[Betrayed 01.0] 30 Pieces of Silver

by Carolyn McCray

  Brusquely, he was shoved to the base of the steps. Before him opened a judgment hall hewn out of the bedrock. It was black except for a single beam of light which shone harshly above to the center of the room. Around the edge, deep in shadow, stood an assembly of twelve hooded judges.

  His accusers. His jury.

  Was Petir amongst them? Would he be the first to recount Tok’s many crimes against the Knot? Would his dearest mentor indict his most unworthy student for hubris?

  How many times had Tok, himself, stood at the edge of that hall and decided another’s fate? But today it was his life that hung in the balance.

  The guard went to jerk him to his feet, but Tok knew the ritual. Without prodding, he stripped naked and then walked over to the natural spring that bubbled up into the volcanic rock and dipped his hands into the icy water. Slowly he washed every inch of his bloody and bruised body even though the frigid water stung his wounds and blanched his hand’s scars. But, no matter. One must be pure to face his fate.

  Donning the proffered loincloth, Tok stepped into the center of the room, taking care to resist the urge to shield his eyes from the harsh light. He deserved the scrutiny the Twelve now gave him.

  By the Knot, he should have been asked to answer for his crimes, but only silence greeted him. No lengthy questioning. No inquisition. No words at all.

  The only sound that pierced the still air was the scrape of wood against stone. Even under the bright light, Tok could feel his eyes dilate as the guard dragged a long stake into the center of the room and threw it down. Tok’s failures had been great, but this was a punishment so cruel it had never been dealt by the Knot. Mary had forbidden it.

  His muscles quaked even though he begged them not to as the guard guided the stake into a freshly dug hole and brought it upright. The thick wood now stood over seven feet high. The guard dropped another shorter plank and two metal spikes at the base of the stake.

  No wonder there was no need for discussion or inquiry.

  Tok had already been tried and convicted. His execution was ordered.

  Just like the man they had protected for over two millennia, Tok’s suffering would be upon the cross.

  * * *

  Brandt awoke with Rebecca curled asleep in his arms, but something was wrong. Davidson snored like a deaf eighty-year-old, but that wasn’t it. The arm under her head tingled with pins and needles, but that wasn’t it, either.

  The boat hit one, then another wave. Too long an interval. They were slowing. Carefully extracting himself from Rebecca, Brandt pulled on his dry pants as a weak light filtered under the hatch door. It had been longer than four hours since he had lain down, and Lopez hadn’t awakened him or Davidson. The corporal must have stayed at the helm the entire night.

  Barefoot, Brandt climbed the short staircase and stepped out into the early morning breeze.

  “Tell me you got some,” Lopez asked with a grin.

  Ignoring him, the sergeant squinted and could see land to their starboard. “What’s with the decreased speed?”

  “We’re about to hang a right into the Tiber.”

  Brandt was shocked, even though he shouldn’t have been. “We’re that close?”

  Lopez stroked the dash of the boat in a way that was somewhat unnatural. “I promised her a lube job if she got us in before zero seven hundred, local time.”

  With new appreciation, Brandt looked to the right. There was Italy. “How much longer until we reach Rome?”

  The corporal shrugged. “I can’t maintain anywhere close to these speeds on the river, so we’re looking at an ETA of twenty minutes, maybe half an hour.”

  That should have been good news, but Brandt’s stomach actually sank at how quickly he was going to have to put on his cover. Not only did he have to steal priest’s clothing, he actually had to wear them. The thought killed any buzz he might have had from spending the night with Rebecca.

  “Do you mind taking the binoculars and looking over our stern?”

  “Why?” the sergeant asked as he picked up the glasses and scanned the waters behind them.

  Lopez shrugged. “It’s probably nothing.”

  Brandt’s ears pricked up. Lopez wouldn’t have asked if it was nothing. But as the sergeant surveyed the relatively quiet Tyrrhenian Sea, there didn’t seem to be any threat.

  Groggy, Davidson climbed on deck rubbing his neck. “Who put my head inside a garbage can and kicked it around all night?”

