At first the design appeared as if the craftsman had attempted a flower, but aborted halfway through. The finished product was beautiful if not a little disturbing.
“Help me,” Lochum said as he tried to shoulder open the heavy gate.
Rebecca backed him away. “He said to lift it.”
She used one hand at the right corner, and the incredibly heavy metal lifted up easily and swung open, almost inviting them in. Was it part of the architect’s plan or a flaw that made it open so easily for someone who knew the trick?
As they entered the stone courtyard, their footsteps quieted. The hectic sounds from the neighborhood died off as well. She looked at the gate again. Now she knew why it looked so familiar.
“Gozsdu Udvar.”
Lochum glanced about. “So right you are.”
Despite their panic, neither moved. The Gozsdu courtyard was the ground zero of the old World War II Jewish Ghetto. This courtyard connected to six others. In the very overcrowded heart of Pest this huge housing complex stood deserted. No one had lived here for more than fifty years. Ragged curtains stirred as a gentle breeze blew through broken windows. Eerie didn’t even begin to describe the place. Gozsdu was on no one’s tourist map.
Yet this piece of property was within a stone’s throw of all of Pest’s historical buildings—the synagogue, the opera house, and even the Parliament building. This patch of land was prime real estate. Over the years, city managers and land developers had tried to revitalize the area into either commercial shops or private residences, but each time they tried, tragedy befell those who attempted to alter a single piece of pavement.
Folklore had spun tales of a haunting. Only those most hated by the Nazis had been housed here so that the German General Eichmann could overlook them from his office just above the gate. Whispers stirred that those who were watched day and night had cursed the place forever. So half a century later, this once-bustling neighborhood had become a ghost town.
It was also a dead end. All other exits had been blocked by the Germans long ago and had never been opened. The heavy gate was the only way in or out of the Gozsdu.
She looked back down the alley. As the sun set and the high buildings on either side cast dark shadows, flashlights played in the distance. Obviously, their pursuers were expanding the search beyond the temple.
“Why would Bart have sent us here?” she asked.
Lochum closed the gate and took her hand. “We’ve got to get inside.”
Rebecca followed him, but her feet were reluctant. As broken glass rattled in windowpanes, it seemed that the ghosts were telling her it was safer out here with their pursuers than in there with them.
* * *
Luckily the grenade had just been a Flashbang, but they were still hurting. Lopez only had one functioning earplug, so he was shouting constantly. Davidson’s goggles had slipped as the private turned to run, so Svengurd was forced to be his eyes as he fired at the enemy.
For all that, their retreat was fairly organized. Two by two they laid down cover fire while the other two beat a path out, then switched roles. Of course, the cover fire wasn’t covering very much since they were almost out of bullets.
Brandt had to force the novice in her bright burgundy stained robes out of his mind. He couldn’t get any more pissed. His men were already strung too taut. They could take men dying before their eyes, but to have a woman, especially a young girl, go down? It made them do stupid shit like fire off way too many rounds into the darkness when you had limited ammo.
“Shorter bursts!” he yelled over their gunfire.
“What?” Lopez shouted back.
Brandt put a hand on his shoulder. “Save what you got.”
Lopez took his finger off the trigger.
They were deep into the tunnels by now. Lost, but hopefully so were their pursuers. They were too far underground for any infrared tracking equipment. But who needed sophisticated equipment when all the pricks had to do was follow the sound of his men’s gunfire?
“Svengurd, stow it!” Much lower he hissed, “Silence.”
Once his men stopped firing, they could hear a scattering of gunfire, but it was off to their right. Another much farther away. Brandt breathed a well-deserved sigh of relief. They had lost them in the labyrinth of tunnels. At least for now.
He whispered to Svengurd, “Get us out of here.”
As they moved out, Brandt went to take Davidson’s arm, but the private brushed him off. “I think we’re all blind down here.”
Brandt hoped it was true as Svengurd painstakingly backed them away from the chapel.
CHAPTER 16
Gozsdu Udvar, Budapest
Lochum glanced over to Rebecca as she crouched beneath a cracked window, chewing the edge of her lip. She fretted per usual. The girl could not see an opportunity when it was right in front of her, even if it came in the form of a dilapidated house. She worried that Bartholomew had sent them into a trap, but he knew better. The rabbi had sent them exactly where they needed to be. Why this house in Gozsdu was so important, Lochum did not know, but he would if his student would just get off her doomsday rant.
“Rebecca, my darling, could you please focus on my question?”
She glared at him. “Don’t start, Lochum.”
“Then answer my query. What is so special about this patch of earth?”
Her cheeks were crimson, and every innocuous noise caused her to flinch. “You know the story of the Ghetto as well as I do.”
“Dear child, expand your mind. What was so unique to the ancient peoples of this land? The rest is just an echo of that previous suffering.”
With a resigned sigh, Rebecca opened her laptop. Once she was busy typing, Lochum peeked out the window. Beams of light crisscrossed the darkened buildings, but so far none had ventured into the cursed courtyard. Was that Bart’s plan? To use the haunted history of this place to their advantage, or was it something more?
The professor refused to believe the dilapidated buildings were merely shelter. There must be clues hidden here to further their journey.
