed them. There was a reason these tunnels were restricted. The floor, slick with mineral water, was treacherous, and the sharp rocks jutted into their path, making steady movement tricky.
Even at such a slow pace, Brandt nearly ran into Davidson as the tunnel was plunged into darkness. Someone must have covered his glow stick.
“Svengurd has spotted a source of illumination up ahead.”
Wordlessly, Brandt exchanged places with the private and pulled up alongside Svengurd. “You saw something?”
The tall man pointed to a distant spot. “Up ahead.”
Brandt squinted, but couldn’t see anything.
“Shut your eyes, Sarge.”
He did as instructed, letting his eyes readjust to darkness, then slowly opened his lids. There it was. A pinpoint of light far ahead.
“Does it match the map?” he asked.
Svengurd nodded. “As best as I can tell with this POS.”
“I’ll take point,” Brandt stated, but Svengurd stepped in front of him.
The corporal said nothing, but let his action speak for him. Brandt was suggesting a serious breach in protocol. Svengurd had always been point and Brandt guessed until Svengurd died he intended to be point. It was by far the most dangerous position on the team.
Being the first into unknown situations usually ended up with you taking the first few rounds, but Svengurd thirsted for the opportunity. Frankly, the guy had the balls for it. He advanced without hesitation, using his surgical accuracy to clear the way for himself and the rest of the team.
“We’ve got limited ammo.” Brandt tried to justify his actions.
“All the more reason for me to head out and do some recon before we commit our resources.”
Brandt usually encouraged his men to give their unedited input, but he could feel himself resenting the corporal’s objection. Probably because he was right. Brandt was letting this get personal. Letting his fear for Rebecca’s safety override his years of training.
Hissing out his held breath, Brandt gave in. “Take point.”
The corporal was three steps out before the order was fully given, becoming nothing more than a blurry shadow. Svengurd’s advancement could only be measured by his body blocking the tiny pinpoint light, then revealing it. Then the shadow was gone and the light flickered unobstructed. Svengurd must have rounded the corner.
Brandt counted off the seconds. Each one pounded against his skull.
“How long do we wait?” Lopez asked.
“How long would you want us to wait if you were out there?”
“All right. I’m getting comfortable, then.”
* * *
Lochum followed Bartholomew into the abandoned worship hall. Rebecca had fallen a few steps behind as she continued to work on her laptop. The girl would have so much more to work on once they were privy to the information within the Aron Kodesh. He could feel his saliva glands pump out their secretions. He thought himself a true gentleman, but he was close to frothing at the mouth.
To t
hink of all the times he had visited this synagogue. Never once had it occurred to him to study the architecture or study the murals. How many of the answers to his questions were within an arm’s length?
The rabbi stopped at a wall to the right of the altar, which was traditional, for the Ark was always built so that it faced Jerusalem.
After a moment of hesitation, Bart pulled out a large key. It was wider than the span of a man’s hand and apparently heavy. The rabbi had to use both hands to steady the key as he raised it to the lock. The key was fashioned out of iron in the shape of the Hebrew number five, representing the five books of the Torah. Lochum knew all of this from years of study but had never experienced the thrill of seeing one in use.
Bart turned to Rebecca. “I am sorry, and I know it should not matter given the sacrilege we are about to commit, but by Orthodox tradition…”
She nodded. Lochum’s old student was perfectly aware women were not allowed in the ark. He had taught her well.
“I’ll sit up on the first pew. Just bring me the lettering, and I’ll start entering it,” Rebecca answered politely.
“Thank you,” the rabbi said as he approached the lock. “If only you were so accommodating, Archibald.”
Lochum snorted. “We would never have gotten this far if I allowed traditions to stop me.”
Bart looked him up and down. “I will open the scrolls. I will point out the passages. You will look over my shoulder. In no way may you manipulate the scrolls in any way. Is that understood?”
“But what if—”
“There is no compromise in this, Lochum,” the rabbi said as he pulled on cotton gloves. “You may transcribe all that you see, but you may not touch the sacred documents. I could not sleep otherwise.”
Putting his hands behind his back, the professor nodded. “I would not violate your trust, Bartholomew.”
Lochum stepped back as the rabbi placed the key into the sunken lock. The purr of a motor sounded from behind the wall, and the engraved metal curtain rose, revealing two huge golden doors. The professor craned to look up. They must have been at least ten feet high. The entire golden surface was engraved with Hebrew symbols. He was so impressed that he almost called Rebecca over, but remembered his pledge to Bart.
The rabbi hesitated as he pulled the key from the outer lock and placed it over the gilded inner lock. “People have been killed for these bones?”
“Many, and many more to come, if we don’t bring them into the public’s consciousness,” he replied sincerely.
With a sad nod, Bart placed the key into the glistening lock, and the towering gold doors swung open to expose a room far larger than Lochum had suspected, filled with rows upon rows of ancient Torahs.
The professor had thought he would have been elated in this moment, but seeing the thousands upon thousands of documents, his heart sank. It would take more than a decade to sort through them all. Bart must have seen his despair, for the rabbi motioned him to the far end of the Ark.
“Come, I have sorted them by date. The era you are interested in lies in this case.”
They traveled to the far back of the room, where an etched glass box stood apart from the rest of the scrolls. Lochum recognized immediately that the container was climate and humidity controlled. These documents were not just sacred to the rabbi’s faith, but to the man himself.
“We will start with the earliest of the period and work our way through to the first century?” Bart suggested.
Lochum could only nod as the rabbi turned the alarms off. He opened the case and ever so carefully unrolled the first parchment. Spreading it on the glass surface, Bartholomew pointed out small script written in the margin.