  “My mama,” Lopez answered as the private swatted at the corporal but missed by a mile.

  “Take a look. You’ve got better eyes than I do,” Brandt said as he handed over the binoculars to the kid.

  Almost lazily, Davidson scanned the horizon. “Hey, is that the mouth to the Tiber up ahead?”

  “Yes, but I meant check out behind us.”

  “Oh, sorry.” The private yawned, then sucked in a breath. “Crap.”

  “What is it?” Brandt asked as Davidson fiddled with the knobs.

  “Get my rifle.”

  Not liking the sound of that, Brandt grabbed the weapon. “Here.”

  Fully awake, Davidson braced the barrel of the rifle on the back guardrail and knelt down to line up his sights. “We’ve got company.”

  “How many boats?”

  “Three.”

  Of course there were three.

  “And they are gaining on us,” Davidson added.

  Brandt turned to Lopez. “I thought you said this was the fastest boat in the world.”

  “No. I said this was the fastest long distance boat in the world. There are swifter crafts out there, but they aren’t rated for extended ocean travel.”

  “How much longer until they intercept?” the sergeant asked as Rebecca emerged from the hatch.

  If anything she was even prettier than she had been the night before. Her face had softened with sleep, and her eyes were unfocused and dreamy.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  No one answered as Davidson checked and rechecked his scope. “At this rate? Ten minutes at the most.”

  Rebecca cupped her hand and looked out over their wake. By now even the naked eye could make out the glint of their pursuers. She looked into his eyes. What could he say to her? How was she going to react?

  But instead of tears or panic, Rebecca simply sighed. “Fine. If we’re going to be attacked, I’ll go get dressed.”

  The simplicity of her reaction made him smile. Maybe last night his instincts weren’t wrong after all.

  * * *

  As she put on another pair of socks to fill up the room inside boots two sizes too big, Rebecca felt the boat make a sweeping right turn. They were on the Tiber. Rome was just a dozen kilometers up the river, yet with three boats on their tail it might as well be Cairo they were aiming for.

  “Hope you’re decent,” Davidson yelled as he clamored down the stairs and opened the storage cabinet under his bunk.

  “Are they catching up?”

  The private nodded as he grabbed fistfuls of Uzi clips. “They’ve got crazy speed. Lopez is having a cow.” He stumbled forward and dropped about half his payload as the boat was rocked by an explosion off to their left. “That would be the RPGs,” Davidson said casually as he gathered the clips and vaulted up the stairs.

  Rebecca finished tying her boots and followed the private on deck. In the brief moments she had been down in the hold, they had converted the boat into a gunship.

  Brandt fired into the distance, but clearly with little hope of hitting anything. “I think you should stay below deck.”

  Another RPG exploded closer on the left.

  “I seriously doubt it’s any safer down there.”

  The sergeant shrugged. “Stay by Lopez then, and keep him filled in.”

  Rebecca could see that every muscle in the corporal’s body wanted to turn him around toward the action, but taking the river at these speeds was even more dangerous than the open sea. Here there were shoals and silt deposits that could sh
atter their boat more effectively than any RPG.

  Brandt patted Davidson on the back. “You ready?”

  The private rotated his arm then nodded, sinking into a crouching position. Bracing the shoulder, Brandt knelt behind him. “Let ‘er rip.”

  Even Rebecca could see the lead boat, but the craft bounced off their wake, its nose catapulting high into the air, then crashing back down. She didn’t think even Davidson could make that shot. The private concentrated, then pulled his eyes away from the scope, flexing his fingers.

  “Problem?” Brandt asked.

  “Just got to get into the zone.”

  Davidson leaned into position and began measuring his breath just as he had done back in Belgium as he prepared to take out the escape car.

  “Speed up,” he said to Lopez who was more than willing to comply. “Right there.”

