[Betrayed 01.0] 30 Pieces of Silver

by Carolyn McCray

  “Look, there’s light!” Rebecca announced, hurrying forward. “There’s caves! It’s not too far.”

  He should have stopped her from walking out into the open, but he just didn’t have the energy. That was until the muzzle of a gun crept nearer and nearer to her neck. Forgetting his injury, Brandt was through the opening, his gun to the temple of her attacker.

  “Whoa! Sarge!” the private yelled. “It’s me, Davidson!”

  Eyes blurred with pain, he almost didn’t recognize his own teammate. “What? How?”

  It was Rebecca who urged his arm down, lowering the gun away from his private’s skull.

  “Tok and Petir came in. I tried to get a shot, but they slipped in too quick. I didn’t know what to do, so I followed.”

  Rebecca hugged the younger man. “I’m so glad you did. Brandt’s injured.”

  “Where?” but then Davidson must have spotted the growing crimson stain as the younger man’s eyes dilated. “Crap. I should have brought Lopez.”

  Brandt tried to shoo him away, but his knees gave out, that last charge sapped his reserve. Rebecca and Davidson lowered him to the ground.

  * * *

  Fighting off panic, she put pressure on Brandt’s abdomen, looking at Davidson. “Did you bring any medical supplies? We lost ours in the river.”

  “River, what river?” the private asked as he pulled out a field kit.

  It wasn’t until then that Rebecca realized Davidson wasn’t wet at all. Not even his cuffs were damp. “How did you get here?”

  “Across the bridge and then—” The private stopped mid-sentence. “You mean you guys jumped into that river? The river, like, too far down to even see?”

  “Yeah.” How casual it sounded now. “How did you get across?”

  With real bandaging material, Davidson helped Rebecca properly bind Brandt’s abdomen as he explained. “The rope bridge. Wasn’t it there when you crossed?”

  Rebecca shook her head. Had Tok and Petir somehow erected a bridge in so short a time? The Knot was good, yet that feat seemed even beyond them. “But how did you exit the maze ahead of us?”

  “What maze?” the private asked, looking more confused. “I just followed the bridge to an outcropping of rock that led to a super long staircase that dumped out right over there.”

  Davidson pointed behind them. They were at an angle, but sure enough there were steps leading up and away.

  “Thank God, there’s another way out.” Rebecca had not voiced it, but she had feared they were never going to get Brandt to the world outside. He couldn’t face another rough ride in the icy waters, especially trying to swim upstream. But now, now they could get him to safety.

  “Help me get him out of here.”

  The private complied, but Brandt shook his head. “We’re here. We can’t abort now.

  “You might not be able to, but I sure as hell can,” Rebecca argued.

  The private caught her arm. “If you tell me which cave, we’ll get the sarge to a hospital, then Lopez and I can come back and collect the bones.”

  Offhandedly, Rebecca indicated to a cave. As soon as she had seen the array, she had known where Christ lay. “It’s that one.”

  “How can you be sure?” the sergeant asked, with more than a little effort. The antibiotics and painkillers that Davidson had just pumped into him were taking effect.

  “You remember your Bible, right?” Even doped, Brandt was able to scare up a good sneer. “All right, then, what did Christ’s tomb look like?”

  The sergeant had to fight to concentrate, then licked his lips. “It was a simple chamber hewn out of rock with a single ossuary table in the center.”

  Davidson’s eyebrow arched. “Yeah, but we can’t see inside them.”

  Rebecca was going to let Brandt field that one, but the sergeant’s eyelids just lulled, so she answered, “True, but we also know that the apostles rolled a large stone in front of the cave to thwart thieves from disturbing the body for the three days it was interred.”

  The younger man surveyed the variety of entrances. Many were gilded, most were beautiful renderings of some biblical parable, but only one was a simple smooth stone. “So they went old school.”

  The sergeant grabbed hold of Davidson’s arm. “Help me up.”

  “No,” she begged. “Just let us—”

  * * *

  Brandt interrupted, “I’m not coming this far and not seeing for myself.”

