The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection With EXCLUSIVE Post-Shiva Short Story (12 page)

Forty-two. Forty-one. Forty.

Brandt counted down his ammo. He’d clipped the guy in the hip, but not enough to stop him from retreating to safety. Using four rounds for cover, he charged forward. Just a few scant yards ahead, the maze branched. They couldn’t lose this slim advantage.

As Brandt turned into the narrow pathway between the wall and the raging fire, he found their adversary trapped between himself and a newly reloaded Lopez. Their quarry tried to dart down the side path, but Svengurd stepped from the smoky corridor, blocking the prick’s escape. They had the slippery bastard dead to rights. For the first time, Brandt considered they might actually capture one.

And find out what the fuck was going on.

“Lower your weapon.” He leveled his weapon. “Now!” The man coolly pulled on a ski mask. “Damn it, hands down!”

Then the bastard did the most incredible thing. He leapt into the fire. They rushed forward to see if he had really, actually jumped into the flames.

Shouldn’t there have been a scream or something? No one burned alive in silence, but there was nothing but a wall of flame. No smell of burnt flesh. The sergeant’s mind whirled, and that same pit in his stomach formed, just like it had before the PDA blew up.

“Back away!” he yelled, even before the full threat formed in his mind. “Disperse!”

The charred air filled with gunfire.
Screw counting
, Brandt thought, shooting rapidly as two masked men emerged from the crackling flames.

The fuckers had fire-resistant body armor.

Which meant they had the protection the entire time. Which meant they had taken their sweet time luring all three of his team together, to more easily dispatch them.

Lopez and Svengurd tried to hold their ground, but had to fall back. As Brandt’s firing pin hit metal, he had no other option but to run as well. Scrambling low, he pulled the twenty-two-caliber handgun from his boot holster.

Twelve bullets.

The sergeant cursed his initial orders. Carrying all those non-lethals had left them vulnerable to this attack. They were prepared to take on a bunch of spear throwing, dart-blowing natives, not a veritable cadre of Special Forces soldiers.

Firing to keep his attacker at bay ate up another five bullets. If he wasted many more staying alive, he wouldn’t have enough to save his life. As the smoke stung his eyes and choked his throat, he realized his mistake. After the initial skirmish, he had tried to go at these guys head-to-head.

Fuck that. He needed to go back to his low-tech roots.

Using the last of his bullets to ensure his route, the sergeant threw the gun away as he dove into the burning husk of a biplane. Brandt found what he needed quickly, then rolled out the other side. Despite the blistering heat, he crouched under the plane. At least one of those bastards was tracking him. Brandt would not underestimate them or their equipment again.

When his tracker revealed himself, Brandt pretended to be surprised and narrowly missed being shot as a consequence, but he needed the man to feel confident enough to close the distance. Without any return fire from Brandt, the attacker became bolder as he circled the plane.

Listening only for the man’s footfalls, Brandt bundled his muscles until they shook in anticipation. Another step and the sergeant launched up and threw the small fire ax in his hand. The man’s face was barely able to register shock before the blade sank into his skull. Without a sound, his assailant pitched backward and hit the ground.

Scrambling over, Brandt grabbed the man’s gun and went to check the gun’s clip, but it wouldn’t budge. The sergeant hit the release again, but nothing. Was it jammed? Could he have somehow taken down the only terrorist with a jammed gun? Then Brandt realized his mistake.

Shit. It wasn’t jammed. It was locked.

And it was heavier than it should have been.

He chucked the thing into the plane before it exploded. Again he got knocked on his ass.

What had he just said? He wouldn’t underestimate their enemy or their equipment. Yet what had he just done?

Weaponless again, he turned to find the last gunman staring at him. The man removed his face mask as a smile spread across his face. Circular tattoos wrapped around the assailant’s already dark eyes, forming a knot of some sort.

“And they said you might be difficult to take down,” the man sneered with a slight accent Brandt couldn’t place.

Maybe, just maybe, if he could keep the guy talking long enough, Lopez or Svengurd would find them. Of course, with fire licking up to the rafters and the smoke burning his nose hair, that wasn’t very likely.

Brandt gritted his teeth. “Do you have orders to take me alive?”

The smile broadened considerably. “No.”