  Two more breaths and he pulled the trigger. At first it appeared to be a miss, then the boat swerved sharply to the left, cutting directly in front of the second craft. Their speed did more damage than Davidson. The second boat cut the first in half, igniting a billowing cloud of fire. Whether it was damage from the collision or the inferno, the second craft sputtered to a stop and tipped backward, sinking before their eyes.

  “That is so what I am talking about!” Lopez whooped. “Dude, you can have a turn with my sister after a shot like that!”

  Unlike their usual banter, Davidson remained focused on his last target, but the boat zig-zagged through the water. He took two more shots with no response, then jerked his rifle upright.

  “I don’t want to waste the ammo.”

  Brandt nodded. “At least you’ve made them more cautious.”

  Clearly their pursuers had backed off and receded into the distance. They’d even stopped firing the RPGs. At least for now.

  “Looks like docking isn’t going to be an option,” Brandt commented.

  But the corporal just wore his patented Cheshire cat grin. “Oh, don’t you worry. I’ve got a plan, and it rocks.”

  Despite the confidence in Lopez’s voice, Rebecca was worried.

  Very worried.

  * * *

  Tok clenched his jaw as the guard-turned-executioner placed the spike against his skin. The dull metal point touched right above the wrist, between the ulna and radius. The hooded figure raised a heavy mallet and with a single stroke pounded the iron through his flesh, then deep into the wood.

  For once Tok was glad to be mute so that no one could hear his scream. The pain radiated from his wrist to his shoulder and then lanced his heart. It took his breath from his lungs. The room alternated black and blindingly white. His vision betrayed him, confused by the waves of nausea.

  Too soon the second spike was placed over his right hand. The hand that had endured so much pain already. The hand that had survived eight surgeries. The executioner cared as little as the Romans and pounded the dull spike between the bones of his wrist.

  Tok’s breath caught, and he could not release it. The pain became a physical entity in the room, chasing away his thoughts and driving the air from his chest.

  In his mind, he begged for any other punishment. The harshest scourging. Drowning, anything but this. Unswayed, the guard tugged the crossbeam upward, forcing Tok to his feet, the wood heavy across his shoulders. With a heave, the guard lifted him by his skewered wrists onto the cross itself.

  In that moment of searing agony, Tok honestly could not remember what he had done that deserved such cruelty.

  Skin tore and muscles frayed under the strain. He gasped for air as the weight of his body kept his ribs from expanding. How could men survive for days like this? He would barely last an hour.

  “Sit,” his executioner demanded.

  Confused, Tok felt a narrow plank attached to the cross. He maneuvered his body so that the narrow seat supported most of his weight. Relief flowed through him.

  He could breathe!

  His wrists would forever be useless, but he could breathe!

  Then he realized that it was no act of kindness to offer the seat. Instead it allowed the executioner to align his ankles over one another.

  Tok’s pride wished him to be still and accept his punishment like a warrior, but something deeper and more primordial took over, and his legs flailed, kicking at the man and his damned spike.

  But the executioner was prepared for his brutal task and allowed Tok to writhe until the pain in his wrists sapped his strength. Weak and panting, he could not put up any resistance as the hooded guard wedged his ankles between the wood and his body.

  Clenching every muscle in his body, Tok felt the spike drive through one ankle, but the man had not hit hard enough and the metal tip bounced off his left tibia.

  God, no! Was all Tok could think as the executioner realigned the spike, grinding the metal against the ankle already pierced.

  Harder than he ever had before, Tok tried to shout. But only an incoherent garble came from his throat as another swing jarred his entire body, and his ankles were nailed to the cross.

  Anger, shame, and self-pity coursed through his veins.

  How had their savior willingly offered himself to such suffering?

  CHAPTER 30

  Tiber River, Italy

  “That’s not a plan,” Rebecca said, hand on her hip. Lopez was insane. Crazy. Out of his mind. “It’s suicide.”

  But rushing toward the bend in the river, no one was listening.

  “Everyone below deck,” Brandt ordered as he urged her forward.

  She went to argue, but his firm grip didn’t invite discussion. If Lopez’s plan had any chance of working it required their pursuers to see them go into the hatch before they made the last curve toward Rome.

