[Betrayed 01.0] 30 Pieces of Silver

by Carolyn McCray

  Svengurd pulled to a stop at a cross-tunnel. To the right the hallway lowered, barely propped up by carpet rolls. Walker must have used whatever was at hand since it would have been a little difficult to explain to the imam why they needed construction equipment to pray.

  To the left, Rebecca doubted you could call it a hallway at all. Between huge sections of mudslides were brackish pools of water.

  With a nod, Brandt sent them down the right tunnel, but everyone froze as the ceiling moaned, breaking one of the wooden braces.

  “It’s our body heat,” Lochum whispered. “The warmth is liquefying the loosely packed mud.”

  The sergeant looked at her, and she confirmed the danger.

  “I would suggest expedience, or we will see exactly how long you can hold your breath this time,” the professor added.

  The mud became more fetid as they entered the main section of the dungeon. On either side were long rows of cells. Not even iron could survive the onslaught of time. Many of the bars were bent or broken altogether, and most of the cells’ contents were lost to cave-ins.

  “Oh, God,” Rebecca said despite herself.

  Several ragged skeletons littered the cell, but Lochum acted as if they had found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. “We must examine them.”

  Rebecca tried to block his path. “Lochum, I don’t think these are—”

  “Any skeleton this ancient is worth our time.”

  She turned to Brandt, but his expression was unreadable. With a nod, the stoic officer ordered Svengurd to open the cell. The door creaked loudly, complaining of centuries of rust but finally lurched open. Wooden slats creaked as mud slid down the wall, quickly burying the bones in muck.

  “No!” Lochum yelled as he dropped to his knees and dug in the mud.

  Rebecca tried to tug him up. “Archibald, these bodies…” She indicated the long- incarcerated remains. “They’re just long-forgotten prisoners. There is nothing sacred here.”

  * * *

  Rebecca couldn’t be more right, in Brandt’s opinion. The place reeked of evil. A palpable, tangible evil. Christ wasn’t here, but it took a set of red eyes glaring out of the rib cage to convince the professor. The rat defiantly protected his calcified home.

  Rebecca helped the older man to his feet as the wall melted, sloshing mud up to their knees. “Let’s go.”

  To Brandt’s relief, Lochum’s protests died as they proceeded down the doomed hallway. At the end of the cells, a light rose until it became bright enough for Svengurd to turn off his flashlight.

  There was definite movement up ahead.

  “You two stay put,” he whispered to the doctors.

  Slowly he and Svengurd crept toward the lit room. A huge torture rack stood in the center, stained by years of blood. The walls were no better. Thumbscrews, whips, and crocodile shears, which were used to emasculate men in the most painful way, were only a few.

  Acting as if nothing were wrong, a dozen or so students milled around, cataloguing the antique collection. How could they be so casual? This place shouldn’t be studied. It should be destroyed.

  But the United States military didn’t pay him for his opinion, so Brandt got back to work. As he signaled for Svengurd to circle to the other side of the room before they announced their presence, Lochum burst past.

  “Walker! You old dog! I didn’t think you had it in you!”

  The only other white-haired man amongst a sea of coeds turned, looking quite shocked. Whether it was just at the noisy intrusion or seeing his old colleague, Brandt couldn’t tell.

  Since their cover was blown, he sent Svengurd to check the periphery of the room, but kept the corporal within his eye line. Turning, Brandt found Rebecca watching him as he watched Svengurd.

  “What’s wrong?”

  The less she knew of his concerns, the better. “Nothing.”

  Before she could retort, Walker finally found his voice. “Lochum? Archibald Hamilton Lochum!” the archaeologist exclaimed as he hugged the professor. “I don’t care if you’ve risen from the grave.You’re not getting any credit for this find!”

  “For a dungeon? Trust me, what I seek will make you weep!”

  Svengurd circled back around as the old men caught up. “There’s only a narrow staircase leading east. Do you want me to check it out?”

