30 Pieces of Silver: An Extremely Controversial Historical Thriller

by McCray, Carolyn

  Confused, Tok felt a narrow plank attached to the cross. He maneuvered his body so that the narrow seat supported most of his weight. Relief flowed through him.

  He could breathe!

  His wrists would forever be useless, but he could breathe!

  Then he realized that it was no act of kindness to offer the seat. Instead it allowed the executioner to align his ankles over one another.

  Tok’s pride wished him to be still and accept his punishment like a warrior, but something deeper and more primordial took over, and his legs flailed, kicking at the man and his damned spike.

  But the executioner was prepared for his brutal task and allowed Tok to writhe until the pain in his wrists sapped his strength. Weak and panting, he could not put up any resistance as the hooded guard wedged his ankles between the wood and his body.

  Clenching every muscle in his body, Tok felt the spike drive through one ankle, but the man had not hit hard enough and the metal tip bounced off his left tibia.

  God, no! Was all Tok could think as the executioner realigned the spike, grinding the metal against the ankle already pierced.

  Harder than he ever had before, Tok tried to shout. But only an incoherent garble came from his throat as another swing jarred his entire body, and his ankles were nailed to the cross.

  Anger, shame, and self-pity coursed through his veins.

  How had their savior willingly offered himself to such suffering?

  CHAPTER 30

  Tiber River, Italy

  “That’s not a plan,” Rebecca said, hand on her hip. Lopez was insane. Crazy. Out of his mind. “It’s suicide.”

  But rushing toward the bend in the river, no one was listening.

  “Everyone below deck,” Brandt ordered as he urged her forward.

  She went to argue, but his firm grip didn’t invite discussion. If Lopez’s plan had any chance of working it required their pursuers to see them go into the hatch before they made the last curve toward Rome.

  Davidson was the first down, already disassembling his rifle, packing the pieces into his clothing. The sergeant crammed weapons into his pants.

  “I say we think this through,” Rebecca implored. She was banged up. Hell, they were all banged up, but through no fault of their own. Even cutting to half speed, this “plan” of Lopez’s would change that, putting them squarely in harm’s way.

  The corporal’s stomp sounded above their heads. In a rush, they climbed back onto the deck. Rebecca glanced over their stern. The other boat was out of sight. In front of them, and coming up fast, was the Ponte Rotto Bridge. A bridge constructed of solid stone. Stone that would crush them if they made a single misstep.

  “Move out,” Brandt said as Davidson climbed over the windshield onto the boat’s hood as it hauled ass at over a hundred miles per hour, hitting the water with something akin to a ton of pressure per square inch.

  In a single leap, Brandt cleared the windshield. “You can do this.”

  Rebecca doubted that, but she accepted his hand and soon the three of them balanced on the slick hood as the archway rushed toward them.

  “On my mark,” the sergeant growled as Lopez cut the throttle, gripping her hand tightly. “Three… Two…”

  She could see crags in the stone’s surface as Brandt yelled, “One!”

  Launching herself, Rebecca flew through the air. The “plan” was to land and roll onto the bridge itself, but she got nowhere near that height. Slamming into the stone guardrail, her hands scrambled for purchase as Lopez hit the gas and his windshield whisked under her. The water would break any fall, but the other boat was due around the corner at any moment.

  Then the sergeant was there and Davidson too. They hauled her up and over the edge in a single motion. They even cushioned her landing.

  She really, really, really needed to get some of these guys for her fieldwork.

  * * *

  “Get down!” Brandt hissed as they all went to their bellies.

  The sound of the other boat roared down the river, but then slowed. Had they seen Rebecca dangling there? Their engine sputtered as the driver cut the power. The vessel was built for high torque, not idling.

  “Should we scramble?” Davidson whispered.

  Brandt shook his head tersely. They had to wait it out. There were too many gaps in the stone railing. If they tried to rabbit, they’d be spotted. No, they were safer pulling a possum behind the stone facade.

  Then a huge metal hook flew over the retaining wall.

  They were discovered.