“There’s nothing, Lochum,” she said, but then her eyes scanned the screen faster. “Do you remember that last string of letters?”
In their rushed flight, the ancient Greek had fled from his mind as well. Irritated, he snapped, “Did you not type it in?”
She glared over the screen. She needed to make no other reply.
Lochum felt the scratch of something in his palm. The forgotten piece of paper Bart had given him right before their exit. How he had held onto it, Lochum did not know, but there it was. Perhaps it had the last passage. Expecting a scribbled note, the professor was surprised to find a fragment of ancient parchment in his palm.
“Look,” he whispered. “Look at this, ‘Becca.”
Finally she glanced toward him, at first with annoyance, then with recognition. She set down her laptop and rose to study the object.
“Is it… is it really a piece of Torah?”
Carefully unfolding the document, Lochum confirmed its origin. Hebrew scrolled down the left but the entire right margin was covered in ancient Greek. Bartholomew had torn, actually damaged, a piece of his most sacred scrolls. Even Rebecca was impressed.
“He would not have done that if it wasn’t a vital passage,” she said.
Lochum did not argue as she gingerly took the parchment and sat down with her laptop.
* * *
God, how Rebecca hated it when Lochum was right. The professor sat gloating as she typed in the Torah’s passage. She already recognized that James’ name was mentioned more than a few times.
As the translation program whirled, Rebecca rested her head against the pocked wall. Lights occasionally flickered through the gray curtains, but they were in the distance. The ghosts were keeping them safe so far.
Her mind wandered back to something Lochum had said. Something about how this place must have held significance to the region’s ancient peoples. At the synagogue,
Rebecca had Googled the phrase “four and one” a hundred times and followed every possible link, but found only some hockey scores, odds on a racehorse, and a cream to make one’s boobs bigger but nothing relevant. The search was just too general.
But what if the second passage was not talking about any Judeo-Christian reference, but one from the region James was laid to rest? Typing furiously, she punched in the term “four and one” and added “Hungarian mythology.”
Immediately several references popped up. She hit the first link.
“Oh, crap,” Rebecca said before she could stop herself.
Lochum was by her side in an instant. “What’s wrong?”
“Here it is,” she said, as they both read frantically.
The early settlers of the Hungarian region, the Magyars, had an elaborate mythology that included spirits and demigods, but five in particular were worshipped by all. The four elements—earth, wind, air, and fire, and the one true God who had spawned them all.
The four and one. She remembered reports that early evangelists had mistaken the Magyars for Christians, since their rituals and customs were very similar, but this civilization was only quasi-monotheist. They held one god above all others, but believed in other spiritual beings. Rebecca could see how these Magyars would be steady allies of the early Christians.
Most scholars believed this region had so readily and quickly converted to Christianity because of their similar mythologies, but now Rebecca wondered. Perhaps they had more in common than that.
Lochum sat down hard enough that Rebecca feared the bed’s old frame would give out from under them. “Of course, now the stag makes sense.”
For a moment, Rebecca didn’t understand the reference. How were the four elements and one true God related to the stag in the magical forest of Divei llai? Then she realized she was making the same mistake as before. This was about Magyar mythology, not Jewish or proto-Christian.
Her mind spun as quickly as her laptop’s hard drive.
Stag. Stag. Stag. Unfortunately, Hungarian ancient mythology was not one of her specialties.
Lochum sighed next to her. “You do not remember, do you?”
She felt her cheeks flush against her will. If she had known they would be searching in Hungary instead of the Ecuadorian jungle, she would have brushed up on her Eastern European mythology. Just a few more moments and she would have it, but her professor could not wait.
“Nimrud? Symaria? The name itself—Magyar? Ring any bells?”
Rebecca wanted to smack herself. Of course.
She talked quickly, bringing back stale knowledge. “The tale of Nimrud’s two sons, Hunor and Magor. They went out hunting and encountered a white stag. They tracked it day and night for nearly a week. By the time they had it within range, the brothers held such respect for the beast that they could not kill it, and to their surprise the stag lay down and would not budge. The brothers knew that they were in the presence of a god, and that they had been chosen to rule this land. In thanks, they ran to get the beast food and water, but when they returned the white stag was gone. Only the antlers remained.”
“B-plus work,” Lochum replied. “Unlike Cain and Abel, the two brothers did not quarrel over this heavenly gift. Instead they looked at the antlers. Hunor took all the land that lay to the right of the antler and Magor took the rich soil to the left.”
Rebecca jumped in. Her teacher’s pet reflex was almost impossible to extinguish. “Thus the Huns were born to the East and the Magyars to the West.”
“Attila’s ancestors spread eastward. Centuries later, the prodigal son came westward to conquer his own cousins. The brothers’ civil pact shattered.” After a sad exhale, Lochum looked around the deserted room. “History does not seem to favor the fair and honest, does it?”
After the past few days, Rebecca could not argue with him. Greed and lust seemed to overwhelm the much quieter impulses of generosity and compassion. The image of Brandt’s face as she walked away from him in the Parisian airport flashed. Why had she not appreciated his concern for her safety? A few minutes of discussion, and they might have reached a compromise. If Hunor and Magor could do it, why not them?
