“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 back 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.
Like he said… Fuck.
CHAPTER 15
St. Matthias Church, Budapest
Tok lay prostrate at the feet of Christ their Lord’s statue. His black hair nearly touched the divine image as his arms lay out at either side. The skin of his forehead rested upon the cool marble.
A prayer spoken constantly in his mind.
St. Matthias rivaled the great cathedrals of Europe. Perhaps even surpassed many of them. Few sanctuaries brought such a sense of peace, a peace that was essential to a place of worship. It was not the gilded altar, nor the finely leaded stained glass windows. All churches had such extravagance. The beautiful stonework shone throughout the structure. Each column, doorway, and arch overhead was detailed with scenes from the Bible. The carvings did not glisten nor sparkle in the sunlight. They were not so superficial. It felt as if God himself had touched this place and wrought the patterns deep in the stone.
So struck by the sanctuary’s beauty, Tok had left the interrogation of the clergy to Petir. The past days had seen the highest of the highs and the lowest of the lows. Tok had held the beloved Baptist’s bones, a blessing he had not thought he would ever be
granted in his lifetime. Then to find that the doctors had not only survived the plane bombing, but had jetted to Budapest. The damnable Lochum had slipped through their grasp. Tok had felt certain the doctors would be in attendance here, but again he was sorely disappointed.
St. Matthias was the most logical starting point to find James, but the missing femur must have given the professor insight into the founder’s wishes that he was not privy to.
It galled him to think that such a heathen would have a deeper understanding of the Knot’s history than he. That Lochum might be closing in on James, the most beloved brother of Jesus, made Tok physically ill, but he could not allow his emotions to cloud his decisions again.
As always, Petir was indulgent of Tok’s ways, but there was a point at which his mentor would be forced to report his disappointing progress to their superiors. No doubt, questions would be asked if perhaps another agent would be best to lead the hunt, but Tok would not train his entire life for such a task and then fail.
So when he entered this place that seemed to have God’s intimate touch, he had lingered to find his faith again. Upon contemplation, Tok realized his error. He was seeking victory more for himself than for God’s glory. When he should have been grateful for all that the Lord had graced him with, Tok had cursed his luck.
In supplication, Tok had not only dialed down his sound amplifiers but turned them completely off. Communing with his Savior, he did not need this new sense graced by science. His faith was best served in perfect silence. Whenever God blessed Tok with his words of wisdom, they were always so soft and faint that a stray thought could drown them out. It was here that his disability gave him a clear advantage. He and his Lord were closer because of it. Who best to hear God’s words in his heart than a deaf man?
Clearing his mind, Tok prayed for guidance. He knew the two doctors would surface eventually. His cadre had eyes and ears throughout the city. Budapest and the Knot had ancient bonds. The city might be trying to recreate their Roman ancestry, but his sect had been there, had made sure this place was well loved by Rome. There was not a stone-paved street that did not know their influence. But for all this quiet presence, there had been no word yet on the doctors. He felt his muscles clench in frustration.
Normally he was a patient man, for he knew that God seldom respected man’s hurried timetable, but now…
Tok exhaled sharply. He must trust in God and be all the more patient. The Lord would reveal Lochum in his own time. Tok reminded himself that he was but the servant.
A tap came at his shoulder. Rising, he kissed Christ’s toes, then faced his mentor. Tok did not bother to turn on his microelectrodes, since Petir was already signing.
“We just received word that they entered the Great Synagogue.”
Tok signed back, “We have heard from our mole, then?” Since giving the order to bring down the London plane, his heart had been heavy, but might his dearest have survived as Lochum had?
But Petir shook his head sharply.
Frowning, Tok could not let his worry override his duty. “Are the doctors still there?”
A nod answered him. “Shall we draw to a close?” Petir asked.
“Have the cars readied.”
His mentor nodded sharply and headed downstairs again.
Tok smiled a secret smile. As always, when he released his will and went with God, God went with him.
* * *
Rebecca typed away, happy to have so much to do. Her mind was filled with letters and phrases instead of pain and loss. Inside the quiet synagogue with its wooden pews and beautiful tapestries, she could almost wipe away the past decade. Pretend that she had not had her heart broken and trampled underfoot by a professor she revered or that an entire team of men who sought only to help her were now dead.
Lochum hurried out of the Ark and handed her another carefully transcribed passage. “Do you have anything yet?”
“So far all we know is an awful lot about the harvest in 78 AD.”
He frowned for a second, then flashed a smile. “Was it bountiful?”
“Oh yeah. Bumper crop.” She could not help but grin back. No one could turn back the clock, but as Lochum patted her shoulder, it certainly seemed it might be possible in this place.
“Do not fret. All this strife will not be for naught.”
And for the first time in the last decade, she believed him. Then a cell phone rang. She looked to Lochum, but he shook his head. The sound was coming from within the Holy Ark.