  “Move!” he hissed, but Rebecca held his arm.

  “Wait. Don’t you hear that?”

  Sure enough another engine screamed in complaint. Only Lopez could make a machine beg for mercy so desperately.

  “Suckers! I knew you’d do that!” he yelled.

  Brandt risked a glance over the edge to find the corporal aiming his boat right at their pursuer’s boat. The two vessels collided in a crash of metal and fire that heated through even the thick stone.

  “Go!”

  They sprinted across the bridge, finally ducking between two buildings as the neighborhood poured out to see the spectacle.

  So much for stealth.

  * * *

  Tok kept his eyes tightly closed. Tears still somehow snuck out the corners, but he refused to sob. He had already shamed himself too greatly. He would not add to his humiliation, but the nails crushed tender tissue between coarse metal and his own bone.

  Agony was too gentle a word for the pain. Waves of nausea threatened, but with a firm resolve, he kept his teeth clenched. He would not give the Twelve the satisfaction of seeing him lose his stomach.

  The sound of whispered prayer filled the small subterranean chamber. The Twelve’s words soaking into the dirt walls. If Tok had not turned his implants to high before entering the room, he would not have been able to hear their hushed words. And so many of those words were new to the world. They were spoken from the bones just recovered.

  Pain was not the only source of his stinging tears. He could feel the rebuke in each of their voices. To hear of James’ regret after the crucifixion and his quest to redeem himself hurt in a way he never imagined. To know he would die before he knew the full truth of this great man’s life. He would die before finding Him. It was more cruel than even the spikes through his flesh.

  A stirring passed through the room. Squinting against the bright light, Tok looked at the Twelve. They were of bent heads, consulting in tones low enough not even his amplifiers could overhear—then one stepped forward.

  “It is time to end this,” the masked member intoned through a voice modifier. No one was to know who stood in judgment.

  Tok gulped. Suffering for days turned his stomach, but to face death now? He was not ready, but he kept his lips pursed. He would beg no more.

  Let death come, then.

  The executioner grabbed the mallet he had used to drive the stakes and swung it over his shoulder. The heavy hammer arced up, then swung toward Tok’s left leg.

  He braced for impact but someone charged into the room.

  “Stop!”

  Confused, the executioner changed trajectory and only grazed his knee. Tok blinked several times, for he could not believe who stood between him and death.

  It was Petir.

  But his presence was an unprecedented breach of ritual. A breach so great that it carried a penalty of death.

  “Lower him immediately!” the older man demanded.

  The executioner moved toward the cross until the hooded leader of the Quorum stepped between Petir and Tok. “How dare you violate the holy sanctum of this trial?”

  As a shock to all, Petir backhanded the man, sending him sprawling. A collective gasp escaped the Quorum. The action reminded them that Petir was no ordinary member of the Knot.

  Long ago, Tok’s mentor had stopped being a man and had become a legend. He had been captured and tortured by three separate popes for his role in the Knot. Israeli Na
zi hunters held him for almost a year for his tangled relationship with the SS, and imams around the Middle East had issued enough fatwas against him to fill a library.

  With every ounce of this earned reputation, Petir glared the Quorum down. “You have tainted our Lord with this black assembly. You are operating without the blessing of the Knot and laid upon this servant of God a death sentence to serve your own petulance.”

  “Do not think your intrusion will go unpunished!” the hooded man said shrilly. Not even his modulator could hide the tremble in his voice.

  Petir took a step forward as the man shrunk back, raising an arm to protect himself from a strike that did not materialize. “Do you think I am naïve to your game, Darve?” The room trembled as the others’ robes rustled like leaves blown by a strong fall wind. “Yes, I know all who stand in opposition today. Klarmont. Fanco. Shallan.”

  Now there were too many voices to count as all raised shouts of alarm. The Quorum’s identities were sacrosanct. But now this strange, hurried ritual came into sharp focus. Each of those named was no friend of Tok’s. Each resented his rapid ascent of position and power.