  His look must have been stern enough because Rebecca didn’t bother to argue. The truth was the meds had given him a second wind. He knew it wouldn’t last long, but the cave was only a few yards away.

  “Davidson, do your thing.”

  As the private moved off to secure a sniper position, Rebecca whispered to Brandt, “I don’t know if I can get you over there.”

  “I’m good,” he said, supporting his own weight. Walking on his own two feet. It didn’t just feel good, it felt damned good.

  But before they could cross the short distance, the stone rolled away from the cave’s opening. Pulling his weapon, he already knew who was coming out. The fuckers had beaten them to it.

  “Halt!” he yelled, knowing full well they wouldn’t.

  Petir and Tok came out, guns at the ready, but the sergeant noticed that the shorter man’s arm shook, and the weapon seemed too heavy for him. Not that Brandt was faring much better. His blood pressure must have shot up because he could feel moisture seeping from his bandage.

  The taller man sounded confident, except his eyes kept flickering to Tok. “Leave now, and we shall seek no retribution.”

  “Little late for that, buddy.” He might have been more interested in the offer if Davidson wasn’t his ace in the hole. “Lower your weapons.”

  Tok hobbled forward as he locked Brandt’s gaze. Petir’s words followed. “You have sorely miscalculated, Sergeant. Leave or die.”

  Okay, Brandt was officially sick of this fucker. “Fire!”

  But nothing happened. Tok’s smile became savage as he signed rapidly. But who the hell was he signing to? Petir was behind him.

  Glancing over his shoulder, the sergeant watched Davidson leave his sniper position and walk out into the open. “Damn it, fire.”

  Then the private crossed the invisible line that separated friend from foe, embracing Tok. “Bro!”

  “Samuel,” Petir said, as he too hugged the younger man.

  “What the hell?”

  Davidson shrugged. “Don’t be so judgmental. We’re adopted.”

  But how could that be? Brandt had met the private’s family. Been to his grandfather’s log cabin on Lake Michigan. Obviously this ruse had been established well before they had ever met.

  Rebecca stammered, “Davidson, how…? I saw you shoot that driver. You killed the Knot’s men in Istanbul.”

  “Deep cover, babe. I did nothing to endanger my position until my man, Tok, gave the signal. Now it’s all about family.”

  That pit in Brandt’s stomach sucked his heart in as well. Svengurd truly had been innocent. The farm-fresh Davidson had been the mole the entire time. His vision darkened, and not from blood loss. How could he have missed a deception this great?

  “Kill them,” Petir ordered Davidson.

  At this distance, they were dead. Hell, with the private at the trigger, a hundred yards out they’d still be dead, but Davidson’s face clouded over and his gun stayed down at his side.

  Even though his meds were bleeding out his bullet wound, Brandt stepped in front of Rebecca. Maybe he could use Davidson’s reluctance to their favor. “You’re not that guy who can shoot an innocent woman, Davidson.”

  “They know,” Petir intoned. “So they must die.”

  Bracing himself, the private slung his rifle into position, wrapping his hand around the harness to secure his grip. There was no talking their way out of this one.

  “Once I shoot, run,” Brandt whispered to Rebecca. She wouldn’t make it two feet, not with Tok and Petir armed, but a
t the least Brandt wouldn’t have to see her die.

  But then all thoughts of Rebecca faded as he faced off against Davidson. At the least, Brandt would take out the traitor before he fell.

  A life for a life.

  Then the ceiling bloomed brightly as a dozen cappuccino-brown robed monks rappelled from the roof, wielding silver swords.

  * * *

  Rebecca ducked as the bullets flew. Brandt fell to one knee, but not from Davidson’s shot. The private had been bowled over backward by a Capuchin attack.

  She couldn’t help but scream as a wild-eyed monk, his skin stretched taut over his face like his long-mummified brothers, ran at her, his sword glistening in the light. The sergeant shoved her to the ground as he spun and fired. Two shots. Two holes in the man’s head.

  “Get somewhere safe!” Brandt yelled.

  More than willing to comply, Rebecca just wasn’t sure if there was anywhere that matched his description. Tok, Petir, and Davidson had scattered, but the monks were everywhere. Turning, she found the entrance to the maze, but two monks brandished their weapons. There was no going back there. Then she saw it.