“Is the translation done?” he asked.
She looked down. The software was only eighty-six percent done. “Almost.”
“Then let us see it.”
Rebecca shook her head. “You know better. The finished product is rough enough, let alone while it’s still trying to discern the syntax pattern.”
A light flashed across the wall, much brighter and stronger than before. They could hear someone trying to force open the metal gate.
“We may not have a choice,” Lochum said pointedly.
Bringing the partially decoded text up, Rebecca skimmed the content, then inhaled sharply.
The professor recited the passage. “The bearer was most intent. The ossuary box must be interred in the most holy of places. The priest knew of great brotherly love and wished to grant his request, but it was forbidden to build upon the spot where the stag lay down…” He flashed a smile to her, then continued, “The bearer told them of their own stag the Kenesh, and the forest of Divei llai. So it was agreed. The fish would protect James for eternity.”
“Huh?” she said as she reread the passage.
The professor became annoyed as well. “That can’t be right.”
“I told you to wait until the program was done.”
But then the software dinged, indicating that it was finished. The text stayed as it was. There was no mistake.
“Perhaps the fish refers to the ancient Christian symbol?” she asked.
“Yes, yes. It must be metaphorical. Referring to God or James’ brother Christ.”
She nodded, but frowned at the same time. “But how does the passage help us, then?”
Lochum grimaced as they heard the telltale creak of the gate opening.
Where to go?
“Come,” the professor said as he led her deeper into the house. “Start checking floorboards and cabinets.”
He was right. This had been a Jewish Ghetto during the time of the Nazis. Even under such harsh conditions, the imprisoned had sought to protect their own ill from the death squads by building false floors and walls. Rebecca packed her laptop and began ever so softly tapping the broken plaster, searching for a hiding spot of her own.
* * *
Tok walked through the center of the Great Synagogue’s many pews. The acoustics were astonishing. A whisper from the pulpit could be heard all the way back to the last row. The ceiling was especially pleasing to the eye as well as the ear. The sea-blue and emerald tiles provided a lift to the spirits and helped convey the sound over the domed structure. He was not struck so much by the strange mingling of Jewish, Christian, and Islamic traditions as how incredibly similar they all were.
For all the fighting and deaths, the religions all believed in nearly the same thing. Each building upon the other. Why was praying to a single all-powerful God not enough to unite them all? If the world chose to focus on the religions’ differences now, the knowledge he carried in his heart would add an inextinguishable fuel to that fire.
His musings were truncated as Petir dragged the rabbi from his office.
“Bartholomew, I thought we had an understanding?” Tok said into his sub-vocal microphones, and Petir relayed the words.
The rabbi blanched as sweat dripped from his brow. “You said nothing of Lochum.”
“Perhaps because we all thought him dead. Something you might have thought to report immediately.” Steadily Tok closed the distance between them. “Why is it that I had to hear from the old woman who sells the tickets that the professor had sprung back to life?”
There was no reply.
Tok had to admit that the man displayed great loyalty to his old professor, but they had not the time for such sentiments. Lochum and Monroe had been flushed within the half hour. Their scent was still strong. They needed to net them now.
“Open the Aron Kodesh.”
“No,” the rabbi said, but his voice shook.
“Don’t make me resort to techniques that will stain this beautiful hardwood floor.”
Bartholomew looked to him, then to Petir, who showed him the hilt of his knife. The rabbi gulped but held firm.
Tok had always been fond of the man. While the rabbi had only peripheral knowledge of their secret, he knew enough to be of help in eliciting clues from the various scriptures he collected. Until now he had been a neutral source of information. In this moment, however, after assisting Lochum, he was an enemy.
“Perhaps your circumcision was not done fully enough the first time?” Tok asked through Petir.
The rabbi’s eyes dilated as Tok predicted they would. Torture was bearable in theory. However, once you began describing the actual technique and the bodily focus of such attention, most became cooperative before the knife was ever brought to bear.
Bartholomew took the key out of his pocket and walked to the metal curtain, unlocking the hidden room. The beautifully inscribed, gilded doors had always impressed Tok, but today his focus was on the Ark’s contents—the rolls and rolls of ancient Torahs.
“Perhaps you might point out the one of most interest?”
The rabbi tried to look everywhere but to the far side of the room. Tok walked to the back and touched the edges of the scrolls. It was clear which ones had recently been unrolled and then re-rolled. One in particular had been hastily returned to its place.
Tok removed it from its binding and unrolled the parchment upon the glass cabinet. The upper left corner was torn. And this injury was not suffered in antiquity. The inner fibers along the edge were starkly white compared to the aged yellow on the surface.
He turned to the rabbi. “Oh, Bartholomew, what have you done?”
Petir’s knife reflected in the Ark’s polished doors.
* * *
Their enemy approached, but they had yet to find a single loose board. Rebecca chanced a look out the window. Their pursuers were heading into the house directly across the courtyard. It would not take them long to work their way around to this home. She finished tapping the inner wall of the water closet and moved onto the floor under a child’s bed.
[Betrayed 01.0] 30 Pieces of Silver Page 20