[Betrayed 01.0] 30 Pieces of Silver

by Carolyn McCray

  “Since the only body left is Jesus, you’re thinking the coins are a clue all by themselves,” Davidson added, showing his quick mind once again. He wasn’t Lochum, but he would do.

  “Exactly. Once I mentioned that I thought the source of the coins was a factor, Tok brought out a passage from the Virgin’s bones with vague allusions that Jesus was hidden in Rome.”

  The private’s tone was excited. “The last place any proto-Christian would look.”

  “But why would anybody even be looking for him?” Lopez asked.

  It was Brandt who answered, reminding Rebecca how well versed he was in biblical history, “At that time there was a huge power struggle amongst the high priests, the rabbis, and the commoners. There were probably a few dozen splinter groups wanting to claim Jesus as either their savior or the false prophet. The Twelve were trying to unify the religion, but everybody else, mainly other Jews, because nobody was a Christian yet, were trying to splinter the faith. To find his corporeal body would have undermined the belief that Jesus had risen from the grave and ascended.”

  “Right again,” Rebecca said as she felt the weight of the pelvis bone in her hand, a tangible piece of history to solidify Brandt’s words. “You guys broke in before we discussed it any further, so the Knot knows the bones are in Rome, but not their exact location.”

  “And you think the remains are under the pope’s residence because…?”

  Everyone was jarred as the boat drifted off course, taking a wave at an awkward angle, nearly capsizing them. At this speed, they needed to pierce the wake head-on or suffer the consequences.

  * * *

  Lopez struggled to get the boat back on course, but everyone was wet for the effort. You would think after everything else that had happened, a little water wouldn’t bug the shit out of you, but it did. Brandt’s socks were soaked through and his pant legs were sticking to his calves. Just one more thing to make this the worst day of his life.

  He had almost forgotten the topic when Rebecca finished wringing out her jacket and continued. “Vatican Hill had a history long before it became associated with the Catholic faith. In the mists of ancient times when Romulus and Remus came upon the marshy knoll, it was considered sacred by the locals and only those worthy were buried there. It was only much later, during the height of the Roman Empire, when the bureaucracy expanded so greatly and so quickly that the emperors finally got over their superstition and erected administrative buildings on and around Vatican Hill, the mint being just one of many.”

  “So the popes built the Holy See on top of old Roman offices?” Lopez asked, this time keeping his eyes peeled forward.

  Brandt hadn’t known of the old mint located on the hill, but he knew the rest of the story. However, the sergeant let Rebecca explain it. Her voice gained a strength that replaced barely contained tears.

  “As I mentioned, the buildings were hastily constructed, and just like in our time, the land, being that close to the hub of Rome, became more valuable than the buildings themselves so Constantine relocated the mint to make room for his palace, which was renovated and restored over the centuries until Pope Sixtus the Fifth built the Apostolic Palace there.”

  Davidson leaned forward, lapping up Rebecca’s words as if they were raindrops, and he was parched.

  “But why on Vatican Hill?” the private asked. “I mean, the first Christian emperor was Constantine, and he moved the capital to Turkey. Why not set up the Catholic headquarters there?”

  Rebecca looked at Brandt as though testing to see if he knew the answer.

  Which he did. “St. Peter, the rock on which the Catholic Church was built, is buried under his Basilica.”

  Nodding, the doctor continued. “But even that brings up several questions. Like Catholics are all about saintly relics. They have thousands upon thousands of them, yet they have refused to allow any excavation under the City.”

  Brandt felt that steel rod of defensiveness straighten his spine. He tried to keep any anger out of his voice, but the words came out harsher than he intended. “Are you implying the Church is involved with the Knot?”

  “No, of course not. But just like at the Blue Mosque and the Jewish Ghetto, I think someone, at some time, had an inkling that there was something of vast importance underfoot, so they didn’t look too closely.”

  “Kind of like hear no evil, see no evil kind of thing,” Davidson added.

  Only partially soothed, Brandt nodded for Rebecca to go on. None of this sat well with him, but what had?