“Looks familiar, doesn’t it?”
The bulk of the Torah was in Hebrew, but the small scribbled notations were in ancient Greek. Just like the inscriptions on John’s bone. A fierce smile spread across Lochum’s face.
This was the day they found the brother of Christ.
* * *
Brandt sat back on his heels, trying to conserve heat. Water dripped from the tunnel’s ceiling, making it impossible to keep dry. There was a literal waterfall all around them. The air had become clammy, and it was the kind of dark only found twenty feet below ground. Only the single steady pinpoint of light up ahead reminded them that there was a world out there.
Again he went to check his watch and again realized that he still couldn’t see it. Brandt could have hit the timepiece’s illumination feature, but given the drenching darkness he feared even this faint glow might give away their position, especially if Svengurd had been captured.
They had heard no struggle, but given the expert level of skill demonstrated in both Belgium and again in Paris, Svengurd could be dead a dozen different ways, and they would be none the wiser.
The crude count in Brandt’s head had the corporal gone nine minutes. Sixty more seconds and they’d have to assume the worst and move forward.
Did the light just flicker? Blinking several times to clear his vision, Brandt stared straight ahead. There it went again. Either it was Svengurd or they were in trouble. Lopez must have been keeping an equal vigil, for his gun went up.
“Wait for my signal,” Brandt whispered.
The light was completely blocked and did not reappear. Tense, the sergeant waited. A pebble landed at his feet, signaling the approaching figure was Svengurd. Relaxing his grip on his weapon, he felt another stone bounce across his toes. That pebble meant they needed to maintain silence. A third skidded into his sandal. There was trouble.
“Stay here,” he hissed to Lopez, as he crept forward to meet Svengurd.
It seemed like the distance to the corporal’s position was miles away as he made his way inch by inch. “Report.”
Svengurd kept his voice so low that Brandt had to strain to hear. “We’re in the right place, but there was a gopher in the chapel’s entrance.”
“Did you neutralize him?”
There was the slightest pause. “He was dressed like a priest.”
Brandt understood the younger man’s hesitation. Was the lookout an innocent bystander, or one of the enemy in the best camouflage you could have to infiltrate a church?
“I didn’t think my orders extended that far,” Svengurd added.
“No, you did right. I should take a look.”
“It sounds like they are ransacking the chapel, though.”
Tossing a single pebble back, Brandt waited another breath, then threw two pebbles at once. Within seconds the rest of his team was by his side.
He turned to Lopez. “You two hold this position.”
Without hesitation, Brandt followed Svengurd around the corner. It was a far sharper turn than he had suspected, and the flood of light stung his eyes. The going was faster now that they could actually make out the uneven floor and sharp jutting rocks from the ceiling. They pulled to a halt at the edge of a larger pool of candlelight.
The chapel’s stone-lined archway was clearly the source of the illumination, as a priest stepped in and out of the sanctuary. He seemed to be stacking objects just outside the arch. Was he assisting in the obvious search underway within the chapel or trying to protect sacred objects?
Slipping on the slick floor, Brandt’s leather sandal gave out from under him. He caught himself before he fell, but the scuff attracted the man’s attention. The dark-robed man searched the dark tunnel, and his eyes settled upon the sergeant.
Fear. Abject fear caused the man’s eyes to dilate.
He was no assailant.
Brandt took a single step forward, but the priest shook his head sharply. Retreating back into the darkness just in time, a uniformed soldier stepped into the tunnel.
Mercenary.
“Przynoszą tamte ostatnio dwa plecy wewnątrz,” the priest said.
Polish. Finally a language Brandt understood. He translated to Svengurd. “He wants the priest to bring the last two chests back inside.”
“They’ve been arguing ba
ck and forth about them.”
As the priest obeyed the armed man, Brandt motioned for Svengurd to stay put. “I’m going to go have a chat.”
Before the corporal could complain, Brandt was sliding his back along the tunnel wall. The archway had a thin lip. He tucked himself behind it as he waited. The cover was scant, and if the gunman came out as far as he did the last time, Brandt would be exposed, but if the priest was alone, it could be their one opportunity to get recon on the church.
The sergeant heard robes swish against the rocky doorway.
“Ile wewnątrz?” meaning “How many?” Brandt asked.
The man froze just shy of the entrance, only a black-tipped shoe visible.
The response was a shaky whisper. “Osiem być może dziewięć.”
Eight, maybe nine, men were inside.
Fuck. Outnumbered again.
“Ma wy blonde Monroe kobieta i starszy Lochum człowiek?” Brandt asked quickly.
The man took a small step out into the light, shaking his head as he pretended to organize the chests littered outside the chapel. If Monroe and Lochum were not here, where were they?
By the sounds inside, Svengurd was right. Their adversaries were going to town in there. Trying to find something that did not want to be found. Perhaps Rebecca’s location.
The priest leaned closer and spoke in deeply accented English. “Do not worry. We will never tell them where Lochum—”
“Otrzymują przesuwanie!” the gunman yelled from just two feet away.
Brandt plastered himself against the damp wall as the priest snatched up the second chest and hurried back inside.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The doctors may not be inside, but clearly the priest knew their whereabouts. That knowledge was the entire reason they were here, but if they stormed the chapel, his team was up against two-to-one odds yet again.
They hadn’t fared too well the last time. Now they were even more disadvantaged, since they had minimal ammunition. Davidson’s skill set would be negated by the cramped quarters, and there was no way to cross to the other side of the archway without being spotted, so forget about cover fire for the first person through the door.
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