  With a curt shake of his head, Brandt indicated the corporal should stay put. The corporal raised an eyebrow but voiced no objection. He felt hobbled being unable to utilize Svengurd to his full potential, but that damn tangle in his gut wouldn’t let up. The whole dungeon stank of death and dying.

  The PhDs might be having a congenial reunion, but Brandt knew the place was damned.

  * * *

  Walker clapped Rebecca’s back. “I thought you were in Ecuador?”

  “Long story,” she replied, sounding more tired than she realized.

  “Aren’t they all when Archibald is involved?” He turned to Lochum. “What wild-goose chase are you dragging the poor girl on this time?”

  Lochum didn’t respond with his usual disdain. Instead he opened his palm to reveal the small shard of James’ bone.

  The archaeologist inspected the fragment before commenting. “Have you dated it yet?”

  “First century AD.”

  Walker chuckled. “What else should I have expected?” He scrutinized the surface. “Are those predatory markings on the shaft?”

  When Lochum’s eyebrow went up, the archaeologist held out his hand and one of Elfium’s grad students put a magnifying glass into his palm.

  He scanned the markings, then took in a sharp breath. “You are not suggesting that these bones are… are His?”

  “Sadly, no. But they are his brother’s. James.”

  Walker shook his head almost absently as he backed away a few steps, speechless. The tall Napoleon Dynamite-type kid filled the void. “How did you find them?”

  As Lochum sketched out their recent travels, Rebecca watched Walker. The archaeologist didn’t necessarily seem in shock. If anything, Elfium looked nervous, glancing over his shoulder, backing away from the group.

  But everyone’s attention was distracted as the lanky grad student became more and more excited at Lochum’s explanation that the bone directed them first to a synagogue and now a mosque. “You are never going to believe what we found down in the antechamber!”

  Lochum turned toward Walker. “What is it?”

  Only the archaeologist wasn’t there. The professor glanced around. “Walker? Where did he get off to?”

  Brandt and Svengurd’s guns snapped up, but Rebecca held the sergeant’s arm. “He went down the stairs, to the antechamber.”

  “He could be a part of the Knot or—”

  “Trust me, he’s just being…” How could she make this not sound as pathetic as it was? “He’s just being a paranoid academician.”

  The tall student indicated the stairwell. “Down here.”

  No matter her assertions that Walker didn’t belong to a dark conspiracy, their weapons were at the ready as they followed the student down the dirt steps. Already with so little traffic, the steps crumbled underfoot. Whoever built this staircase had done so quickly and with little regard to craftsmanship.

  This dank dungeon didn’t feel like the other finds. The mass grave under the Eiffel Tower and even James’ watery coffin were carefully built with the specific purpose to house the holy bones.

  A shout caused everyone to rush to the bottom of the stairs.

  “I laid claim first!” Walker yelled.

  After nearly slipping down the steps that had been crushed into a slick ramp, Rebecca could see what all the commotion was about. The archaeologist stood before a large silver door, waving a small pistol.

  “I won’t let you steal this find like you did in Jerusalem.”

  Lochum seemed unaffected by Walker’s bizarre behavior. “Oh, please. Everyone knew that the Jews didn’t first settle the holy city. The original structure was a m
assive Canaanite fortress. It only took uncovering the aqueducts to prove it.”

  “Aqueducts, I found. Just like I discovered this.”

  “Walker, this is the culmination of my life’s work. You just happened to stumble upon a tiny piece of the puzzle.”

  While the older archaeologist’s arms gesticulated wildly, Walker’s eyes narrowed with cool logic. “Tell me, Archibald, could you have found the dungeons without my article in Archaeology Today? Or would you still be groping about up in the mosque hoping to catch a glimpse of Christ?”

  Before Lochum could argue, Brandt stepped between them. “I have no idea what issues you two have, but neither one of you is getting credit.”

  This turned both men’s attention to the sergeant as he continued. “Seriously, do you think the US Government would send in a Black-Ops team to assist an archaeologist the world assumes to be dead to find a set of bones under a mosque in the only Muslim country that serves as our ally, and then make it public?” Brandt held out his hand for Walker’s tiny gun. “Get real. Whatever we find will be shipped directly to the Pentagon, then somebody way over my pay grade will figure it out from there.”