  “So you can see there is a clear historical through-line. Magdalene’s bones state Rome. Mary’s bones implied the same thing. The coins were all minted from the same batch in Rome.” Her look was apologetic as she finished. “I’m sorry, but the most logical starting point is the site of the original mint which is smack-dab under the pope’s private quarters.”

  * * *

  Rebecca could tell that Brandt wasn’t happy. Well, more unhappy than usual with her suggestion. Not only was she asking him to come up with a plan to break into possibly the most secure location in the world, but also to launch a hostile breach of his faith’s most holy inner sanctum.

  But as always, the sergeant was stoic. “All right, let’s get a plan.”

  “Well, our cover is obvious,” Davidson said offhandedly. “We go in as visiting priests and a nun.”

  “Along with a rabbi into a bar or what?” Lopez joked. Neither of the men must have seen the stricken look on Brandt’s face as they laughed.

  The sergeant’s tone wasn’t amused. “I was thinking more workmen or a repair service.”

  Both men looked askance. “You’re kidding, right?” Davidson asked. “I mean, it’s the Vatican. It’s its own country. I’m sure they’ve had contracts for all that stuff with the same local companies for decades.”

  Rebecca felt awful for the sergeant. He was grasping at straws to avoid putting on priest’s clothes, but she had to agree with Davidson. “The Holy See greets hundreds of visiting clergy every week. We’d blend right in and our accents wouldn’t even be an issue.”

  She knew she wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know, but still Brandt’s face fell. Perhaps she could soften the blow a little. “The beauty of visiting officials is that they come in all shapes and sizes. You wouldn’t have to wear the full robes. Just a collar would be enough.”

  But that seemed to be the sticking point for Brandt. The sergeant couldn’t seem to wrap his head around impersonating a priest. His Catholic upbringing seemed to be coming to the forefront. He might be able to hunt down the world’s scum with impunity, but certain things the sergeant obviously still held sacred.

  Lopez appeared to catch onto the fact that Brandt’s issue was moral rather than tactical. “But hey, somebody’s got to keep the car running. I’m ready for a change-up.”

  Wow, Rebecca thought. The corporal must really love his sergeant if he was willing to give up his driving responsibilities, or Lopez knew full well that Brandt would never hear of it.

  The sergeant’s face was a mask again as he waved off Lopez’s offer. “Priests it is. Now we just need an access point.”

  Watching Davidson and Brandt huddle as they tried to make a map of the Vatican, Rebecca missed her laptop for the thousandth time. That and Lochum. He would know the Vatican inside and out. Each entryway. Each exit and everything in between. But he was gone. Along with Svengurd. And the people on the London plane. Plus the Ecuadorian tribe and anyone else who got in the Knot’s way.

  She didn’t even realize tears had sprung to her eyes until Brandt rose. “You are going to get some sleep.”

  “But—”

  He pointed her toward the hatch that led down to the bunks. “If I’m wearing a Roman collar, you’re going to bed.”

  How could she argue? Exhausted past the point of numb, Rebecca let her feet carry her down the steps, ready to shut out the world.

  * * *

  “Sarge, seriously, go below deck before yo
u fall down there.”

  Brandt tried not to act startled, but knew it was a lame attempt. He had obviously been jarred awake by Lopez. Somehow in his fifth attempt to sketch the Vatican’s lower level, he’d dozed off. Once you got used to the boat slamming into wave after wave, it became rhythmic, almost soothing.

  Davidson was already in the hold, and knowing the private, already sound asleep. Rebecca long ago went to bed.

  “You should get some rest,” Brandt said, rising to take the helm.

  “Yeah, right. Remember the last time I tried to turn over the wheel? I say we don’t tempt fate.”

  The sergeant wasn’t in the mood to debate. “You’ve been up for more than seventy—”

  But Lopez shook his head. “And you’ve been not only electrocuted, but gassed as well. You’re up two to zip on the fucked-up barometer.”

  With his leg throbbing, his spine bending over of its own will, and his eyelids trying to shut even as he was arguing with his corporal, Brandt just gave up. “Wake me in four hours.”

