The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection

by Carolyn McCray

  “Hurry,” Brandt urged.

  Cringing, Rebecca got off the motorcycle, trying desperately not to touch the huge red and white marbled slabs. She had to actively keep her stomach in line. How after everything she’d witnessed the sight of hunks of meat still got to her she didn’t know, but with bile in the back of her throat, it still did.

  Brandt and Harvish rolled the motorcycle to the door and then flung it out into an alley. After pulling the ramp up, they rolled the metal gate down, slamming it into place. Rebecca was relieved when the compartment was plunged into utter darkness, sparing her from the grotesque sight. Tentatively she stepped back one foot at a time, brushing up against one carcass after another. Finally she found a wall and pressed against the cold surface.

  Then Harvish turned on his flashlight, illuminating their grisly surroundings. Rebecca gulped and closed her eyes. Her body was already starting to quake from the adrenaline letdown. This clammy horror was not helping.

  “Are you injured?” Brandt asked.

  “Just grossed out,” she replied, worried that even admitting that much was going to bring up the sausage she’d eaten for breakfast. A strange look crossed Brandt’s face. “What?”

  His eyes flickered over to the nearest carcass.

  “No,” Rebecca said as she pressed herself into the wall. He couldn’t be serious.

  “They are going to search every vehicle leaving town.”

  Guess he was serious. Of course he was. Logically Rebecca knew it was far better to climb into a cow carcass than get caught by the Russians, but still…

  “I’ll give you a lift up,” he added.

  “Damn right you will,” she snapped, then regretted it. None of this was Brandt’s fault. Well, at least not the beef cocoon part.

  “If it’s any consolation,” Brandt said as he guided her to the carcass, “even I’m not going to be eating barbecue for a while.”

  As she grabbed hold of some fascia from a rib to haul herself into the carcass…no, no it wasn’t.

  * * *

  Brandt tugged the edges of the meat tighter together as he tucked one of the straps to Rebecca’s backpack in. The disguise wasn’t perfect. Okay, it wasn’t even close to perfect. If the Russians had heat-sensing equipment or even a bit of initiative, they would be found. Luckily, Russian army grunts weren’t exactly known for their amazing work ethic.

  And given this was rural Russia, the apartment attack would more than likely be viewed as a Russian mob hit. Big, ugly, and messy. That pretty much marked a mob hit around here.

  Hopefully in the chaos they could slip through.

  He turned to Harvish. “Lopez and Talli up front?”

  “Yep,” the tall man replied as he folded himself into the belly of a cow.

  “Lopez driving?”

  Harvish just arched an eyebrow. Duh.

  Right. Duh.

  Sirens sounded up ahead. Harvish switched off his light as Brandt climbed inside his own cow. Even he wretched a little as his foot slipped on some leftover intestines. Rebecca was going to need counseling after this. If, of course, they survived.

  The truck rattled to a halt. He could hear Russian voices, but between the carcass and the insulated truck walls, he couldn’t make out the words. Soon though the back gate rolled up. A sliver of light speared through an opening in the ribs. Brandt couldn’t risk closing it. Not as Lopez argued with the guards as they climbed into the compartment. In perfect a Kursk accent, indicating a lower-class Russian upbringing, Lopez complained that the guards were going to make him late for his delivery to the Night Flight.

  Nice touch. Not only was the Night Flight a renowned five-star Moscow restaurant, but it was also rumored to be a favorite hangout of Putin, mainly because it transformed into a “gentleman’s club” after ten p.m.

  Brandt’s carcass swung to the side as the guards pushed through, apparently willing to risk Putin’s wrath for a late meal. He willed Rebecca to stay silent. To stay holed up in her smelly yet safe hiding spot. Brandt held his breath as the Russian guards cursed as they reached the back wall. Then in pretty typical Russian form, they demanded a bribe from Lopez. They reasoned if he really wanted to get to that fancy restaurant in time, he wouldn’t mind paying an “efficiency” fee.

  Perfect. If the guards were to the bribery stage, they were as good as home free.

  Sure Lopez would have to whine, beg, resist, and then finally cave.