  The open cave.

  “Come on!” she said, tugging Brandt, but the sergeant didn’t budge. He was too focused on shooting at Davidson to the exclusion of all else. “Oh no, you don’t.”

  Rebecca felt as betrayed by the conniving private as much as Brandt, but she wasn’t going to let that emotion kill them both. Adrenaline was hyping the sergeant up, but he had lost a lot of blood. Bracing herself, she jerked the sergeant backward. Unable to resist, he stumbled after her.

  “Damn it!” Brandt shouted, but she ignored him as she guided them into the shelter of the cave.

  He still tried to fire madly into the fray, but Rebecca pulled him behind the rock. “Stop. Just stop!”

  “Davidson… He… Svengurd…”

  “He is the least of our problems right now.” Off his look, she conceded, “Okay, maybe he’s a big part of it, but you have got to think. Use this chaos to our advantage. Figure out how we can get the hell out of here.”

  Still his eyes remained unfocused, and his mind distracted. So she did the only thing she could think of.

  Rebecca kissed him. Hard and demanding. Now was not the time for romance. It was time for a wake-up call. When he finally responded, she pulled back enough to look into his eyes. “I need you.”

  * * *

  Brandt would have loved to respond, but a monk came at her with his sword high over his head, both hands on the pommel, ready to strike.

  Three bullets and the guy was dead, along with his friend trying to sneak up from the side. He urged Rebecca deeper into the cave. “Go. Take a look while I figure it out.”

  Another five bullets, and Petir was flushed from his hiding spot. Maybe Rebecca was right. This was doable. They could make it out alive, but then he felt his wet bandage. He might not make it out, but he sure as hell was going to guarantee she did.

  “I can help,” Rebecca said as gunfire brought them to the ground.

  “Doing exactly what?” he asked, then regretted his harsh tone. “When we rabbit, it’ll be fast. Make the best of it now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  With his one good arm, Brandt pulled her in and kissed her full on the lips. “I’m sure. Now go.”

  * * *

  As she crept farther and farther into the darkened cave, all Rebecca could hear was the chaos echoing from the entrance. Strangely, what calmed her panic was figuring out who was firing at whom. It sounded like Davidson had found himself a vantage point due to the clean, crisp, precise shots that rang off the cavern walls. Each was always followed by a scream.

  Before, she would have been grateful. But now she knew the private’s accuracy would soon be aimed at them. But the deeper she went into the cave the more the battle seemed far away and irrelevant. A smell somewhere between sweet and stale lingered in the air. Then she realized it was the scent of myrrh and burial spices. With all the commotion, Rebecca had forgotten whose tomb she had entered.

  Christ’s.

  Slowing her step, she approached the only object in the chamber. It was a low, flat rock with a single skeleton gracing its surface. Rebecca reminded herself how many tombs she and Lochum had found and how many skeletons had been exhumed, and none of them had been Christ, but that didn’t quiet the butterflies in her stomach.

  Without approaching too closely, she circled the body. He wore a crown of thorns. The markings of the iron spikes clear on his wrists and ankles. The remains were no doubt a male, between thirty and forty-five years old. Rebecca could also make out tiny inscriptions in the bone, but could not read them from this distance.

  A part of her didn’t want to get any closer. Finding Christ in theory sounded intriguing and just a little heroic. Finding Jesus in reality was intimidating and more than a little scary.

  Where the hell was Lochum? The professor would have already shoved past her, inspected the entire body, and already be reading scripture from the bones. But here she stood too timid to come within an arm’s length of the skeleton. Rebecca didn’t think she could do this alone.

  Glancing toward the cave opening, the bright muzzle flashes told her that the sergeant was otherwise occupied. Besides, Rebecca knew that this would be one discovery Brandt would not be happy to find. She would leave him to his battle while she began hers.

  Gulping, Rebecca took another step forward. Trying to summon up some semblance of professional detachment, Rebecca leaned over to study the skull. These letters were far tinier than any of the other bones. It was as if someone had tried to cram double the information onto these remains. Having to squint, Rebecca concentrated on the area just above the thorny crown. Without a magnifying glass she could only make out three words.