Bart exited the chamber, pale and hurried. “You must leave!”
“You cannot suggest—”
“Your passports were flagged as wanted terrorists! The authorities have been notified.”
“What?” she and Lochum said together.
The rabbi was nearly apoplectic. “When you entered, they scanned your passports. The guard called to tell me you two were on a watch list!”
She should have anticipated this. Brandt would have, damn it. He would never have used the same documents they used on the flight to get into the synagogue.
Worry flashed that she might have to drag Lochum out of the synagogue to safety, but the professor was already packing up her equipment. “We must not allow anyone to know what we have discovered.”
Bart hurriedly placed another scrap of text into the professor’s hand. “Go out the door to the left, and follow the hall to the museum. There is a back door. It will lead you out into an alley. Go right. Don’t stop until you find a wrought-iron gate. It will seem locked, but if you just lift up on the right side, it will open.”
Lochum returned the rabbi’s embrace. “Thank you, Bartholomew.”
“I will copy more and send it once you are safe.” He and Rebecca exchanged a quick hug. “Do not wait another decade before visiting. Dolores will be wanting to see you.”
A knock came at the main doors of the synagogue.
“Go!” the rabbi hissed as he moved toward the front door.
Lochum took her hand, and they fled once again.
* * *
The light within the chapel went out as Brandt gripped his weapon.
Excellent. It was their first break in a long while. The tunnel was darkened with just the slightest light leaking from deeper inside the chapel.
He gave the signal. Svengurd and Lopez scurried across the archway and set up on the other side. With a nod, Svengurd entered. Lopez and Davidson followed. Brandt brought up the rear even though his every impulse was to rush forward, heedless of the danger.
Checking his corners, Brandt realized the chapel was bigger than he had guessed. For a chamber completely carved out of the surrounding limestone, with ceilings high enough for a chandelier. The furnishings were simple. Unstained wood held together with rusted nails, yet they were far more elegant than many five-star hotels. The sanctuary must have been lovely once, but now it was trashed. The bastards had overturned everything. Even the altar.
“Sarge,” Lopez said seriously enough that the hairs on the back of Brandt’s neck rose.
The Sergeant strode over and found what had Lopez worried. The priest whom he had just spoken to lay dead on the floor, his neck slashed.
Brandt’s jaw clenched into a knot. He should have fucking gone in right away. Screw the odds. He had delayed, and this man had died for it. The sergeant swore a thousand curses in his mind, but none of them brought the priest back to life. And he had another life to consider.
“Move forward.”
Without hesitation, Svengurd crept up the short stone staircase to the closed door. It should lead to the tomb of King Bela and his Queen, at least if the tour map could be trusted.
As Lopez provided cover, Svengurd jerked the door open. They filed into the candlelit crypt. The king and his queen were encased in a stone tomb that was so finely sculpted that you felt if you reached out you would touch flesh. All around the tomb, carved columns rose to the rock ceiling. They should have been able to advance quickly, but as they rounded the corner to the no
rthwest staircase, the sight brought them to a halt
The two nuns were sprawled dead on the floor, but at the least their dark robes hid the brunt of the blood. The poor novice’s gray habit showed the volumes of red pouring from her neck.
Brandt knelt next to the young girl who had, until five minutes ago, been preparing to marry Christ. To his surprise, she was still alive, barely.
“Lopez!”
The corporal was beside them in a second, trying to stanch the flow, but the girl’s breaths came in gurgled gasps.
“Shh. Let him do his job,” he said, trying to comfort her.
Her eyes rolled to the stairs, and her last dying word was, “Trap…”
Brandt heard the telltale clatter of a grenade bouncing down the steps.
He was on his feet.
“Go, go, and more go!”
* * *
Cutting through the synagogue’s cemetery, Rebecca and Lochum were at a full run when they almost collided with a tree. Only it wasn’t a real tree. In their hurried flight, she had forgotten about the Weeping Willow Memorial.
The metal tree climbed twenty feet above them and each leaf was inscribed with the name of a Jew who had died during the Holocaust. It had always been both a horrid reminder of all those killed, yet was also an incredible testament to a generation that refused to shy from such awful loss so that they might still embrace their future.
Right now though, the draping steel tree was simply in their way. They darted to the left, ran through the World War II-era graveyard and made it into the alley. It must have been dinnertime, for in the buildings all around, Rebecca could hear families settling down for the meal. Dishes clanged and children were called in from their play.
Her footfalls sounded so loud in her ears. Despite the evening clamor, Rebecca was certain the entire neighborhood must have heard their flight, but still they ran. Whether it was the authorities or the Knot at the synagogue’s door, they were getting as far away as possible.
In the twilight, the alley seemed to stretch on forever. Lochum sounded winded, and her legs were heavy as well. Finally, they found the iron gates. The metal twisted upon itself in a unique manner. The pattern seemed vaguely familiar, but she could not place it.
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