  Walker tried to shake his head, but his hand shook more as Brandt finished. “And my corporal can take out your shoulder, so how about you hand that gun over and step away from the door?”

  Rebecca tensed, but it seemed to be Svengurd, cocking his gun quite loudly, that swayed the older man. Like a child caught in the cookie jar, Walker held out the gun. Faster than the eye could see, Brandt snatched the weapon and jerked the archaeologist away from the doorway.

  Rebecca gasped. Behind Walker stood a towering silver door whose beauty could not be articulated. In the center of the burnished metal were three finely etched symbols. The first represented the Star of David. The next detailed an elaborate cross, while the third was the crescent moon and star of Islam. Rebecca’s mind hearkened back to a passage from John’s bones that involved the trinity. Only now she realized the passage wasn’t talking about the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, but the three religions.

  Lochum must have realized the same thing as his fingers traced the symbols. “He’s here,” the professor said with such reverence it almost broke her heart. But as he tried to find a latch or lock, Walker laughed.

  “That’s the quandary, my man. There’s no way in.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Beneath the Blue Mosque

  Lochum felt over the smooth edge of the door. It did, in fact, seem to be a part of the wall. He looked at the surface but found only the three religious icons. No other inscriptions or flowers or arrows to point the way.

  Rebecca repeated the same maneuvers with the same poor luck.

  “We’ve still got a little C-4 left,” Svengurd interjected.

  Walker howled his disapproval with his pack of students as backup.

  “Enough!” Brandt yelled over the commotion. “Time to clear the gallery.” He pointed to Walker. “You stay, but the rest…” The sergeant pointed to the tall grad student who seemed to hold sway over the rest. “Take everyone back to your hotel. Hole up there until we come for you.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” the redhead stated, standing defiantly. “And if you try to make us, we’ll just tell the authorities about you.”

  Lochum actually enjoyed watching Brandt stride over to the young man and stand nose-to-nose with him. “Please do, because my feeling is the Turkish government doesn’t take kindly to people digging under their mosques, so I hope you are ready for some serious incarceration.” The sergeant looked the boy up and down. “Where I doubt you’d make it five minutes before some Mohammed made you his bitch.” Brandt backed away a step. “But, hey, if you want to get the full Istanbul salad tossing experience, go right ahead.”

  The freckled student blanched as he turned to Walker. But if he thought the archaeologist would help, the boy was sorely mistaken. The archaeologist was like himself. Married to his work. These students were nothing but strong backs and quick minds to further his very personal quest. If they were gone, there would be far less people to share the credit.

  “Do as he says. We’ll be up before nightfall,” Walker said, seeming to regain his old authority.

  The boy looked ready to argue, but one of the attractive female students urged him back toward the tunnel. “You heard him. He’s going to want all the data correlated before we move on to the next room, anyway.”

  How like Rebecca she sounded. Practical, pragmatic, and very much in love with her academic advisor. For the briefest moment, Lochum became nostalgic for those days. Then he remembered Bunny. Poor, sweet Bunny. This girl was lucky she did not suffer the same fate.

  As the students filed out, Brandt turned to Lochum. “Do you have any ETA on getting through the door?”

  “Patience, dear Lieutenant, patience.”

  Brandt bristled. “It’s Sergeant.”

  Lochum patted the man’s broad shoulder. “After today? After this find? Trust me. You will have your bars.”

  * * *

  Rebecca took several steps back. Close-up scrutiny of the silver door wasn’t helping. She noticed Brandt glance at his watch for the fifteenth time. And just like before, his eyes darted to Svengurd, who seemed oblivious to his sergeant’s scrutiny.

  She went over to Brandt. “Have any thoughts?”

  “Besides the fact that the C-4 idea was the best idea we’ve had yet, no, not really.”

  “I wouldn’t say that too loudly,” she said, eyeing the two older men. Walker and Lochum had put aside their professional differences and were working together to check the silver edges for signs of hidden latches.

