The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection With EXCLUSIVE Post-Shiva Short Story (20 page)

That Bible had been the spark, and over the years the flame had grown steadily under Petir’s watchful tutelage. But it did not burn brightly until he was old enough to be shown their sect’s greatest gift.

Their founder’s skeleton.

Encased in glass, hidden deep within a cavern beneath their facility, the remains were sacred. The air in the chamber was cool but dry. At night only a sliver of moonlight would light up the silver coin as if it glowed of its own power. There Tok sought solace.

Those assembled bones were engraved as this tiny bone was, but they had raised more questions than they had answered. For millennia, since the crucifixion, they had been entrusted with their secret, but not with the whole truth. Their founder had felt if any one person knew the entirety it would doom them all. So the Knot held the most essential piece of the intricate puzzle, but was innocent of the whereabouts of the other remains.

So for centuries his sect had stayed well hidden, out of the harsh light of society. They had the skeleton and the secret. It was enough. Only idle speculation promoted the search for other remains. Until Lochum.

The professor had an uncanny insight into the past. His work on ancient ruins had revolutionized archaeology. With this renewed interest in the dusty science and the burgeoning of technologies, such as ground penetrating radar, his sect had decided to enter the shadows of civilization.

Some had thought to harness the professor’s expertise, but others felt him the greatest threat since Herod. His discovery of the Damascus Papyrus had given validation to those who believed Lochum a tool. Flavian’s document now lay next to the holy remains. In a single swoop they had clipped Lochum’s wings, while gaining an irreplaceable piece of the Knot’s history.

Their founder’s concern over corruption was outweighed by the real possibility that someone very, very soon might stumble upon the truth.

To correct this danger, Petir had been sent to Egypt with the task of finding another young believer to be trained as the seeker of bones. It was there that Petir had stumbled upon an orphaned freak. Since then, Tok had been raised for a single purpose—to collect the other remains so they might be safely held in the Knot’s possession.

So each night, Tok snuck into the crypt and read his Bible. When his eyes grew tired, he would whisper without words the troubles that weighed heavily on his heart. After a time, he would swear the sacred bones whispered back.

What secrets did this fingertip wish to share with him? Carefully he read the ancient Greek. Did it mention Pest?

How very interesting. He had been in the Hungarian capital not six months earlier. They sought the same remains as Lochum. James, the brother of Jesus. They had known of his resting place through their own set of bones, but not the exact location.

Had the Baptist whispered his secret to Lochum as well?

“Master,” Petir stepped before him, “we are missing two bones.”

Tok handed the phalanx to his mentor.

The older man took it from him with such reverence. “The femur is still unaccounted for.”

A bone that large was not hiding in some crack. Obviously Lochum had absconded with the artifact.

As the medical team finished bandaging Tok’s wound, Petir continued, “The military team has used a set of their aliases at the De Gaulle Airport. They head to London.”

“Take care of the soldiers, but prepare a plane to head east.”

The older man frowned. “Are you not worried the professor holds the femur?”

Tok shook his head as he rose. “Lochum would never allow that sacred possession from his sight. We cannot risk them sharing their knowledge. Bring the plane down.”

“But—” Petir fell short of arguing, but Tok knew his mentor’s hesitation.

“He knew the risks when he infiltrated Brandt’s unit, Petir. If our roles were reversed, he would give the same order.”

Petir bowed his head, accepting his orders.

Their mole was not any mole, but what else could Tok do? James was but only one link to the greater mystery. He would sacrifice anyone. Even his own brother if it meant keeping the Knot’s secret safe.

* * *

Rebecca shifted in her seat as the plane climbed to cruising altitude. She had spent too much time either running for her life or cramped in a transport. Everything would be all right if she just had a nice, hot bath and a soft bed. After months in the jungle, both seemed but a mirage.

She looked over to the professor to see if he fared as badly, but he quite casually read the in-flight magazine. He showed her a page filled with expensive leather shoes.

“Do you think this would look good with my gray Armani suit?”

Rebecca just shook her head. His brief shock well over, Lochum had returned to his usual self-absorbed nature. No person could ever matter to him as much as this damnable quest.