  That was just the Russian way.

  * * *

  Davidson watched the guards count their money as they waved the meat truck through the roadblock. Davidson flexed his fingers, giving them a rest. He’d been ready to fire if need be, but killing guards was not going to make escaping the town any easier.

  He couldn’t give his digits much rest though. It hadn’t been the guards Davidson was overly worried about. By his count at least three more assailants were loose in town. And given the fact they had at least one spotter aloft, it wouldn’t surprise Davidson that the enemy knew about the stolen meat truck. If anything, gathering everyone together in a single vehicle made the enemy’s job easier. Take out that truck and you took out the entire team.

  The enemy was running out of time to do so quickly though. Once that truck was out on the P115 Highway, Lopez would book it. No. There were only two more intersections between the truck and freedom.

  Two more intersections for an ambush.

  * * *

  Aunush watched as another of her men went down. The sniper had regained his rhythm. She would have to make a note on the next batch of recruits. They really needed to be far more aware of sniper fire. And how to make a more speedy retreat. These men really did deserve to die, any tiny fragment of guilt over killing them to keep her secret evaporated.

  Movement on the eastern side of town drew her attention. A meat truck squealed to a halt as two of her men burst out in front of it. One being Abraham, her second in command, the other a newer Disciple. What were they doing? Then she focused in on the face of the meat truck’s driver. Corporal Lopez.

  On one hand she should give Abraham credit for finding the Special Forces escape vehicle. On the other hand, she had given a direct order to retreat. Granted it was to kill them, however Abraham of all people should have obeyed. The last thing Aunush wished was to draw attention to their operation. There were too many witnesses.

  She looked up to the sniper, who frowned. Aunush went back to her binoculars, calculating the distance to the truck. Fifteen hundred meters. Even outside the sniper’s range.

  As her men raised their weapons, Aunush cursed softly. If they got themselves captured…

  Then a shot rang out. The Disciple dropped. Another shot and Abraham succumbed as well. She glanced to her sniper, who shook his head. But if it hadn’t been him…?

  Aunush went back to the binoculars, scanning the area. On the far eastern side of town she found a figure rising, stretching. A hoodie was pulled far up, obscuring his face, yet the sarcastic salute he gave her was crystal clear.

  The sniper shot at the hooded figure. It was useless, but he shot anyway. How he hated to be outdone. Outmaneuvered. Outshot. Little did the other sniper know that he actually helped her cause. When she captured him and took his skin off in little strips, Aunush would be sure to tell him.

  For now though she and her sniper needed to melt into the thick forest. The meat truck would not be hard to track. Their satellite coverage would catch when their targets changed vehicles. She would know exactly where to pick up the trail.

  The sniper scrambled down the tree and then hopped off a branch, landing next to her. He smelled of frustration, victory, and musk. His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her against his hip.

  My, my, he certainly was packing quite the weapon in there. But when his hungry mouth came for hers, she put a finger up. She cocked her head, asking if he really believed he deserved a reward.

  Essentially, he’d assassinated an old man defending the Disciples and then had to have anot
her sniper clean up his mess.

  Really?

  * * *

  Rebecca felt the truck come to a halt. She whistled a breath in through her mouth, although she really wasn’t sure if that was any better than breathing through her nose. Now she tasted the raw meat rather than smelled it.

  “Let’s get you out of there,” Brandt said as he parted the two halves of the ribs. He held a hand out. She really didn’t want to take it, but her legs were cramped from the long ride.

  Squinting, Rebecca made her way to the exit. Late afternoon sunlight poured in from the open door. Lopez helped her hop down from the fender.

  “Brilliant escape plan, right?” he asked, laughing.

  Rebecca punched him in the arm before walking a few steps, giving her muscles a stretch they desperately needed. Countryside rolled out from view in all directions. The only buildings in sight were a few broken-down warehouses and what looked to be a bread factory. Or at least she thought she smelled flour and sugar. Make that prayed she could smell something else besides the stench radiating from her hair.

