The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection

by Carolyn McCray

“Plus the Royal Palace has air-conditioning,” Rebecca added, even though she really wasn’t paying attention to their conversation.

  Both men nodded. The heat of the day was just beginning, and already their shirts were stuck to their backs.

  But Rebecca barely noticed the uncomfortable heat. She just couldn’t shake the fact that the box appeared to have the same dimensions as the ossuary they found in the subterranean pool. Granted, the container was brightly painted and not inscribed stone, but still the resemblance was striking. As was the choice the artisan made of color. The reds and silvers were in stark contrast to the blue and gold of the rest of the painting. And were there symbols etched into the plaster?

  Leaning over, she found Brandt at her side. “See something?”

  “I’m not sure,” Rebecca mumbled as Lochum joined them.

  “What did you find?” the professor asked anxiously.

  The questionable symbols seemed to be repeated on the box, but most were partially destroyed. Lochum nudged her aside as he put on his reading glasses. The professor stood at nose length from the wall for several seconds, but ended up shaking his head.

  “Clearly they are important, but someone made sure we could not decipher them.”

  Rebecca took several steps back in frustration. The disjointed letters from the mosaic and James’ bones swimming in her head. She tried putting them in every combination of order, but they made no coherent word or phrase. There was something missing.

  Lochum was right back at it, though, using his leg as a desktop, scribbling down everything they could discern from the wall, and then rearranging the symbols like a Boggle puzzle.

  Leaning against the marble railing, Rebecca found herself missing her laptop once again. Maybe it could crunch the letters and find a pattern obscured to them.

  “Giving up?” Brandt asked as he leaned next to her.

  Rebecca just shrugged. “So far, the mosaic is useless to us.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Brandt said with an arched eyebrow, “Did you really look at it?”

  Feeling her hackles rise, she unsuccessfully tried to keep it from her voice. “Of course, I did.”

  “You studied it.” Urging her over to the wall, Brandt smiled. “But did you really see it?” He indicated to the central figure. “Do you see the compassion in Jesus’ eyes? Or Mary? Her sad smile.”

  For the moment, Rebecca let the mystery of the lettering fade as she soaked in the craftsmanship of the mosaic. It was a true master who created this image out of the tiniest flecks of tile. “You’re right. Maybe he has hidden something in the pattern of their robes or even halos.”

  “No, Rebecca.” Now it was he who sounded frustrated. “Forget about your brain. Open up your heart.”

  She frowned, not really understanding what he wanted of her. How many years had she gotten by on her brain alone?

  “If only I had my laptop, I could—”

  “Did you hear me?” The sergeant pointed her directly toward the mosaic. “Shut off your brain and just appreciate the painting.” As she tried to do as requested, Brandt whispered into her ear. “Look at the way he has rendered the Baptist. His head is bent in the most subtle of supplication.”

  Brandt was right. Unlike much Orthodox art that seemed to make the biblical figures appear greater than life, this mosaic somehow brought out their humanity, which somehow made it all the more moving.

  Rebecca didn’t realize that she had held her breath until she let out a long sigh. The sergeant squeezed her shoulders before he stepped away from her. “So, can you see the reason there’s no clue here?”

  She turned to him, sorry to disappoint him. “No, I don’t.”

  But Brandt just smiled. “This man loves his God and Christ. With every stroke of his brush and setting of tile, he loves them. Whoever created this work of art would never betray Jesus. Even if he knew that he survived the cross, this man would never share that with the world.”

  As he was speaking, Rebecca realized Brandt was right. Her instincts were right. There was something missing. Frustration began to replace wonder, but the sergeant just kept grinning.

  “What?”

  “Well, the flowers above the mural are a different story.”

  Her neck nearly snapped as her head twisted to look up at the decorative border. At first she had no idea what Brandt was talking about. The intricately carved blooms were exactly the same as the rest of the delicate red-and-gold flowers that lined the arches supporting the dome. The pattern continued along the edge of the ceiling. The small flowers were a splash of bright color against the pale beige walls.