Closing her eyes, the doctor tried to fall asleep, but all Rebecca kept seeing was Brandt’s hurt face, and the look of sheer disbelief as she left his protection.

Thrown against her seat belt as they hit some turbulence, Rebecca wondered how that could be. The skies had been clear. Shouts came from the other side of the plane. Everyone strained to see out the starboard windows. Rebecca rose as high as she could with her latched seat belt, but could only glimpse a glowing light in the distance.

For a second she had been worried. The sound of RPGs was still too fresh in her memory, but whatever had happened was far from here.

The flight attendants bustled about, and one headed to the cockpit as the plane leveled out way too early. Rebecca glanced at Lochum, who had put down his magazine and watched the activity with a sharp scrutiny.

“What do you think happened?”

The older man shook his head as the head stewardess took the microphone off the hook. She spoke in Hungarian, then French, then finally English. “There has been an accident near the airport. We are still awaiting instructions from the tower regarding the continuation of our flight. Please keep your seats and remain calm.”

Okay, whenever a flight attendant told you to remain calm, it usually meant you shouldn’t be calm at all. Everyone stirred in their seats.

“
Regardez! Je vous ai dit qu’un missile l’est descendu!”
a passenger yelled. People ignored the warnings of the stewardess and abandoned their seat belts, rushing to the opposite window.

“He said…” Lochum’s voice trailed off.

“He said what?”

But the older man’s lips were pressed together. Rebecca unhooked her belt and shoved her way past two Hungarian businessmen until she got a good look. It was far in the distance, but she knew a plane on fire when she saw one. Belgium all over again.

“Please, Mademoiselle, I must insist that you clear the aisle.”

Oblivious to the woman’s urging, Rebecca just stood there staring at the flaming husk of a plane. That rocket had been meant for her. The bastards much have fired on the wrong plane, killing all those innocents.

Or…

Rebecca gripped the woman’s sleeve. “What flight was that?”

“Please, just sit back—”

“What flight?” she asked, with enough force that the woman sighed, “Outbound to London.”

Rebecca’s legs gave out under her.

Dear God, that was Brandt’s flight.

“Mademoiselle, are you all right?”

Lochum caught her slumping weight. “I’ve got her.”

All the commotion in the plane shrunk to nothing. The bastards had taken out Brandt’s plane. Hit it with one of their fucking RPGs.

The sergeant was dead. Along with Lopez, Svengurd, and Davidson. The men who had saved her life were now dead. All because of her.

“Put your head down, ‘Becca,” Lochum said as he gently bent her spine, forcing her forehead to her knees. She didn’t resist, but wouldn’t have really minded if she had fainted. Blackness was preferable to the burning pain.

Brandt had offered to go by car. He had offered to go to Budapest. Why had she not agreed? Why had she been so fucking stubborn?

A strangled sob broke loose from her constricted throat.

“It wasn’t your fault, ‘Becca. Just breathe.”

But she couldn’t. Of course it was her fault. If they hadn’t been sent to extract her…

“He knew you cared for him, ‘Becca.” He stroked the back of her head like a father might his daughter. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Every time he said that, bile rose in the back of her throat, and over the protests of both Lochum and the stewardess, Rebecca bolted from her seat and stumbled toward the lavatory. Another person stood in line as someone exited, but she threw herself past both of them, retching as she rushed into the bathroom. Sitting there, hugging the toilet, Rebecca sobbed.

Yerato, now her guardian angel, and the rest of the soldiers. All dead.

Brandt, so worried for her safety, was gone.

How could she continue?

* * *

Fuck, fuck, fuck
, Brandt thought as the sound of sirens filled the air. The pricks had taken down the plane. If it had not been for Rebecca’s stubbornness, they would all be dead. Who would have thought the fuckers would take action so publicly?

Chalk up another instance of his underestimation of their enemy. Where did they grow balls so huge?