  “Do you know the punishment for falsely convening a Quorum? Guards follow on my footsteps. If you wish not to be arrested, I suggest you flee now and do not look back.”

  Darve tried to stand strong before Petir’s billowing rage, but his colleagues melted into the darkness. Soon he alone stood before Tok’s mentor. “You overreach, Petir.”

  The words might have been meant as a threat, but they sounded hollow as they echoed off the nearly empty chamber.

  The older man turned away from Darve and directed the executioner. “Take him down, or you shall answer under my knife, Jonathan.”

  As Darve slunk from the room, his tormentor pulled the spike from Tok’s ankles, then his left hand. He tried to keep himself upright, but as the final spike was wretched from his flesh, he fell into Petir’s embrace.

  Slowly he lowered Tok to the floor. “There, there, be still.”

  “I thought you had abandoned me,” he managed to whisper.

  Petir hugged him to his chest. “Never, never, my friend. My only sorrow is that I did not arrive before this travesty.” As he turned to Jonathan, his mentor’s tone firmed. “Help me get him to the infirmary.”

  The thwarted executioner backed a step away, then turned on his heel and fled up the steps like a young girl.

  Petir’s stance changed. His shoulder fell, and the older man looked near tears. “Forgive me, Master, but we must hurry. Can you stand?”

  Tok’s eyes burned with bitterness that he could not fulfill his mentor’s request. Petir’s eyes frantically searched the room. He rose and pulled the crossbar from the beam. “Use this as a crutch. I will hold your other side.”

  But Tok’s feet refused to respond to his mind’s commands. “Petir, I fear the guards will have to see me crippled like this.”

  “There are no guards, Tok. Or if there are, it is to arrest the both of us.”

  “I do not…” He studied the older man’s wrinkled face. The grooves were deeper than Tok had ever seen. “I do not understand.”

  Petir’s words were rushed. “This sorry lot may have convened a false trial, but that does not mean a blessed Quorum will not reach the same conclusion. We must depart before they are alerted to my actions.”

  Tok’s mind spun worse than it had on the cross. “You… You mean to act against the Knot?”

  “Yes!” Petir said earnestly, then quieted. “In this, yes. We alone are destined to see this to the end. No other, Tok, no other.”

  Something in the pride that shone in his mentor’s face made strength surge through his legs and the pain abated if but a bit. With Petir’s help, Tok gingerly reached his feet, then with the help of the very piece of wood that bore his bloodstains. He took a tentative step toward his fate.

  CHAPTER 31

  Rome, Italy

  Lopez burst into their suite at the Hotel Cicerone. “I love Rome!”

  After pulling their collective asses out of the fire, Brandt didn’t contradict the corporal as he spread out half a dozen tourist maps.

  “You want some Vatican? I got some Vatican. Maybe in the mood for a little romance?” Brandt glared, which only seemed to amuse the corporal all the more. “Try La Terrazza. Voted the best restaurant to help you get her pants off, three years running.”

  Lopez tossed the pamphlet entitled “Romancing your way through Italy” onto the table next to Brandt.

  “I think I liked you better crispy fried and drowned,” Davidson said as he struggled to tie the rope around his monk’s robe.

  But the corporal just threw himself onto the couch. “You don’t even want to know how close I came to going up in the fireball!”

  Brandt glared again. “Maybe I do.”

  “Hold still,” Rebecca complained as she fit Brandt’s white collar.

  It turned out stealing clergy clothing in Rome was as easy as taking candy away from a neonatal infant. Davidson hadn’t been gone more than ten minutes before he came back with all their outfits and cover documents. The kid could pretty much talk his way in and out of anything. He just had that innocent “I’m just off the farm” face.

  Tsk-tsking, Rebecca grabbed Brandt’s chin and pulled his face in her direction. Look forward.” She took a step back assessing her handiwork. “Who knew those little things would be so hard to center?”

  Instinctively, Brandt’s hand went to rub the collar. Even his body didn’t like the feel of it, but the doctor slapped his hand. “No more fussing.” Quieter, she added, “I went to sleep, so now you have to wear the collar.”