  The place looked like it had been abandoned for a while. America wasn’t the only country caught in the Great Recession. Small business was nearly dead in Russia. She could see why Brandt had picked this remote cluster of buildings as their rally point. Talk about desolate.

  “No chance there’s a shower around?” she asked Brandt as he stepped next to her.

  “That would be a negative,” Brandt stated, stretching his arms as well. “So did we at the least learn anything earth-shattering for all the trouble?”

  Rebecca hemmed and hawed a bit until he looked to her.

  “What?”

  “Um,” Rebecca started, then paused. “Osip was pretty certain that Amed had a small piece of…”

  “Of?” Brandt prompted.

  Rebecca cringed. The deeply religious sergeant was not going to take this well. “The tablets of the Ten Commandments.”

  Brandt laughed loud and heartily, tipping his head back. Still chuckling, he met her eyes. “Oh, I needed that, thanks.” He chuckled one last time and then asked, “So what did Amed really want with Osip?”

  “Sorry, he really wanted the tablet authenticated as the Ten Commandments.”

  Brandt’s grin fell quickly. “You mean the fucking Ten Commandments.”

  Lopez stepped up. “I know, right? I made a Raiders joke that didn’t go over too well.” As Brandt’s frown deepened, the corporal backed away. “That clearly isn’t going over here any better.”

  Brandt turned his displeasure in Rebecca’s direction. “Which Osip, of course, said that whatever Amed presented to him was an absolute and utter forgery, correct?”

  “Not so much,” Rebecca shrugged, trying to take the sting out of the news. “Osip seemed pretty damned sure the tablet was authentic.”

  She could see Brandt count to ten internally. A technique they had developed while dating. She was stubborn. He was stubborn. They both needed to take a ten-second time-out every once and a while. This time it wasn’t about her being stubborn though. It was about where the hell the Rinderpest virus was being kept.

  “But let’s put all of that aside,” she suggested. “The important thing is that Amed believed it was the true tablet. The question is, what did he do next after visiting Osip?”

  * * *

  “Yes,” Brandt said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. “Let’s put aside the entire concept of finding the Ten Commandments and focus on Amed. Did Osip give any kind of indication where the terrorist was heading next?”

  A look passed between Lopez and Rebecca. The corporal lifted a shoulder. “He was spouting some pretty wacky shit. I, of course, made a well-placed ‘Well of Souls’ joke.” Brandt shot him a look. “And now I’m going to shut up.”

  Good idea.

  Brandt turned to Rebecca. “Any luck piecing together Osip’s meaning?”

  “Well, the one and I mean only good thing about being stuffed into an animal carcass for forty minutes is having time to concentrate on something besides being stuffed into an animal carcass.”

  Anyone else and he would have rushed them along, but he knew Rebecca’s process. And venting was definitely a part of the doctor’s process.

  “And…” he gently prompted.

  “He was talking about virgins and staircases and moots…”

  “I’m hoping that means something to you?” Brandt said, because it meant shit to him.

  “Not at first, but again stuffed inside the cow I was trying to stay in my happy place, turning those words over against everything I know about Russian Jews.” Rebecca sighed. “And came up blank.”

  Again, he knew Rebecca. If she had a little grin going on, she hadn’t come up completely empty-handed.

  “But?”

  A faint smile crossed her lips. “But Christian? Christian there is a match.”

  Christian? Brandt cocked his head. Russian Orthodox wasn’t exactly his strong suit, but a virgin, staircase, and a moot he would probably remember. “Hint?”

  “Moscow,” she answered.

  That narrowed it down. Plus add in the religious purging during Communist rule. That didn’t leave a whole lot of virgin, staircase, moot Christian monuments.

  “Heavenly city?” Rebecca prompted.

  Damn it, of course. “The Cathedral of the Protection of the Most Holy Theotokos on the Moot.”

  “Or better known as St. Basil’s Cathedral on the Red Square,” Rebecca confirmed.

  Next to Brandt, Lopez shook his head. “Dude, you just pulled that out of your butt? Seriously, if you have that much time to study theology, you need to get laid.”

  * * *

  Rebecca added to Brandt’s glare at Lopez.