To prove his point, the assailant raised his weapon as something appeared in front of Brandt. He blinked once. It had to be a subconscious wish brought to life. Somehow a sniper rifle was floating before him. He didn’t question his luck as he grabbed the gun and fired in a single motion. He hit the assailant in the shoulder. This close, Brandt could see the blood splatter. He fired again into the left knee. With a scream, the man dropped to the ground.

Once certain that the man wasn’t getting up again, Brandt chanced to discover where his luck had come from. Tied to the rifle’s sight was a thick chain. A pulley chain. He followed the metal up to see a figure high in the murky rafters.

“Davidson!”

“I think he would have shot the guy himself!” It was a female voice. Monroe. “Meet you outside!” the doctor yelled as the chain snaked its way back up into the rafters.

Feeling pretty damned good, Brandt turned his attention back to his captive. He put a boot into the fucker’s splintered shoulder. To the guy’s credit, he locked his jaw against the pain.

“Who sent you?” Brandt asked. His once-powerful opponent fought unsuccessfully against tears, but kept his lips taut. “Were you after Monroe or my team?”

The way the man’s eyes flickered at the doctor’s name, Brandt already had his answer. Besides, who really would’ve spent this many resources to kill his team? Capture, torture, and interrogate. That was a reasonable course of action, but kill them out of hand? That made no sense.

“Sarge?” Lopez’s soot-choked throat croaked out.

“Here,” Brandt replied. “Svengurd?”

The corporal appeared out of the smoke. “He’s already outside, securing the perimeter.”

Brandt indicated their captive. “Help me get him up.”

He made sure to take the bad shoulder as Lopez took the other. As they lifted him, the man’s painful grimace spread into a broad smile.

That pit in Brandt’s stomach returned, and damn, but the guy was heavier than he should have been.

* * *

Rebecca stumbled on the Tarmac as an explosion rocked the hangar. The precarious metal roof crumpled inward. If they hadn’t just climbed down…

But she didn’t have time to ponder such things as she helped Davidson over to the burnt-out shell of their SUV. She had intended to take him to the far side for some semblance of protection, but neither was going to make it that far. So as soon as they got within three feet of the vehicle, Rebecca let go, and they half-fell, half-sat down on the Tarmac.

With her back to the Mercedes she had a perfect view of the furnace-like hangar. Licks of fire shot up through the roof as plumes of smoke rose high into the sky. One thing was for sure. Their presence in Belgium was no longer a secret.

One thing not for sure was whether anyone else had survived. Given how long it had taken for her to make her way back to Davidson, climb up onto the roof herself, pull the private up, then descend to the ground, it had been more than enough time for the others to exit the hangar. She had expected them to greet her and maybe even help her with the kid. Instead, she and Davidson had found an empty Tarmac. Had one of the assailants survived? Had the explosion brought the roof down on Brandt’s head?

“Do you think anybody survived?”

“I don’t know, but why don’t you ask them?” Davidson answered.

Rebecca looked to the north as three figures rounded the corner of the hangar. Relief spread until she realized they were coming at a dead run, and Brandt was yelling something she couldn’t make out. But she had learned from previous experience it never meant anything good.

Ignoring the pain in her left rib cage and right knee, she rose.

The sergeant’s voice could barely make it over the roaring flames. “Get Davidson up!”

Before she could turn to the private, he was already on his feet. It was truly amazing what adrenaline could do for you.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as Brandt drew to a halt.

He ignored her but spoke to Davidson. “Can you fire?”

“Are you crazy? Forget his shoulder, he’s taken two bullets to—”

“I asked, ‘can you fire’?”

Rebecca looked at the private. His eyes wanted to say yes, but the mere hesitation told them all that he was in no shape for combat.

Brandt didn’t hesitate, though. Rather, he set up the sniper’s rifle on the hood of the SUV and aimed through the scope.

Rebecca turned to Lopez. “I don’t understand.”

The corporal pointed into the distance. “Our ride is getting away.”

She had to squint to see the vehicle speeding away along a dirt road, a small cloud of dust marking its trail.

The sound of the rifle firing nearly deafened her.

“Damn it!” Brandt said as he set up another shot.

“I mean, how do we even know that’s them?” Rebecca asked, fearful that panic had gone to the sergeant’s head. “What if it’s just some family out for a ride in the country?”