  “You got it,” Lopez agreed, already turning back to the sea and cutting into the water like a just-sharpened knife.

  Almost relieved he’d lost that round to the corporal, Brandt climbed down the four short steps to the hold. It was cramped quarters.

  Davidson must have just fallen into bed. He was fully dressed and sprawled across the narrow berth, half his body dangling off the edge. His face smashed against the edge of the mattress.

  To his left were two beds. But the hold’s ceiling was so low that Brandt doubted if he could even sit up properly on either of them. This boat was built for long races, not for comfort.

  On the upper mattress, a lone figure was turned toward the hull, under a pile of blankets. He found his hand reaching out to her, but the sergeant stopped himself. Let her sleep. Whatever would be said, or needed to be said, could be said later. After a few hours of shut-eye.

  Still soaking, Brandt peeled off his jacket and shirt. When his dog tags clinked together, echoing off the plastic hull, he paused to make sure he hadn’t awakened either of them. Certain they were still asleep, he pulled off his pants as well. Under normal circumstances he would have stripped down to the buff, but with Rebecca just a bunk away, he refrained. Another reason not to have chicks on missions.

  Half bending, half collapsing, over, Brandt rolled onto the mattress. Or more accurately, the thin pad. He could feel every square inch of the unyielding plastic berth beneath the material, but a bed had never been more appreciated. Once his body was lateral, every ache and pain complained and complained loudly. Trying to block out the symphony of complaints, Brandt closed his eyes and was nearly asleep when someone sat down next to him.

  “What the hell?” Jerking upright, he hit his head on the upper bunk. “Like I didn’t have enough injuries!”

  “I’m so sorry!” a feminine voice apologized, her hand gingerly searching his head for the newest lump. “I didn’t see you there.”

  He looked up to find Rebecca sitting just inches from him. Her hair dripping wet, moistening her white T-shirt in all the right places.

  She must have noticed his gaze, but misinterpreted it. “Of course, it was my change of clothes that were lost with the Aquada,” Rebecca explained. “So I borrowed one of your shirts. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Brandt said, trying to keep the huskiness from his voice, but she was so close. Her breasts were within inches of his bare chest as she leaned over to check his head wound. Ignoring the visual input, he measured his words. “I thought you were in the upper bunk.”

  “No, there’s a duffel bag up there.” She pulled back so they were nose to nose. “Well, I don’t think the bump’s fatal. It’s not even bleeding.”

  How much Brandt wished the wound was gushing so that she might stay close, but his scalp wasn’t cooperating. Water dripped in slow motion from her blonde curls. She must have washed her hair in the lavatory. Even with the purplish scrapes and reddened, haunted eyes, Rebecca had never looked so beautiful.

  They stayed there, motionless, exchanging a few breaths until Brandt realized he needed to get out of the bunk now, or he’d do something he’d regret.

  “I’ll take the top bunk,” the sergeant said as he went to squeeze past her, but she put a hand on his naked shoulder.

  “Stay.”

  It hurt his throat to say the words. “I can’t.”

  “Not for that,” Rebecca said. With just the right amount of pressure, she pushed him down to the bed. The motion wasn’t charged with sexual urgency, but had an insistence to it nonetheless. “Just stay with me. Really stay.”

  Despite the million reasons he shouldn’t, Brandt opened his arms, letting her slip into his embrace. Resting her head on his bicep, she curled her body against his, then took his other arm and draped it over her waist, the circle complete.

  Now, it was his turn to pull her close so that there wasn’t a hairsbreadth between them. The rise and fall of her rib cage in turn moved his own. Soon they were breathing in perfect synchrony.

  It had been so very long, but Brandt finally felt at home.

  Prophecies

  Jerusalem

  AD 42

  Judas wiped sweat from his neck. The road was hot and dusty as the pilgrims arrived for Passover, but their party traveled no farther. Jesus had stopped their procession far short of the city’s wall. They had waited patiently for over an hour. Due to the sun’s relentless burn, the women tossed blankets onto a nearby tree to provide shade for the little ones, but with such a large assembly, babies began to cry, children whined, and dogs barked.

