[Betrayed 01.0] 30 Pieces of Silver

by Carolyn McCray

  “New rule,” the sergeant said as he dusted himself off. “No touching, pulling, or lifting ancient artifacts until I get the fuck out of the way.”

  Brandt sounded like the fall was twenty feet longer than it was, but then again he had been on the bottom of the pileup.

  Rebecca apologized. “Sorry. I didn’t even think that could be a release latch, but I should have, I mean—”

  Shaking it off, the sergeant offered her an outstretched hand. “I didn’t think of it either until the last second, but new rule number two. When traveling with you, we carry at least a couple dozen glow sticks.”

  As he pulled her to her feet, they found their sole flashlight had cracked a lens, and Brandt had to squeeze the casing together to get any illumination out of it. But once he did, Rebecca wished they were still in darkness since the entire tunnel was covered in skeletons. At eye level were a row of skulls, their fleshless faces staring blankly into the darkness.

  “Shall we?” Brandt asked pointing the flashlight down the only corridor open to them.

  With a gulp, Rebecca followed the sergeant, who traveled exceptionally slowly. He took a single step at a time, testing the bony ground beneath his foot before walking forward, but she didn’t complain.

  The crypt above had spooked her bad enough, but now that the trapdoor echoed the entrance to the tomb back at the Vatican, she was even more shaken. Clearly someone within the Order, at some time in its long history, had knowledge of the Knot and Christ’s resting place.

  But as they crept along a floor made of ribs and spine, Rebecca feared that such forbidden knowledge had twisted the monks, triggering the bizarre bone art up above and now here deep in the earth. Instead of embracing life, the monks had become fascinated with death. Their own mortality gruesomely displayed for all to see.

  Rebecca couldn’t help but wonder if they didn’t want to hurry hers along as well.

  * * *

  They reached a staircase which was, of course, made of bones.

  These monks were plain fucked up.

  Brandt didn’t want to touch the femur-lined railing but also didn’t want to trust the humerus steps. The lattice staircase had some give so that each footfall made it feel like the plank wasn’t going to hold, and he’d had just about enough falling for an entire lifetime. Cautious to the point of paranoia, the sergeant led Rebecca down the spiral stairs.

  Gun up, Brandt check above and below him before descending another step. If this truly was the resting place of Christ or even if these freaked-out Capuchins just thought it was, they were in danger.

  Finally they reached the landing, which was thankfully devoid of bones. Stamping his boot into the dirt, he made sure there wasn’t another surprise. Confident there was only earth beneath his feet, Brandt stepped onto the small clearing.

  Panning the area, he found nothing amiss which made him even more concerned. The only thing differentiating this landing from the tunnel was a dull roar echoing off the low ceiling. Making sure to survey their periphery, Brandt moved them forward, but he checked and double-checked his corners as the sound became deafening.

  Then they ran out of landing. The ground fell off at a sharp cliff with a raging river far below. They walked the length of the edge, but found no stairs. No way down.

  “Okay. Rule number three. Always come equipped with mountain climbing gear,” Brandt rumbled, pissed that he didn’t have fifty feet of rope.

  As he formulated a plan to shoot open the trapdoor, gather his team, then rappel down the ledge, Rebecca asked, “What do we do now?”

  “Help us find the tomb,” a voice suggested from behind.

  * * *

  Brandt was already firing by the time Rebecca recognized the voice as Petir’s. Answering bullets flew from the tunnel, trapping them against the cliff’s edge. They had nowhere to go. It would only be a matter of time before a stray bullet caught one of them.

  The ledge crumbled under the sergeant’s boot, but somehow he caught his balance. “Get ready,” he said as the gunfire’s echo became louder than the river.

  “For what?” Rebecca asked, but Brandt didn’t answer. He just tackled her, throwing them both over the edge of the cliff as an RPG sailed overhead, finally exploding on the far wall, showering debris.

  They fell through the air, weightless, arms flailing until the sergeant grabbed her, stabilizing their fall. “Head down!”