  Beautiful? Yes.

  Helpful? Not so much.

  Rebecca almost said as much until she noticed that a petite bloom of blue and silver occasionally broke the line of red and gold petals—the same colors as the mysterious box in Jesus’ hands. The box had a striking resemblance to James’ ossuary box.

  “Want a leg up?” Brandt asked, with a coy smile.

  Rebecca returned the grin. “Absolutely.”

  Using the sergeant’s broad shoulders as support, she brought herself level with the intriguing bloom. Upon its leaves were faint inscriptions. These were not in ancient Greek, but written in Arabic.

  Disappointed, she glanced around the rest of the church. During its years of occupation by the Ottoman sultans, the Turks had not only converted the church into a mosque and plastered over the Christian artwork, but they had also put their own stamp on the interior by decorating the ceiling with Arabic calligraphy.

  Since iconography was forbidden in Islam, the only way the ancient Muslims had to express themselves artistically was through elaborate script. Beyond the detailed writing on the ceiling there were also huge silver discs that hung from the walls with similar impressive lettering.

  “What does it say?” Lochum asked, as he balanced his reading glasses on the tip of his nose.

  Out of courtesy, Rebecca began reading the inscription, but she was certain it would be a passage out of the Koran just as all the other lettering throughout the museum. “‘He who was dead then…’”

  Rebecca paused as she tried to translate the next few words, but out of the corner of her eye she could see the disillusionment in Lochum’s face. The line she had just read was from a passage in the Koran entitled “The Cattle.” It was a story similar to Christ’s raising of Lazarus. One that she was sure surrounded them a hundred times over.

  Almost without studying the lettering she began to recite the rest of the passage. “We raised him to life—”

  When she cut off in mid-sentence, Lochum scowled. “What’s wrong?”

  Her eyes scanned back over the last sentence, but the letters did not spell out the rest of “The Cattle’s” parable. Much more carefully, Rebecca read the actual words, not what she presupposed the text to be. “‘Came to our shores and was met with cries of joy.’”

  Rebecca gripped Brandt’s shoulder even tighter. She wasn’t mistaken. This passage did not come from the Koran.

  The professor stretched to the tips of his toes. “Read it again.” As she did, Lochum’s pupils began to dilate. “Finish the passage!” Lochum urged, but the rest was only a prayer to Allah.

  Only the one line was altered from traditional Islamic scripture.

  “There must be something more.”

  Rebecca squinted at the flower until her eyes were ready to burst, but no matter the strain, it did not change the passage.

  “There isn’t,” she answered as Lochum elbowed her out of the way.

  Brandt slowly lowered her to the floor as the professor strained to read the tiny silver lettering. Again the sergeant smiled.

  Maybe Brandt didn’t understand, so she clarified, “The one line is significant, but not that helpful.”

  “Luckily, that’s not the only blue flower.”

  * * *

  The Neanderthal had somehow done it again, Lochum thought, as ‘B
ecca read from the fourth bloom.

  “ ‘But you ever remained in doubt as to what he brought. Until when he died, you said: Allah will never raise an apostle after him…’ “

  Lochum nodded. He knew the passage well. It was from the Koran, entitled, “The Believer.”

  “Go on, go on.”

  The next line should have been, “Thus does Allah cause him to err who is extravagant, a doubter,” but given Rebecca’s hesitation, he seriously doubted if those were the next words.

  She looked down to Brandt, who was holding her up. They looked the pair in their ridiculous black garb. But he couldn’t care less.

  “If you two are done posing for a Hallmark card…”

  Rebecca blushed, and then cleared her throat before she repeated the last line. “‘Allah will never raise an apostle after him… But all that came before were cherished, so when the man of greatness asked for sanctuary of one of Allah’s favored, how could the Sultan decline his wishes?’”

  Lochum could feel his heart beat all the way out to the tip of his fingers. He almost did not want to breathe. He wanted this moment, this moment when they found written documentation of the final interment of Christ, to last forever.

  He distantly heard Brandt ask, “Any location?”