After Rebecca had boarded her flight, the decision at the terminal had taken no thought at all. London was but a distant memory. His answer to Davidson’s question was a no-brainer. His orders weren’t out of his mouth before the men were hoofing it out of the terminal. No one argued. If anything, Svengurd had such a pace away from the gate that they all had to trot to keep up. Lopez had estimated the interval between reaching the helicopter, getting into the air, landing at a smaller airport, stealing a private plane, and being in flight after Rebecca to be less than fifteen minutes.

Even that seemed too long. Brandt could have lied to himself that his urgency stemmed from his sense of duty, but he didn’t even bother. The thought of Rebecca out there without him, exposed, defenseless, made his jaw clench. Sure, Lochum had stayed under the radar for a decade, but with this kind of heat? The professor was way out his league. Hell, Brandt worried that even he was out-matched.

Obviously the fuckers had access to their cover documents, which meant deep infiltration into his team’s chain of command. If Brandt couldn’t contact his superiors for fear it would compromise their position, it meant no reinforcements. Which meant they had to fly out of here with nothing more than their nearly spent weapons against an organization that had nearly wiped his team off the face of the earth three times now.

Davidson fiddled with the helicopter’s radio as Lopez prepped the chopper for flight. “Fuck, it
was
our plane!”

That was the first time he had ever heard the kid curse. And had he picked the right opportunity.

“Boss, we’ve got a problem!” Lopez called out.

“What now?” Brandt growled. He just wanted to get their weapons ready for action. If these fuckers took out an entire civilian flight, they wouldn’t hesitate if they found the chopper.

Lopez got out of the pilot’s seat. “The control tower has closed the entire airspace.”

“And?”

“There’s no way we are getting out of here in this,” Lopez said.

Brandt’s mind spun, refusing to accept this fact. “Even for a medical emergency?”

“I think we’ve played that card for the last time.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Brandt hit the roof hard enough that his hand screamed in pain, and the metal dented. That pit in his stomach cramped upon itself. Except this time, the worry and pain only firmed his resolve.

He turned to his corporal. “Exactly how fast can you drive?”

From the shit-eating grin on Lopez’s face, it was going to be one hell of a ride.

Awakening

══════════════════

Near Qasr al-Yahud

AD 41

The sun winked on the horizon as the shadows grew longer, yet still they walked, sending an ache deep into Judas’ right knee. He looked at Ameil, who bore the face of a child who did not understand why they hurried.

John had set such a pace. Had he known that they would travel so far, Judas never would have dressed Ameil in new sandals. The boy’s feet were a map of blisters.

“Might we slow? We near the village and do not wish to raise alarm.”

The dark-haired man looked as if he did not understand the words. Could the Baptist not smell the rich gravies stewing upon hearths? They were so near that Judas could swear he smelled goat’s milk drizzled with honey. His mouth watered at the prospect, but John seemed unmoved.

Judas nodded toward Ameil, who had fallen behind again. “The boy cannot go much farther like this.” In truth, neither could he, with his leg, but the Baptist did not need to know such intimate things.

Finally John looked at Judas as if for the first time. “Jesus lives?”

Trying to keep a patient tone, Judas answered. “He was fevered, but well spirited when I left. His immediate concern was to summon you.”

“I fear I cannot keep the urgency in my heart from my feet…” Judas looked into John’s eyes. They shone of one who knew more than this world held. A storm of faith whipped within the Baptist’s mind.

“He will undergo more trials?” Judas asked.

“As will we all,” the Baptist replied.

There was a look of certainty in John’s eyes that reminded Judas of the childhood days so long ago on the bank with Jesus. “There will be suffering?”

“Of course…” John tilted his head. “We are Jews, are we not?”

There was a moment of tense silence, and then Judas chuckled. John was so very right. Even the Baptist patted him upon the back.

“What was so funny?” his nephew asked as he caught up with them. Upon seeing Jesus return from the desert, Ameil had stopped using sets of three. Another miracle bestowed by his friend.

Surprisingly, the Baptist tousled the boy’s hair. Judas did not think the Baptist had noticed Ameil until now. “He created his chosen people out of hardy stock for a reason.”

“Did God tell Jesus to go out into the desert?” Ameil asked as he rubbed his tired eyes. Judas could not take the boy’s sad countenance any longer and scooped the child into his arms. “That he did, nephew.”