The sergeant didn’t look away from his scope as he answered. “Well, the RPG launcher sticking out the backseat window was my first clue.”

He fired again and cursed again.

Lopez added, “If we don’t obtain transportation, I’m not sure if we can hoof it out of here before they send in reinforcements by air.”

Oh, God. She hadn’t even thought about that. The danger was over. Wasn’t it? How could it not be over?

Another missed shot.

Without thinking, Rebecca turned to Davidson. She almost felt guilty for not objecting as he hobbled forward and patted Brandt on the back.

“I can fire, but I’m going to need some bracing.”

The sergeant backed away from the gun. “Lopez, stabilize the gun. I’ll get his shoulder.”

Rebecca couldn’t stomach the pain on the private’s face, so she watched the retreating car. After what seemed like forever, Davidson finally fired. The car swerved, then rolled to a stop as the horn blared. Rebecca couldn’t even make out the driver, yet the private had hit him. He was that damn good.

“Those are some mad skills!” Lopez announced as he helped Davidson back away from the rifle.

“Yeah, and I think it knocked my shoulder back in place.” To prove it, the private rotated his arm smoothly in a circle. “I need to write that down for future reference.”

Looking at the young man shrug off an hour of horror, Rebecca knew where she was getting her next batch of grad students.

“All right, Svengurd, go retrieve the vehicle,” Brandt barked. “Lopez, tend to their wounds while I pack for the road.”

As the corporal knelt down to look at Davidson’s calf, Rebecca turned to Brandt. “Where are we going?”

“
Panthéon-Sorbonne
.”

Lochum. She had almost forgotten what had brought her to Europe in the first place. “Aren’t we worried they will ambush him as well?”

“Of course they will.”

Rebecca waited for an elaboration, which never came. “Then why aren’t they moving him?”

“Your professor refuses to evac until his precious tests are completed.” Brandt didn’t bother to hide the annoyance in his voice.

Their discussion was interrupted as Davidson let out a yip. Lopez was pulling the uniform away from the private’s abdominal wound.

Lopez snorted. “Wimp. Your vest took the brunt of the shot.”

“Can you get the bullet out?” Brandt asked.

Another yelp and Lopez held the bloody metal with his forceps. “Dude, you need to learn how to dodge.”

Face screwed up in pain, Davidson still couldn’t let that barb go. “This from the guy who nearly decapitated himself on a tree branch last night?”

Realizing the private was probably in better shape than she was, Rebecca turned back to Brandt. “Does Lochum know what happened here?”

“Yes and he passed on a message. Something about how he’s picked up the trail on ‘some seasonal worker.’ “ Brandt turned toward her. “He said you’d know what that meant and agree it was worth the risk.”

Rebecca felt the blood drain from her face and pool in her feet. The world tipped off its axis. Lochum had to be wrong.

“Monroe, you okay?” The doctor vaguely heard Brandt’s concerned words as she swayed. Rebecca saw her arm fly out to avoid falling, but didn’t remember directing it to do so.

Brandt lowered her to the ground. “Lopez!”

She didn’t even register that the men’s hands were all over her, checking for wounds. Lochum could be many things, but an exaggerator he was not. He had dedicated his entire life to this pursuit. After surviving numerous attempts on his life, he had gone into hiding so that he could continue his work underground. The professor would never resurface unless the scent was fresh in his nostrils.

“Is your vision blurry?” Lopez asked. She mustered a head shake. “Are you dizzy?” Another shake and Lopez turned to Brandt. “I don’t think its head trauma. The day’s just been a little too much for her, ya know?”

Rebecca didn’t even get angry that Lopez assumed she was a lightweight. People learning this news would find themselves on the ground very quickly.

“Dr. Monroe, I need you to tune back in. I don’t know how long we have until they come back.” Brandt tried to smile, but the motion only creased his grime-covered face. “We’ve got to get moving.”

She could hear the Saab approaching, but still couldn’t stand. How could she if Lochum was right? This find would be the Holy Grail of the archaeological world. Better than the Holy Grail. The grail only caught Christ’s blood.

Lochum sought Christ himself. More specifically, his remains. The corporeal, physical proof of Jesus’ earthly presence
.