  No matter her encouragement, Brandt still felt uncomfortable with his disguise. It was the only one that made sense, but still he chafed at the idea of dressing as a priest. Nothing else had ever bothered him. He’d played a doctor, casually giving medical advice or even the time he wore a gold lamé dress as a drag queen hadn’t given him pause. But this thin white collar felt like a noose.

  Luckily Davidson finished hiding his sniper rifle in his robes. “Are we going to do this or what?”

  Rebecca smoothed her linen dress. “I’m ready.”

  Rather than going for an in-your-face nun outfit, the private bought a more subdued gray tunic with a simple black veil, giving Rebecca a distinctly more American look than the traditional stiff habits. To complete the illusion that they had come from the same congregation, Davidson dressed Brandt in a gray leisure suit. The only concession to his supposed priesthood was the white collar. The private had also brought a finishing touch to Rebecca’s outfit with a beautiful silver cross. Glancing at her now, seeming shy and preoccupied, the doctor almost looked devout.

  If this whole Special Forces thing didn’t work out, Davidson had a career as a stylist.

  Lopez hopped off the couch, acting as if he’d gotten a full night’s sleep. “Seriously, I can hardly wait until the next RPG strike.”

  Everyone looked at Brandt. There was nothing to stop them. In the past eight hours, any task standing between them and breaching the Vatican had been accomplished. Their entry and exit were covered. It was just up to Brandt to give the order.

  Rebecca smiled like she meant to be encouraging, but the gesture just ended up just making him more apprehensive. But catering to nerves never got a soldier out of a foxhole, so he gave the nod.

  Jostling for position, Davidson and Lopez banged into one another on their way out the door. Shaking her head, Rebecca handed Brandt his jacket, which he slipped on. She straightened his collar. “If it’s any consolation, you make a really hot priest.”

  As he followed her out, Brandt realized it did help just a little.

  * * *

  Rebecca watched the private up ahead. A young friar weaved his way to the Vatican amongst the heavy foot traffic. In the hours it took to evade detection, book their suite, and get changed, Rome had transformed from a sleepy burg into a bustling metropolis. Even though they were out
side, the noise level was akin to a kindergarten class hopped up on sugar.

  Between the drivers honking at pedestrians and the pedestrians yelling at the drivers, she could barely hear Brandt say, “Slow it down.”

  It took a deliberate effort to appear unhurried, since she just wanted this over with.

  Get in. Get the bones. Make them public. Life back to normal.

  But somehow after finding John, James, Magdalene, and the Virgin’s bones and posing as a rock star and now a nun, Rebecca doubted if she would even recognize normal if she saw it.

  “Act natural,” Brandt whispered harshly. “Like you’ve never been here before.”

  The sergeant was right. Not only was her speed out of step, but her attitude as well. She knew what lay on the other side of the Vatican’s walls. How many times had she and Lochum surveyed the Relics Library or combed through the Secret Archives?

  But most traveling this afternoon had not. Their eyes were wide with wonder, even if they tried to hide it. As they approached the first gate, most peered around the guards to catch an early glimpse of the Holy See. She knew its grandeur, but would do well to view the Vatican with new eyes. For in all her travels, she had never considered that Christ might be just a few meters beneath her feet.

  The crowd clogged at the first gate as the Swiss Guard, dressed in their flamboyant blue, red, and orange uniforms, made each person pass through a metal detector. This was new. Her eyes darted to Brandt. Did they have to duck out of line? But the sergeant nonchalantly looked up at the stony ramparts, nodding to fellow clergy in a polite manner. Whatever misgivings Brandt had about putting on the collar had given way to a man who seemed completely comfortable as a priest.

  Was it wrong that it made him all the sexier?

  Passing through the detector without incident, Rebecca looked ahead. Where was Davidson? How in the world did he get his sniper rifle through the checkpoint? But the younger man was nowhere to be found. She looked anxiously at Brandt, but he simply pointed toward the Vatican’s courtyard.