  The corporal raised his hands. “Hey, I’m going to just go…somewhere that isn’t here.” As he walked off he mumbled, “Tough room.”

  No kidding. That brief moment of rapport between her and Brandt had been shattered. For an instant it almost felt as if they had found that elusive time machine and transported back three months. But that wasn’t to be. That damned gold band on his finger made sure of that.

  Brandt cleared his throat. “I still don’t get the staircase reference. Nearly every church has one.”

  “No, Osip wasn’t talking about any staircase, he was talking about a hidden one.”

  “How would a Jewish scholar know—”

  “The place is pretty famous for them,” Rebecca cut him off, not wanting to get into another comfortable rhythm. “The place is like the Winchester Mansion in California. They are both riddled with hidden passages, secret staircases, and even an entire chapel that just seemed to ‘appear’ in the seventeenth century.”

  “But why?” Brandt asked, his eyes narrowing. “Why would Osip send an extremist Islamist to a Christian cathedral?”

  Rebecca couldn’t help but tease. “Not just any cathedral, but St. Basil’s.” Brandt shook his head, clearly not following her logic. “It is built to replicate the Temple of Jerusalem.”

  “Of course,” Brandt said, reaching out to touch her arm. “And the Russian Orthodox Church focuses nearly as much on the Old Testament as the New.”

  Rebecca lowered her arm out of reach. Even though it was an innocent gesture, that feeling of familiarity, given their incredibly complicated circumstances, just hurt.

  “So, yeah,” she said, covering. “I think that is probably our next stop.”

  Brandt jerked his hand back. “Sounds logical,” he said as he tugged open the Velcro that covered his watch. He raised his voice so Lopez could hear. “We are T-minus three.”

  The other men gathered around. Each of them looking back down the road they had just come.

  Wait. There was only Lopez, Harvish, and Talli.

  “Where’s Davidson?” Rebecca asked. She’d just assumed he’d been up front with Lopez.

  When the corporal wouldn’t meet her eye, Rebecca turned to Brandt. “We did not leave him back there.�
�

  “He insisted on it,” Brandt said, then shot Talli a glare. “Someone had to provide cover.”

  “But—”

  “He knew the risk,” Brandt stated brusquely. “He knows the coordinates of the rally point.” The sergeant turned to his men. “Get ready to move out.”

  Talli tossed Rebecca some clothes before he moved off. “Don’t know how well they’ll fit, but I figured you’d want to change.”

  Rebecca barely noticed the pair of pants and shirt handed to her. A few minutes ago they would have been like a gift from the gods. Now? Now she just wanted to hurl them on the ground. But throwing tantrums would get her nowhere.

  “He saved us,” she said. “Not in Rome. Not in the past. Here. Today.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Brandt shot back, then took a deep breath. “But if Davidson is the changed man you say he is, he’ll find a way back to us. He’ll at the least catch up with us at the airport.”

  Rebecca struggled to keep her tone civil. “It isn’t fair. Just because it is Davidson that you would—”

  “It isn’t, damn it,” Brandt snapped. “This is SOP. It could be Lopez or Harvish or Talli. We would be bugging out all the same. We are trained to find out way back home.”

  “Like Svengurd?” Rebecca challenged, then immediately regretted it. Brandt had accused the tall blond soldier of being a traitor. It didn’t go so well.

  Brandt stepped in front of her and leaned down so that there was barely an inch between them. His nostrils flared. “Just remember your precious Davidson didn’t say jack. As a matter of fact, the only reason I’ve got Svengurd’s blood on my hands is because your little buddy told the Knot exactly where we were.”

  Rebecca looked down, gulping. “I know.”

  The sergeant didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. His teeth gritting told the story of exactly how he felt. Brandt turned abruptly and headed toward his men. Rebecca took one last look down that lonely stretch of road toward Pushchino before going behind the truck to change.

  Not even fresh clothes could lighten her mood.

  It was strange. She’d had to face life without Brandt. It sucked. It hurt. There were times she thought she’d never breathe fully again. Yet none of it felt as bad as the thought of never seeing her honorary little brother again.