  Cross.

  Golgotha.

  Christos.

  Stumbling back, Rebecca read the next line.

  Here lies a Son of God.

  * * *

  Brandt had to keep himself from constantly checking over his shoulder. Rebecca would let him know if she found… Well, what they were looking for.

  But these fucking monks were maniacs, trying to kill anyone who wasn’t wearing a brown robe. Add that to Davidson taking potshots at his head as frequently as he could, and Brandt was a little busy.

  Tok had holed up somewhere to his left, taking shelter in one of the caves. Petir had tried to get back into the maze a while ago, but even armed, the older man had to retreat in the face of the monk’s ferocious attacks.

  Tightening the wrap, Brandt realized he had soaked through completely. The sergeant wasn’t sure how much blood he had left.

  Rebecca had tasked him with formulating a plan to get out of here, but she wasn’t going to like it. Looking at the kill zone, there was no way they were both getting out of here alive. Even if you assumed the monks would be severely thinned, that still left three guns, one of them an expert sniper.

  Which left him the only option, to lie to her. He would tell Rebecca that he would stay behind only long enough to provide cover fire, then join her, but Brandt doubted if he could even crawl halfway across the open space, let alone run across it and up the steep stairs toward freedom.

  No, in reality, he would lay down cover fire, but once Davidson rose to take the kill shot, Brandt would nail the little fucker between the eyes. Rebecca should be able to rush up the stairs past the private’s bloody body and get the hell out of there before Brandt was either sliced to ribbons by the monks or gunned down between Petir and Tok’s positions.

  While he solidified the plan, an arrow narrowly missed his shoulder and bounced off the rock. Turning, Brandt fired and didn’t miss his quarry. But another three arrows rained down upon him. Scrambling deeper behind the rock, the sergeant cursed.

  He was going to have to update his fucking plan.

  * * *

  Mesmerized by the tiny scrawled writings, Rebecca let the names and words flow past her eyes. The Twel
ve were well represented. Especially James, Philip, and, of course, Judas. But the Thirty were also in abundance. Magdalene, Ruth, and Ameil. In addition, there were others she had not seen before. Deliah, Sevat, and Turvas.

  Give her a year and a dozen grad students, and Rebecca could rewrite the Bible. There was so much she had found, yet so much she still didn’t understand. Unlike the other remains, much of the writing seemed to be hurried, as if the inscriber had been rushed. Some sentences left off without finishing while others were repeated, often times right next to one another, like the carver had forgotten what he had just written.

  But for now, Rebecca had not moved beyond the skull. It was almost easier to gather information rather than stop and really soak in the ramifications of truly finding Christ’s body. However, as the gunfire from the cave entrance intensified, Rebecca knew she had to finish her survey.

  It would take an entire accredited laboratory weeks or months of radio-isotope dating to prove the skeleton’s age and another league of scholars to confirm the body’s identity, but Rebecca had no doubt that who lay before her had died on the cross that day in Jerusalem.

  No other might ever see these remains, so it was her duty to document as much as possible in the time she had left.

  Freeing her mind, Rebecca began another circle of the body, this time trying to rectify her own doubts against the proof under her fingertips. As she walked, Rebecca dragged a finger along the skeleton just as she had done with John’s bone back at the hotel room, feeling the contours of the bone, reading it like a gypsy.

  His arms were long compared to most. His embrace must have been bountiful. The radius and ulna had grooves where the nails had attached him to the wooden cross. His rib cage had a tiny knick. Exactly where legend said the Roman spear had pierced his chest. His pelvis was sturdy and much narrower than Magdalene’s. His femur was straight, but thinner than John’s had been. The tibia was slightly irregular. The tarsus, of course, showed similar damage at the wrist, confirming crucifixion.

  Backing up, Rebecca’s fingers found the tibia again. It was more than slightly irregular. Had there been an old fracture there that had healed poorly? Not only was there a substantial callus around the bone, but arthritis had set into the knee joint. She didn’t remember any mention of Jesus having a leg injury.