The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection With EXCLUSIVE Post-Shiva Short Story (13 page)

Providence

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Jordan River

AD 41

Judas felt his right leg twinge as he picked up the half-finished saddle and placed it across the wooden plank. The seat itself was completed, but now for the tedious work of braiding the garnish. This great saddle had been commissioned by the commanding Tribunus of the legion posted at Bethany. A spool of fine gold filament to be stitched into the pommel was hidden deeply in Judas’ pocket. He would add that adornment last. Not that Judas did not trust his fellow villagers, but wheat was scarce and gold the scarcer.

“Judas, Judas, Judas!” his nephew, Ameil, called as he darted through the throng as only a child of six could dart. “Come, come, come.”

Ever since Ameil’s mother, Judas’ youngest sister, had died in childbirth with a stillborn, the boy had been speaking in threes. It was odd, surely, but Judas could not bring himself to scold the child. His father, Kyle, worked all the hours the sun was up. His grandmother, Judas’ mother, had taken ill again to bed, and his two aunts were great with child themselves. Therefore it had fallen to Judas to care for Ameil.

He had grumbled at the nuisance, such as now when the boy jumped up and down with joy, stalling his work, but in truth Judas was amazed by Ameil’s sheer delight in life. Had he ever been so young? Running down the street, yelling at the top of his lungs?

For too many years he had been working to save for dowries, but with his sisters married off, his shoulders became stooped with caring for his ailing mother. This young boy had become his prism into the past.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry!”

The child tugged on Judas’ rough-spun sleeve. The trouble was that Ameil could become this excited over a Roman legion bent on destruction, or a sparrow’s nest. But Judas’ palms burnt from weaving the tanned leather all morning. Perhaps a walk would not be misspent.

Once Judas rose from his stool, the boy was off again, darting between a donkey and his owner. Chuckling, he trailed much more slowly, his knee reminding him just how old he had become.

The day had been long even though the sun was halfway across the sky. But he could not complain, for at least he had his craft. Work had grown sparse as the tensions mounted between the Romans and his fellow citizens. The Zealots seemed to be on the verge of declaring war against the vast Empire.

Judas hated the arrogant Roman presence as much as his brethren, but what would open fighting gain? Could they ever topple the burgundy-crested legions of Rome? Better to keep his head down and craft his saddle.

Perhaps if the Tribunus were satisfied with Judas’ work, he would recommend him to the Praefectus. A few more such commissions and he might be able to afford his family’s travel to Jerusalem for Passover.

As he moved through the packed streets, Judas realized he had not so much risen from his stool for Ameil’s excitement, but for his own curiosity. The village had been bustling for days now.

Tension had been thick over the winter as a dreaded confrontation with Rome had seemed near, but yesterday and the day before Judas had sensed a subtle shift. Not quite excitement, but something dearer. Hope. A feeling the Chosen People had been without for too long.

So Judas followed a small pilgrimage down to the riverbank. He had heard rumors of a great man come to grace them with his presence. Whispers of Elijah reborn floated through the Temple. But prophets came and went like the tide, so Judas had paid little heed. These charlatans would stir a most devoted following, then vanish with equal ease.

This one’s name had been coined John the Baptist.

“Here, here, here!” Ameil cried from a knoll overlooking the river.

With only the smallest glimmer of optimism that someone truly great was in attendance, Judas stepped beside his nephew.

This supposed prophet, praying in water up to his thighs, looked not unlike so many others, with a wild beard and thick curly hair, cut abruptly at the shoulders. He prayed with enormous passion as he held his hand upon the supplicant’s head.

But unlike the others who had come before, this John the Baptist cared nothing for the growing crowds. His full attention focused on the man kneeling before him. The charlatans who preceded John had expended their full energies to rile the villagers. They would espouse their superiority and inevitably call for Rome’s downfall. That this, the world they lived in, was the end of days. How every man within shouting distance must bow to their authority or be doomed for all eternity.

Yet this John just stood calmly in the water, reciting a prayer so full of promise that Judas found himself not only murmuring the blessing, but feeling the words in his heart. The man seemed to breathe life into God’s message. Even little Ameil stood perfectly still, watching John with huge eyes. Judas took the boy’s hand. This was a moment they would remember. A true servant of God stood before them.

It was not until the supplicant was fully blessed by John and submerged in the river’s warm water that Judas realized the man’s identity.

Jesus! His old friend.

Many times Judas wondered how the awkward boy had fared as a man. It had been well over a decade since they had last shared a moment together. Duty had taken Judas north, while his studies had taken Jesus south. He had heard of Jesus’ accomplishments, yet had wondered why his friend had not begun a ministry of his own. But seeing him standing beside this John, Judas could see the years had been good to his friend. Jesus’ eyes twinkled with nearly the joy that Ameil’s did.

His nephew looked up to Judas with eyes wide. They were not in the presence of one great man, but two. Prophecies had been on everyone’s lips, but now seeing these men standing side by side, even Judas could feel the import of this Baptism.

Glancing about the crowd, Judas found Mary apart from the throng. But instead of pride in her eyes, Jesus’ mother had her hands to her pinched lips, shaking her head. James hugged his mother tight, but even Jesus’ younger brother could not calm her disquiet.

Judas looked out at the river again as Jesus waded to the water’s edge. Other supplicants who had gathered to be blessed now touched Jesus’ robe. The crowd parted as the Red Sea had done for Moses.