  Rebecca shook her head as Svengurd announced from around the corner. “Here’s another one, but it’s bigger.”

  Shoving the sergeant out of the way, Lochum burst around the corner, but skidded to a halt. Under the largest bloom yet, stood a huge mosaic of Christ holding the Torah.

  Lochum feared he might descend into a convulsive seizure. “It is his bones. It is his bones.” He kept repeating the phrase as Brandt lifted Rebecca to the heights once more, but she did not read. “Speak, woman!”

  “There are only ten words.”

  Every ounce of urgency was packed into his words. “Then read them.”

  Licking her lips, ‘Becca spoke slowly. “‘Those who seek the bones must search beyond and below.’”

  “That’s all? You are certain?”

  However, from the despondent look on his student’s face, Lochum knew that she was most certain.

  Search beyond and below? That was the clue that led to Christ? He felt a rage build within his chest. They had come so far for so little.

  “All right, doctors. I’ve given you more time than I should. We need to be hitting the road.”

  Lochum was no fool. Even without Brandt’s urging, the professor knew they would have to leave the Hagia Sophia. They could not linger here too long without being recognized.

  Yet, even though he knew the sergeant to be right, Lochum did not move. Could not move. He stood before Christ with the words to find him, but he did not know how to interpret them.

  Beyond where? Below what?

  Now it was he who coveted Rebecca’s old computer. She could cross-reference all instances of the words beyond and below in the Koran to figure out possible locations.

  “Rebecca, we need to head out,” Brandt reiterated.

  Her lack of response made Lochum turn toward his student. She had that gaze that carried past the embossed ceiling and through to the heavens. Brandt urged her toward the ramp, but Lochum interceded.

  “Leave her alone.” Gently touching her elbow, the professor spoke softly. “What is it, ‘Becca?”

  “It’s probably… It’s probably nothing.”

  But he knew full well it wasn’t. As did Brandt, for he was at her other shoulder as she mumbled, “Beyond and below.”

  Lochum could see her brain correlating data, discarding all that was superfluous and stringing together tiny beads of information.

  “That’s right, ‘Becca. Let those synapses fire. Let it flow.”

  Almost in a trance, his student kept repeating the phrase, and then she suddenly sucked in a breath. Her first action was to look to Brandt and smile. He smiled back.

  Their gaze locked, but Lochum intruded. “Would you care to share?”

  Almost casually, Rebecca turned to him. “It is written in Arabic, upon blue paint.”

  He knew that should mean something, resenting like hell that her brain worked faster and better than his. It took a large gulp to swallow his pride and say, “So we are looking for another church?”

  “We’re not looking for a cathedral…” Rebecca’s smile grew. “Or a synagogue…” She looked him in the eye as she finished. “We’re looking for a mosque.”

  * * *

  Tok let his fingers glide over the hundreds of tiny chips that made up the wall of the Sultan’s Harem at the Topkapi Palace. Gilded beams ran between the exquisitely detailed panels. This wall portrayed a beautiful garden with the apple tree of temptation at the center. How many months had it taken for the artisan to create just this one panel? Given that every wall within the Harem was so decorated, Tok could only imagine it had required years to complete the entire labyrinth of quarters.

  Jasmine still permeated the air as he entered the interior courtyard. To keep their harem from the public eye, the sultans had built this grand space for their women to lounge. Built of bricks cut from pure marble, the empty chamber nearly glowed. He could only imagine when it was filled with sweet perfume, strolling peacocks, and strong African eunuchs guarding the land’s fairest beauties.

  Stepping out onto the terrace, Tok took in the fresh sea air. Housed at the apex of the Seraglio Point, the women’s quarters overlooked all of Istanbul. To the north was the expanse of the Golden Horn. In the opposite direction was the snakelike Bosphorus that bisected Istanbul in half. And to the east was the Sea of Marmara, from which he had just sailed. There was no better view than from this spot.

  Although the Sultan’s Palace was now a museum, Tok had no concern that he would be disturbed as he awaited word from Petir. The Knot had deep ties to the Department of Historical Structures. The place had been cleared before they even docked.

