[Betrayed 01.0] 30 Pieces of Silver

by Carolyn McCray

  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 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 Bosporus 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 was 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.’“

  “Yes, yes, enough about the entertainment culture in ancient Constantinople,” Lochum said as he motioned them forward.

  Svengurd seemed intrigued, though. “How big was it?”

  “By the few markers left to measure, it was about the size of two football fields.”

  “Really?” Brandt asked.

  Not so much that he cared about the answer, but Brandt wanted to see Rebecca’s eyes light up again as she answered. “Really. From historical documents we know the Hippodrome sat more than a hundred thousand people and housed not only the chariot races but plays and political debates. It was perfectly positioned.” She nodded toward Svengurd. “As you mentioned, the Hippodrome sat across from the Hagia Sophia, but before the Mosque was built, a massive Roman Palace sat on these grounds. The arena’s center stage abutted the Palace wall.”

  “Tarry not!” the professor said as he tried to hurry past the muscular corporal, but Svengurd simply blocked him with his frame.

  It looked like Lochum might actually try to challenge him.

  “Remember our talk about protocol,” Brandt growled.

  “You don’t understand.The call to prayer is soon.”

  Brandt looked at his watch. “Care to give me an actual time?”

  Clearly as exasperated with Brandt as Brandt was with him, Lochum stormed past them. “I do not have time to fill the holes in your education.”

  He was about to retort when Rebecca pulled him toward the Mosque. “He’s an ass, but he’s right. Prayers are not set by the clock but are based on the sun’s position. And it’s dipping quickly.”

  Sunset was almost upon them as they headed toward the high archway that led to the Mosque’s whitewashed courtyard.
Hanging from the top of the arch was a thick chain that connected to two other chains secured to the wall. Svengurd nearly had to duck to get under them.

  An odd adornment for a place of worship.

  Rebecca must have followed his gaze. “The chains kept invading horsemen from riding into the Mosque. Those Sultans knew what they were doing, didn’t they?”

  Brandt had to agree. The ancient builders had captured the essence of military strategy. Make it simple but highly effective.

  As they crossed the enormous courtyard, they found very few worshippers, and those were concentrated in the center of the white-stoned space, near a central fountain. There they cleansed their hands and faces.

  “The purification fountain,” Rebecca explained. “All of the Great Mosques have one.”

  Continuing toward the main structure, Brandt was struck by how similar the mosque and the Hagia Sophia were. Both were sprawling complexes punctuated by huge domes. Only the mosque had more semi-domes than the church, and six minarets flanked the periphery of the Mosque.

  If Davidson were doing his job, the private had already moved to one of them. Lopez, as well, should be realigning their extraction plan.

  So intent on running through his team’s tasks, Brandt was unprepared when he stepped into the Mosque proper.

  It wasn’t until that moment that Brandt realized he had never been inside an Islamic house of worship before. They weren’t the most American military-friendly places in the world. But this sanctuary seemed inviting to one and all. He wasn’t sure what he had ever expected, perhaps a den of terrorist plotters, but the Mosque eclipsed even the Hagia Sophia in its sheer beauty.

  The dome rose high above them, seeming to defy the laws of physics. Delicate blue tiles lined the ceiling in a swirling pattern that seemed to represent heaven better than even the Hagia Sophia. And unlike the church with its single row of windows, this Mosque’s walls were punctuated by hundreds of stained glass windows. More in number and beauty than any he had seen in cathedrals. The interior of the mosque was infused with a light that truly did appear otherworldly.

  “Brandt?” Rebecca tugged on his arm.

  “Sorry. What did I miss?”

  The doctor pointed to his shoes as she removed her own. “We can only enter in stocking feet.”

  Brandt realized everyone else had already complied. Hurrying to catch up, the sergeant shook off his amazement. While he might be acting like a tourist, in truth, he wasn’t one. He had only one job, and that was to keep the doctor and her very annoying professor alive.

  Entering the sanctuary, they found only a few Muslims praying toward Mecca. He didn’t know much about Islam, but he knew that.

  “Where to now?”

  “I’m not sure,” Rebecca answered.

  Svengurd was on point, but Lochum took a sharp right and disappeared from view. “What the—”

  He looked at Rebecca, but she shrugged, apparently unaware of Lochum’s latest walkabout.

  “Catch up with him,” Brandt hissed to the corporal.

  Only through Svengurd’s expert tracking skills did they follow the professor to a narrow side hallway far off from the main prayer hall.

  Rebecca caught up with Lochum. “Where are you going?”

  The professor ignored her, opening a nondescript door.

  Svengurd grabbed the professor’s arm. “Keep dreaming.”

  Checking down the long hallway, Brandt made sure there were no civilians before he pulled his weapon.

  “This is ludicrous,” Lochum grumbled, but he noticed that the professor placed himself squarely between Svengurd and Brandt.

  The corporal’s flashlight was the only illumination in the small room. It took a few seconds for the sergeant’s eyes to adjust to the dark. But even then he had a hard time believing what was crammed into the tiny room.

  Roll upon roll of carpets were stacked so tightly there didn’t seem to be room for even furniture.

  “What the hell?” Brandt said for all of them.

  Lochum was too busy searching his transcription pages, so Rebecca spoke up. “Mosque carpets are always donated by the congregation. In a mosque of this importance, if a rug has a single loop of thread damaged, it is immediately replaced, hence all the backup stock.”