  Clinging to his back, legs wrapped around his waist, Rebecca tucked her head into his chest, but it still felt like her neck almost snapped when they hit the water. Then they were churned under and Brandt’s hand slipped from hers. It was like a washing machine. Not a wimpy Maytag, but a frigid, industrial-strength washing machine with bullets zinging past you for added agitation.

  River froth in her mouth, Rebecca gasped for air as the water spit her up then sucked her under just as quickly. She had a brief glimpse of the sergeant, but he was pulled under before she could be sure he was still alive.

  Rebecca could no longer tell up from down, right from left. Was she even kicking in the correct direction? Then Brandt caught the back of her shirt, hurling her up and out. She landed with a thud onto a sandy beach before the river dove deep into the earth.

  Panting, Rebecca crawled over to the sergeant who was heaving mouthfuls of gritty water from his lungs. His lips were tinged purple, and blood coursed down the side of his face, another blow to the temple.

  She was worried until Brandt commented, “Lopez is going to be pissed he missed that ride.”

  Instinctually she pulled him into her arms and hugged him. Hugged him for saving them one more time.

  * * *

  Brandt returned the hug, not so much out of affection but to keep his balance. He felt queasy and dizzy, but he didn’t want Rebecca to worry. Her grip was like a vise, panic-fueled.

  They had been carried well past the plateau so Petir and his mute boss didn’t have a clear shot, but that didn’t mean the two weren’t correcting that problem. They needed to get up and away.

  “Come on,” he encouraged. Rebecca was on her feet within seconds, but he stumbled to his knees as he tried to take a step.

  “What’s wrong?”

  The sergeant didn’t know until he felt a warm trickle down his leg.

  “You’ve been shot!”

  And the doctor wasn’t wrong. She pulled up his shirt to reveal a bullet wound oozing a steady stream of blood.

  “Check for an exit wound,” Brandt urged.

  Rebecca felt up and down his back. “Nothing.” From the look on her face, she knew as he did that this was a bad sign. A very bad sign.

  Out of the icy cold water, the throbbing pounded behind his eyes, threatening to overwhelm his vision. But lying here wasn’t going to find the bullet or stop the bleeding.

  Braced for the pain and his weakened left leg, Brandt rose.

  “What do you think you’re doing? You’ve got a bullet bouncing around in your pelvis!”

  “Got any better ideas?” he asked, tearing off a strip of his shirt to use as a bandage.

  Rebecca’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, but nothing better came out.

  “Then I guess we are moving out.”

  * * *

  At first Brandt had shrugged off her help, but now he leaned heavily into her as they followed the beach up a slight incline. As they crested the rise, Rebecca glanced over to find the sergeant already seeping through his crude bandage.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  She thought Brandt was referring to his wound until she looked up to find a wall, inscribed with Hebrew, Latin, Aramaic, and Greek. The languages of Christ. But that wasn’t the problem. The sergeant was cursing at the opening of a maze that lay before them.

  “This is not good,” she added as she peered down the multiple entrances. None looking welcoming.

  “No shit. Like all the rest wasn’t bad enough. Now a fucking labyrinth.”

  “Actually, it’s a maze.”

 
; Brandt leaned against the wall, checking his bandage, cringing when he found it bright red. The sergeant ripped another strip of shirt as he spoke, “And the difference would be?”

  Rebecca peered into the darkened passage. There was no obvious threat, but the tangled path before them filled her with foreboding. But how could she explain why?

  “Actually the difference is important,” she said as she helped him wrap the cloth around his midsection. “A labyrinth, especially associated with Jewish mysticism, is supposed to be open. The pathway is meant to hone your focus. To bring your consciousness to a single point so that you might heal or find enlightenment. There are even finger labyrinths to help you achieve the same sense of serenity while sitting at your office desk.”

  Flinching, the sergeant gritted his teeth as she cinched the tie. “Then what’s a maze?” he asked.