  Turning south, he looked over to the Hagia Sophia. It was grand in both size and purpose. Tok was not at all surprised that Lochum sought the oldest church in the region. Like the palace, with its sprawling courtyards and pavilions, the Hagia Sophia had a million nooks and crannies. Each one might hold clues to the most sacred remains.

  Two years ago, based on a new interpretation from the founder’s inscriptions, they had scoured the Hagia Sophia searching for any link to the holy family, but had found none. Even now, with the rest of James’ bones they only had a vague connection to the crown of Constantine’s Holy Roman Empire. It vexed him that with so little Lochum had accomplished so much.

  But now they were in Tok’s proverbial backyard. There was not a single centimeter of this town he did not know as well as the scars that riddled the back of his hand.

  As the afternoon sun beat down upon him, Tok retreated from the balcony and sought the cooler interior. Petir had reached out to their contacts at the Hagia Sophia, but the word had been mute so far. And their own scholars were of little help, either. They could not find a single reference to the Hagia Sophia. Only an allusion to people of faith from beyond.

  The stone absorbed the sound of heels upon the marble, so it was not until Petir was close that Tok heard his mentor’s arrival. He was obviously anxious, for the older man fell into old habits, signing as he approached.

  “They have left the Hagia Sophia,” Petir’s fingers flew.

  “To where?”

  Clearly his mentor was distressed. “The Blue Mosque.”

  “The Blue Mosque,” Tok repeated, to be certain.

  His mentor spoke aloud for the first time. “The Blue Mosque.”

  Even though he saw the words, then heard the words, Tok still did not believe them. It made no sense. The Knot had no connection to the Blue Mosque. To the Great Mosque in Mecca or even Mohammed’s Mosque in Medina, yes. But the Blue Mosque? It was insignificant to Christ or Mohammed’s lives. The building of Istanbul’s house of faith had only been an Ottoman attempt to raise their religious profile.

  There wa
s absolutely no mention on any of the bones of the Mosque. How could there be? Islam arose centuries after their savior’s death.

  Lochum must be mistaken. Or was he…?

  “Shall we intercept them before they enter the sanctuary?” Petir asked.

  Tok’s hand went up on its own to halt his mentor’s plan before it was crystallized into action. Quickly his mind caught up with his hand. To intercept would be too public. Too exposed when there was another way. A dark way. A secret way. An ancient way.

  “Gather the alchemists.”

  His mentor blanched, and his nostrils pinched again, creating a high-pitched wheeze. “Are you certain?”

  With a cruel smile, Tok inclined his head. Finally Lochum would receive what they so richly deserved.

  CHAPTER 23

  ══════════════════

  Hagia Sophia, Istanbul

  Brandt brought up the rear, vigilantly checking their surroundings for threat, although he had seldom visited such a serene park before. The short distance between the Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque was filled with carefully pruned trees and strips of bright green lawn. A huge fountain filled the rest of the space. Tourists were everywhere, making it difficult to scan the crowd for possible assailants, but also giving him a sense of familiarity.

  But he could not be lulled into a sense of security. If they really were this close to finding Jesus, the Knot would become even more vicious. He wouldn’t put it past this group to firebomb the Mosque just to get to Lochum. Not that Brandt hadn’t on occasion wanted to set the man on fire himself, but it was his job to keep him from getting crispy.

  “What’s that doing here?” Svengurd asked, pointing to an imposing obelisk to the east of the Mosque.

  Rebecca indicated the hieroglyphics lining the pink granite statue. “It’s the Obelisk of Theodosius. He ‘borrowed’ it from Egypt when he was Emperor.”

  “He just decided to throw down an obelisk across from the Hagia Sophia?”

  Brandt liked the way Rebecca chuckled as she shook her head, making her blonde hair curl at the side of her face. “No, it’s the only remaining structure of the much larger Hippodrome.” Rebecca must have read the question on their faces, for she continued, “Hippodrome translates, ‘horse park’, or more accurately, ‘chariot racetrack.’ “