  “He will not even discuss the reason for our delay,” Andrew fumed. For all Jesus’ sermons on patience, the younger man was quite anxious to have events unfold upon his insistence.

  The Twelve had gathered, but Judas stood apart from them. His leg ached with an intensity it had not since childhood. The swift pace they had assumed over the past three days had inflamed his knee so that he could not stand for long without support, but he did not wish the men’s frustration directed toward him, so he leaned against a tree, feigning meditation.

  “Judas! Look who has joined our humble ministry!” Jesus called from down the road.

  “Uncle!”

  There was only one voice that brought such joy to Judas’ heart.

  “Ameil!”

  Despite his leg’s complaint, he rushed to meet his nephew, catching him at a run, pulling him into a warm embrace. “How I have missed you!”

  “I learned to milk a goat!” Ameil announced to the growing crowd.

  Judas spied the boy’s father behind Jesus. “Kyle. Thank you for joining us.”

  “Jesus promised me work in the city.”

  His friend patted Kyle’s back. “God shall provide, as he always does.”

  Philip, however, seemed less certain. “Will he be as patient for your entrance into Jerusalem?”

  With an easy smile, Jesus put an arm around his disciple’s shoulder.

  “We delay no longer.” He leaned over to Ameil. “Do you think you could lead a donkey, child?”

  The boy nodded solemnly. “If they don’t move, you pull their tail.”

  “Indeed,” Jesus chuckled. “Could you go down the road and bring back the ass tied to the fence?”

  “May I? Please. Please. Please?” Ameil looked at Judas, but Judas made certain to glance for Kyle’s permission before he gave the child leave.

  “Of course.”

  His nephew dashed off as if he hadn’t just walked an enforced march for over a week. To have the resilience of youth.

  Philip was not pleased. “That honor was reserved for Andrew’s son.”

  “There is a season for all. Not all fruit is meant to be picked when ripe.” Jesus answered cryptically.

  After months living with his dear friend, Judas had begun to suspect that at times Jesus used his parables not so much to instruct but to avoid conflict. How could you argue if you
weren’t sure of the Savior’s meaning?

  But Philip seemed intent on doing just so. “Prophecies are not mere words, Jesus, they must be fulfilled. We cannot deviate from our course.”

  Judas knew the apostle referred to their long dissections of the Holy Scripture. So much was foretold of Jesus’ life, and they used the ancient words as a compass to guide their ministry.

  “You do not think I have seen this path since I was Ameil’s age? My coming to Jerusalem was prophesied, but it is I, alone, who chooses with whom I journey.”

  The rest appeared taken aback by the force of the Savior’s words, but Judas was not surprised. The closer they came to Jerusalem the more intent his friend had become. The more withdrawn. The more like the awkward child upon the river.

  The end was near. They all felt it.

  Rome and Jesus could not both lay claim to the Holy City.

  And by Scripture, it would be Christ to die and resurrect so that they might all be saved.

  CHAPTER 29

  Deep below Prince Island

  Dazed, and his earpiece buzzing incessantly, Tok allowed himself to be dragged down the rough dirt steps. His hooded guard guided him into the bowels of the mountain. They traveled deeper than even the destroyed chamber where Mary and the others had rested.

  Hot tears burnt in Tok’s eyes.

  The Virgin was gone. Smashed to ruin because of him.

  He should have died in that blaze, but Petir’s quick mind had gotten them out of the chamber before the world exploded into searing reds and oranges. But he did not think his mentor had saved him out of affection.

  No, as Tok’s feet slipped out from under him, and his guard scraped him along the root-encrusted stairs, he was certain that Petir wanted his student alive only so that he may answer for his weakness.

  So they descended deeper. Below any of the laboratories, beyond even the well that fed the monastery. Tok could feel the weight of earth pressing down upon him. Not for the punishment that was about to be meted out, but for his failings.