  But Brandt didn’t lower his voice. If anything, he raised the volume. “We need to get our heads around the fact that that isn’t a door.”

  “What do you mean?” Lochum asked.

  “That’s pure silver, right?”

  Walker nodded emphatically. “The highest grade.”

  “And how deep are we?” the sergeant asked.

  It was Svengurd who answered. “About thirty-two feet.”

  Brandt looked at the two professors. “Do you have any idea how many pounds per square inch of pressure that generates? Or the tensile strength of silver? Without a doorframe, that panel would need to be at least eight feet thick.”

  The archaeologist went to argue, but Lochum nodded. “I had feared as much. It seems to be more of an insert than an actual door.”

  “C-4 is sounding pretty damn good,” Svengurd said as he readjusted his gun. They had been down there for over an hour with no progress. Everyone was feeling antsy.

  “I will not allow you to blow up such an important artifact,” Walker stated emphatically.

  Lochum and she exchanged a look. After the past two days they had seen a thousand times more important relics demolished. This silver panel just didn’t warrant any more delay. The professor nodded.

  Rebecca turned to Brandt. “Talk to me, how you would do it.”

  “You can’t be serious!” the archaeologist shouted.

  “Walker, come speak with me,” Lochum said soothingly as he urged his colleague away from the panel.

  Once they were out of earshot, Brandt indicated toward Svengurd. “I’m thinking we let the corporal show off his expertise.”

  “I can place the charges directed both back and inward. If I get it right I will pop this panel off like a bottle cap.”

  “And if you don’t get it right?” Rebecca asked.

  “Got your life insurance paid up?”

  Pretty much what she had figured. “If you somehow avoid killing us, how much damage will it do to the panel?”

  Svengurd shrugged. “It isn’t going to be this pretty ever again, but the artwork should be readable.”

  Rebecca looked over her shoulder at Lochum. He read her decision perfectly and turned to Elfium. “You know we’ve only got this afternoon, Walker. After that, who knows? We must wager boldly, old friend.”

&
nbsp; The archaeologist looked from Lochum to Rebecca. Finding no ally in her, he turned back to the professor. His voice sounded small and hurt. “This is my first legitimate find since Masada.”

  Lochum grasped Walker’s arm in a hearty handshake. “And we shall coauthor it all, together. But we must act now.”

  After a few harsh breaths, the archaeologist returned the shake.

  “Finally,” Svengurd said and quickly went to set the charges. Within seconds, the corporal wiped the dirt from his hands. “I’d suggest we retreat to the steps.”

  “Why?” the archaeologist asked, oblivious to their previous discussion.

  Svengurd stated matter-of-factly, “Because I can’t guarantee the ceiling isn’t going to collapse, crushing us under five tons of mud.”

  “I thought you said it was safe?” Walker squeaked, sounding frayed.

  Obviously the archaeologist hadn’t had the crash course on how exactly relative the word “safe” was. But how to explain that to someone who hadn’t just survived cave surfing and plane cartwheels?

  “You want safe, I’d suggest you get the hell out of Istanbul. Make that Europe,” Brandt said, making Rebecca’s point for her.

  The challenge seemed to steady the older man. “I’m staying.”

  “Then I suggest you get inside that stairwell.”

  * * *

  Brandt gave the signal, and Svengurd hit the detonator. There was a delay, long enough that he glanced to his corporal. Had he screwed up, or worse, intentionally sabotaged the explosives? But then a deafening boom shook the stairwell. The blast wave was strong enough to throw them all to their knees, then the recoil hit, sucking them forward.

  Chunks of dirt larger around than a fist rained down upon them as the walls to the stairwell warped, then collapsed.

  “Everyone forward!” Brandt commanded, but it was redundant. They had nowhere to go but forward as the staircase flowed out from under their feet as they all rushed headlong to the landing.

  The archaeologist tripped over the charred silver door. “What have you done?” Walker knelt beside it, distraught. “What have we done?”