  “A corruption of the ideal. The labyrinth is supposed to set you free. A maze is meant to confuse you. Trap you.”

  Testing his balance, Brandt asked. “And reward you in the end?”

  “That’s the problem,” she said, her tone lowering. “Just like they twisted the Jewish tradition of honoring their dead, these monks have perverted the path to enlightenment. To be honest, I’m worried.”

  To her surprise, Brandt chuckled. “Really? Just now is the first time you’ve felt worried?”

  “You know what I meant.”

  “Yeah,” he said, with a pained smile on his face. “If you’re worried, then I’m pulling my gun.”

  * * *

  Brandt used the wall as support as he crept forward into the maze. Rebecca wasn’t exactly behind him, but neither was she at his side. Her expression made it clear she expected him to fall over at any moment. She should have known he was made of sterner stuff.

  “There’s a Star of David,” Rebecca said, reaching out.

  He blocked her hand. “What did I tell you about touching ancient artifacts?”

  “I wasn’t going to handle it. I was going to point out that there’s a thin piece of metal attached to the back of it.”

  On closer inspection, Brandt found the trip wire. They both checked the floor. It felt solid as solid could be. Plus, how much deeper could they go before hitting magma?

  “Should we risk it?” she asked.

  So far, the symbols had only helped them. Hurt them first, but ultimately helped them. “I think we have to.” He put his gun into its holster and pulled out his silencer. “Stay behind me.”

  Ever so slowly he used the muzzle to pull the Star of David from the wall. Immediately another, much larger and far sharper star flew out from the opposite wall, impaling itself deeply into the wood. If Rebecca had still been standing there, she would have been dead.

  “Like I said, corrupted,” the doctor commented.

  Brandt stared at the metal sticking from the wood. Men of faith did not act like this. “No, these monks are now officially fucking crazy.”

  * * *

  Drenched, Tok dragged himself up the gentle slope of the river bank. He had intended to travel at least halfway up, but his muscles gave out and he flopped onto his back, panting from the exertion. The turbulent river had tapped any reserve he might have had.

  Petir was at his side. “Master, I begged you to wait on the plateau for my return.”

  “And allow you all this glory?” Tok tried to interject some levity into their dire circumstances, but accomplished only making himself cough.

  “Your bandages are saturated.”

  He should have risen at least into a sitting position, but Tok was so beyond the effects of vanity and pride. God had brought him low.

  Tok had thought he would ride into this battle high atop his horse, breathing fire, vanquishing all that stood in his path. Instead he could barely walk. Such was God’s wisdom.

  His mentor opened the medical pack, pulling out fresh bandages. Petir assumed the worst, yet somehow brought about the best.

  “Please allow me to administer another dose of narcotic.”

  Tok shook his head sharply, but pride did not prevent him from accepting any further pain medication. Instead it was a matter of practicality. He knew he would need every neuron firing precisely to survive this night.

  After applying the dressing, Petir still fussed with his feet. Having to use a concentrated effort, Tok lifted his head to find his mentor fitting splints onto his damaged ankles.

  “I told you, no!” he said, trying to pull his feet from the older man.

  “Please do not make me say it, Tok.”

  Cheeks burning, he looked away, knowing exactly what Petir implied. Tok would only slow his mentor. Unless they found a way to make him sound of leg, he would be a hindrance. There was his damnable pride again. What did two plastic braces matter in the grand scheme?

  But somehow it did matter to him. “I will be strong enough,” he said more to himself than to his mentor.

  Petir rose, gripped his shoulder, locking his gaze. “From the moment I found you under those bolts of cloth, I never doubted that you would be strong enough, Tok. I never doubted.”

  * * *

  Rebecca came to a stop as they reached yet another dead end. By now Brandt wasn’t even bothering to conceal the fact that the wall was the only thing holding him up.

  “That’s it,” the sergeant said, almost sounding relieved. “We’ve exhausted all the possibilities.”