  “Okay,” the sergeant replied, “but why are we here?”

  Ignoring him, Lochum began moving the large rolls of carpets toward the edge of the room.

  Rebecca seemed equally quizzical of his strange behavior. “Archibald?”

  “Child, either help me or get out of the way.”

  To Brandt’s surprise, Rebecca obeyed. “What are you doing?”

  The professor tsked-tsked loudly. “For all your computational faculties, ‘Becca, you so readily forget your history.”

  The sergeant could see the woman’s back arch at the insult, but she was obviously intrigued. “Why don’t you remind me, then?”

  Svengurd followed the two doctors with his flashlight, making Lochum’s face glow as if he were a mad scientist.

  “Current events are always built upon past ones, my dear. Do not so easily forget the lessons of Budapest… This Blue Mosque did not spring from nothing, now did it?” Lochum paused, but when Rebecca didn’t answer, he continued, “What did we pass on the way in?”

  Brandt could see Rebecca’s brow furrow in thought. It was not her best look, but it usually got the job done.

  “The Hippodrome.” Her words came out faster, more sure. “This was the site of the Emperor Septimius Severus’ Great Palace. The racetrack is the only visible ruin of the Roman seat of power. But… by the time Sultan Ahmet Camii built the mosque the Palace was nothing but a shell of its former glory. It was basically a teardown. He demolished it to build the mosque.”

  “Undergraduate work, my dear. I expect more of you.” Lochum turned to Brandt. “I believe physical labor is your strong suit, isn’t it, young man?”

  There were a thousand and one retorts on Brandt’s tongue, but he gave voice to none of them. Instead he lent his back to help Rebecca move an especially stubborn roll, but the doctor didn’t seem to notice him. Instead her brain focused on forging a link between the Roman Palace and the moving of dozens of carpets around a small back room of the mosque.

  Her tone was hesitant. “There have been some excavations down at the inlet to uncover the lower levels of the Palace’s harbor and dock.”

  Lochum snorted. “Please. For three years I was eating the Yugoslavian equivalent of macaroni and cheese, and I am better informed than you. Did you forget to pay your subscription to Archaeology Today?”

  The tips of Rebecca’s ears flamed red as only the professor could make them. She tried to play off her flushed cheeks on the strain of moving the rolls, but Brandt knew better.

  “They have recently discovered a tavern and an old church half-buried in the silt near the coast,” she added timidly.

  Lochum shook his head violently. “What do we care for a place of ill repute and a non-descript church when the answer lies here? You said it yourself. The mosque is the answer.”

  Rebecca looked as frustrated as Brandt felt. “Just tell me, Lochum.”

  “What is the one subterranean room a Roman palace just can’t do without?” the professor asked without looking up.

  Rebecca looked puzzled then nodded. “A dungeon.”

  “Just such a place where Jesus was scourged before the crucifixion. Is it not fitting?”

  Brandt’s leg ached where the knife had gone in. So far this had been a whole lot of work for a whole lot of nothing, and they hadn’t even cleared the center of the room yet. “You’re trying to tell me there’s a dungeon under this room?”

  “Of course.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Rebecca announced as she paced. “Even if we believe there was a dungeon under the palace, this mosque is huge! We can’t just start digging and hope to find it.”

  “Seriously, did you miss issue seven-ninety seven? Walker will be most upset you
dismiss his work so readily.”

  Something must have sparked Rebecca’s memory, for she turned to Brandt. “Do you have GPS on you?”

  He held out his wristwatch and hit the button that brought up their coordinates. “41.029924, latitude. 28.988711, longitude. Why?”

  Rebecca’s face paled, making nearly translucent by the wan light.

  “What’s wrong?”

  The doctor had to gulp before answering. “Dr. Walker Elfium cited these coordinates as where he believed the centurion post was located.” She looked up at Brandt with renewed wonder in her eyes. “Where the entrance to the dungeon would be.”

  Lochum’s chest expanded with such pride. “He has been repeatedly denied access to explore under the mosque.”

  “But why bother with permits when you can just dig it up under the cover of afternoon prayers, right?” Brandt said sarcastically but the criticism seemed to sail right over the professor’s head.

  “Exactly! Elfium just didn’t have the guts for it.”

  Svengurd frowned. “How are we going to cover the sound of the explosives?”

  Lochum pointed to the rolls of carpet around the room. “My dear man, have you ever heard a full prayer service in a mosque this large? Trust me, with the carpeting as sound proofing, we can easily make our way into the subterranean chamber below.” The professor tugged at one exceptionally heavy roll. “Help me.”

  With every joint aching, Brandt heaved and moved the roll, revealing a very large hole blown into the floor. A makeshift rope ladder dropped into the opening farther than the corporal’s tiny flashlight could penetrate.

  “Guess Elfium had the balls for it after all,” Brandt noted.

  * * *

  Rebecca found herself staying within an arm’s length of the sergeant as they crept down the dank hallway. Mud sloshed underfoot as algae-laden water dripped from the ceiling. The crush of earth above them made her feel frail. Given the echoing groans and ever-melting walls, the entire tunnel felt like it could crash down at any moment. The halls might have survived several millennia, but they seemed near their end. Clearly Walker and his team had thrown together some bracings, but the thin wood seemed to just sink deeper into the mud walls rather than support them.