30 Pieces of Silver (18 page)

Even though he should have still been pissed that she had put him in this untenable position, Brandt worried more if she went off alone.

“
Look, if you’re concerned about our travel arrangement, we’ll walk out of here and find another way across the Channel.”

Monroe shook her head. “Did you even hear me? We think James, Jesus’ brother, is buried under Budapest.”

“
I heard you, but what are you two going to do about it?” Based on the frustration in her face, Brandt changed tactics. “Once we get to safety, we can send a team in to—”

Rebecca put a hand on his arm. “Lochum, for all his arrogant self-posturing, is right. This is more important than either of our lives. This is the stuff history is made of. We have to at least try.”

Shit. She meant it. This was no stunt, no childish impulse.

Brandt seldom bent to another’s will, but what choice did he have? “Fine. We’ll all go to Budapest, then.”

The doctor turned away from him. “We took the last two seats.”

“
Rebecca,” Brandt pleaded, but the woman didn’t turn back as she boarded the plane.

Svengurd raised an eyebrow. Should he intercede? But causing a scene would help no one. The slightest inclination of his head brought the men back to him as their flight to London sounded overhead.

Davidson spoke the question on everyone’s lips. “What’re we gonna do?”

* * *

Tok sat motionless on the stairwell’s step as the medic dug the bullet from his arm. He had refused to allow them to take him to a hospital. It was but a flesh wound—a simple reminder to stay vigilant. His passion for the bones had weakened his caution. The shoulder’s ache would remind him always of his lapse.

Even though sirens sounded in the distance, they remained until the rest of his men carefully gathered the bones from the stairwell, each shard a miracle unto itself. They could leave no remains behind. Not if they wished their secret to stay secret for much longer.

As the medic finished bandaging the wound, Tok noticed a small scuffed object in the corner. Leaning over, he found a small bone that must have skidded all the way across the landing.
A phalanx
, he thought. The tip of the man’s finger. He should have handed the item over for immediate packing, but how could he resist keeping it to himself for just a moment?

Skimming the ancient Greek, Tok realized whom he held.

John the Baptist? He almost dropped the bone, but forced himself to keep a tight hold. He could not allow this artifact to fall from his grip.

To think this very finger had at one time touched the head of Christ. And now he was touching it. The all-consuming light within his chest burned with new fuel. John the Baptist. The prophet who spurred Jesus into his ministry. All that came after was begun by John. It was he who had opened Jesus’ eyes to his true destiny.

Tok remembered his own enlightening. He had been running scared through Cairo’s marketplace when he snagged a man’s satchel. It had held only papers, no money or food, but it smelled of fine leather and good use, so Tok had buried himself under a tumble of fabric bolts to sort through the documents and pretend he could read them.

Little did he know that he had stolen Petir’s dispatches. How the older man had found him amongst the turmoil of the street fair, Tok did not know, but once found, the older man had not been tempted out with coin or sweets. Instead, Petir proffered his Bible. Tok could remember the texture of the grainy leather, worn smooth along the edges. The gold lettering embossed on the red cover. It should have been just a book, yet another he could not read, but to Tok it was like all the birthday presents he had never received.

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?