  On one hand, Brandt was correct. Keeping a running tally on her sleeve they had made note of every bifurcation and turn. They had gone down every available path to find only switchbacks and dead ends.

  On the other hand, he was wrong. Rebecca suspected that the monks might be crazy, but clever as well. They had rigged the first symbol with a deadly trap, making any who wandered the maze afraid to test any of the other items. But what if one of them opened a new path? Why build a maze that had no exit?

  It was a test, and so far they had failed.

  Until now they had avoided touching any adornment, but now she feared they were going to have to pony up.

  She glanced over to find Brandt studying her. He sighed. “Just tell me the bad news straight out.”

  “We’ve got to see if any of the objects open another passage.”

  The sergeant didn’t seem at all surprised. “That’s pretty much what I’d figured. I was just hoping I was wrong.”

  Rebecca offered her shoulder. He didn’t decline as she continued, “I saw a silver cross that caught my eye four turns ago. It was the only one with the figure of Christ on it.”

  “Seems a little obvious, don’t you think?”

  She shrugged. “Which is probably why I didn’t try it when we passed it, but now…You got any better ideas?”

  Brandt didn’t even seem to have the energy to argue anymore. And whatever stamina he had left was challenged as they retraced their steps down the four long passageways. By the time they reached the small cross, he was sweating. Not the type of perspiration from a good, hard work-out, but the clammy, damp skin you got when you had the stomach flu and felt like death warmed over.

  He feebly went to get his silencer, but Rebecca grabbed it.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Making sure Brandt was well out of harm’s way, she gently lifted the cross from its perch. At first nothing happened, then the walls began to rumble.

  “Oh, crap,” Brandt said, hobbling backward, clearly not wanting to fall down another trapdoor, but the floor stayed firm beneath their feet.

  The rumbling built to a crescendo, then the distinctive sound of wood scraping against stone sounded from far off.

  “A wall is moving!” she exclaimed, but Brandt frowned.

  “Yeah, except it’s all the way on the other side of the maze.”

  Rebecca wanted to argue, but it was a good ten- to fifteen-minute walk from here, and the sergeant didn’t look like he’d make it another ten feet.

  CHAPTER 36

  Deep beneath Rome

  Both Tok and Petir stared thr
ough the recently opened passage. They had feared the maze was going to tumble down upon them, but instead a wall slid open, bidding them forward. It was clear that Brandt and Monroe had been through here already, for they had marked the walls with a single slash to signify one transit and two for any return trip indicating a dead end.

  They were about to bypass this segment when the walls quaked, and, like a miracle, the way was cleared.

  God truly worked in mysterious ways.

  But Petir had also found a fatally sharp star embedded in the wall. They had cautiously tested a gilded fish to find it also rigged with deadly efficiency. Now this secret passage. Was it a gilded idol?

  “We must have faith,” Petir intoned, answering Tok’s unspoken question.

  Without argument, he allowed his mentor to enter first. The older man took several steps, then nodded for Tok to follow. They were clear of the maze, only to find another riddle before them.

  Stretching out were dozens of caves, each with a unique entrance. From stained glass to rotting curtains, all manner of doors were represented. One even resembled the panel they found under the Blue Mosque.

  There were dozens of choices, and Tok was certain that the wrong one would be a fatal mistake. But he had no concern, for he already knew which the most blessed cave was. He had not lived his life within the Knot and spent so many nights with the bones of Mary to not know instinctively which cave was the one that held the savior.

  Ignoring the lancing pain in his heels, Tok walked straight for the cave whose opening was blocked by a large boulder. Petir must have sensed the rightness of it, for he was but a step behind.

  * * *

  Brandt could feel blood seeping through his bandage, but he didn’t bother telling Rebecca. They were so close. They had checked two paths to find them still blocked. There was only one other that could have opened.

  If it wasn’t already closed. But the sergeant refused to go negative. They were going to find Christ’s bones, and he was going to have enough blood to finish this mission. It was just that simple. A defeat of this magnitude wasn’t in his game plan.