  Davidson was the first down, already disassembling his rifle, packing the pieces into his clothing. The sergeant crammed weapons into his pants.

  “I say we think this through,” Rebecca implored. She was banged up. Hell, they were all banged up, but through no fault of their own. Even cutting to half speed, this “plan” of Lopez’s would change that, putting them squarely in harm’s way.

  The corporal’s stomp sounded above their heads. In a rush, they climbed back onto the deck. Rebecca glanced over their stern. The other boat was out of sight. In front of them, and coming up fast, was the Ponte Rotto Bridge. A bridge constructed of solid stone. Stone that would crush them if they made a single misstep.

  “Move out,” Brandt said as Davidson climbed over the windshield onto the boat’s hood as it hauled ass at over a hundred miles per hour, hitting the water with something akin to a ton of pressure per square inch.

  In a single leap, Brandt cleared the windshield. “You can do this.”

  Rebecca doubted that, but she accepted his hand and soon the three of them balanced on the slick hood as the archway rushed toward them.

  “On my mark,” the sergeant growled as Lopez cut the throttle, gripping her hand tightly. “Three… Two…”

  She could see crags in the stone’s surface as Brandt yelled, “One!”

  Launching herself, Rebecca flew through the air. The “plan” was to land and roll onto the bridge itself, but she got nowhere near that height. Slamming into the stone guardrail, her hands scrambled for purchase as Lopez hit the gas and his windshield whisked under her. The water would break any fall, but the other boat was due around the corner at any moment.

  Then the sergeant was there and Davidson too. They hauled her up and over the edge in a single motion. They even cushioned her landing.

  She really, really, really needed to get some of these guys for her fieldwork.

  * * *

  “Get down!” Brandt hissed as they all went to their bellies.

  The sound of the other boat roared down the river, but then slowed. Had they seen Rebecca dangling there? Their engine sputtered as the driver cut the power. The vessel was built for high torque, not idling.

  “Should we scramble?” Davidson whispered.

  Brandt shook
his head tersely. They had to wait it out. There were too many gaps in the stone railing. If they tried to rabbit, they’d be spotted. No, they were safer pulling a possum behind the stone facade.

  Then a huge metal hook flew over the retaining wall.

  They were discovered.

  “Move!” he hissed, but Rebecca held his arm.

  “Wait. Don’t you hear that?”

  Sure enough another engine screamed in complaint. Only Lopez could make a machine beg for mercy so desperately.

  “Suckers! I knew you’d do that!” he yelled.

  Brandt risked a glance over the edge to find the corporal aiming his boat right at their pursuer’s boat. The two vessels collided in a crash of metal and fire that heated through even the thick stone.

  “Go!”

  They sprinted across the bridge, finally ducking between two buildings as the neighborhood poured out to see the spectacle.

  So much for stealth.

  * * *

  Tok kept his eyes tightly closed. Tears still somehow snuck out the corners, but he refused to sob. He had already shamed himself too greatly. He would not add to his humiliation, but the nails crushed tender tissue between coarse metal and his own bone.

  Agony was too gentle a word for the pain. Waves of nausea threatened, but with a firm resolve, he kept his teeth clenched. He would not give the Twelve the satisfaction of seeing him lose his stomach.

  The sound of whispered prayer filled the small subterranean chamber. The Twelve’s words soaking into the dirt walls. If Tok had not turned his implants to high before entering the room, he would not have been able to hear their hushed words. And so many of those words were new to the world. They were spoken from the bones just recovered.

  Pain was not the only source of his stinging tears. He could feel the rebuke in each of their voices. To hear of James’ regret after the crucifixion and his quest to redeem himself hurt in a way he never imagined. To know he would die before he knew the full truth of this great man’s life. He would die before finding Him. It was crueler than even the spikes through his flesh.

  A stirring passed through the room. Squinting against the bright light, Tok looked at the Twelve. They were of bent heads, consulting in tones low enough not even his amplifiers could overhear—then one stepped forward.