Judas thought to join his childhood companion, but so many yearned for Jesus’ company that he did not wish to intrude. “Come, Ameil, let us find our way back.”

But the boy was tugging him toward Jesus. “Stay, stay, stay!”

“I think I have enough coin for dried apricots,” Judas coaxed.

Ameil clapped his hands high in the air and turned on his heel, but the crush of worshippers made it impossible to pass. Judas guided the boy to a small path that bordered the desert, then curved back to meet the village.

“This way, nephew.”

The boy let go of Judas’ hand and ran down the path, kicking up dirt as he went. He almost called for Ameil to slow his pace, but why not allow the child to enjoy the spring day? His nephew knew the way to the baker and his treats better than Judas. No matter how long it took for him to join Ameil, the child could be found waiting for his bit of sweets.

“Judas!” someone called from behind. He turned to find Jesus cresting the small hill. To Judas’ surprise, Jesus embraced him as he would kin. “How glad I was to see your countenance amongst the worshippers!”

While Judas recognized Jesus, this was not the awkward, almost sullen, boy he remembered. His face was aglow with an easy smile that parted his bearded face.

“I thought you were still in Jerusalem,” Judas said, taken aback by the enthusiasm of his friend’s welcome.

Jesus patted him on the shoulder. “I was, but when I heard of this man preaching peace upon the riverbank I had to attend for myself.”

“As did I.”

“It has been too long, Judas,” Jesus said, the grin slipping from his lips. “So much has transpired. Too much to speak of here on the road.”

“Then come to my home,” Judas suggested, but Jesus shook his head. “Your family would be welcome as well. I saw Mary and James in the crowd.”

Jesus shook his head sharply. “They leave for the Holy City even now.”

“Without you?”

“I have another journey, but it is providence we have met here.”

Judas waited for him to elaborate, but the quiet, almost reclusive friend of old seemed to emerge from this outgoing, almost gleeful Jesus.

“Might I assist you in any way to prepare for your trip?” Judas asked.

Solemn eyes met his own. “That is always your way, my friend. Generous when you have no cause to be…” Jesus looked up to the sky like he did so many years ago. He spoke but did not look at Judas. “This baptism has opened my heart. Something stirs within my breast, desperately wishing to be unleashed.”

“Then release it.”

Jesus grinned. “But, my dear friend, I do not yet know what it is.”

They laughed heartily, but once the humor was spent they became solemn. Judas knew that of which Jesus spoke. He had felt it in his heart too. The feeling was beautiful in its ripeness but frightening in its intensity.

“I must meditate upon this, Judas. I must go into the desert until I know what gift God has given me, and how I am to use it.”

Judas did not argue. This was Jesus’ way. “Then let us go to the village. We will find a donkey and load him with food and blankets and—”

“No, I must leave now. Alone.”

“I do not think God would quarrel if you brought water and flatbread.”

But Jesus was impassioned. “If you felt the urgency in my feet, you would know I must leave with just my sandals and the robe upon my back.”

“How long will you be away?”

“Forty days and forty nights.”

Judas shook his head vigorously. “Then I must get you some—”

“If there is one thing I know…” Jesus took Judas by the arm, “it is that God will provide. I ask but only one thing of you.”

“Anything.”

“I fear this harsh journey will sap my will. I may return elated or broken. In either circumstance it is only you I wish to meet upon my return.”

“Of course, Jesus. You had but to ask,” Judas assured Jesus.

“In forty days may God grant that we chance upon this place again,” Jesus said.

“But I will come with a full waterskin and plate full of sweetmeats,” Judas teased and his friend smiled, but Judas could tell he was already on his journey into the desert without taking a solitary step. “Off with you, then.”

Without a look back, Jesus walked into the stark desert with such purpose it seemed as if God and he had a meeting place already set. Tears unexpectedly sprang to Judas’ eyes. It had been so long since they had been intimates, yet Judas missed Jesus already. He feared that upon his friend’s return that he would be neither the withdrawn youth nor the jubilant man who just left. He would be someone entirely new.

No matter his worry, Judas vowed to revisit this place in forty days’ time. He would not betray Jesus’ trust.

CHAPTER 6

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Paris, France

Brandt turned down the Saab’s air conditioning. The oppressive heat of the Belgian afternoon had given way after sunset, and as they rushed toward the heart of Paris the temperature had become almost chilly. But without the fan on, the heavy stench that clung from the hangar fire became nauseating. Despite the bite to the air, the sergeant rolled down his window.

Passing yet another car, he turned to Lopez. “Let’s take a little lead off.”

The corporal obeyed as he glanced at his watch. “But you’ve got to admit… two hours and twelve minutes. Not bad.”

Brandt didn’t want to encourage Lopez’s need for speed, but the quick travel time was even more impressive, considering they had taken precious moments out to switch cars twice and steal civilian clothes. Lopez, of course, had insisted he could make up the time in transit. There were moments that Brandt worried that the car would become airborne, but the corporal had delivered on his promise.

The sergeant glanced in the rearview mirror. Svengurd leaned against the window, snoring lightly. Monroe and Davidson were asleep as well, their heads resting upon the other. Everyone had been dosed with antibiotics for their numerous wounds, but Brandt had made sure Davidson got a full dose of morphine before they departed. The private was full of youthful reserve, but you couldn’t get banged up like that and not pay a price. And he needed every one of them to be at the top of his game.

They headed into a classic, textbook black box scenario. The condition of Paris, Lochum, and the Institute were all unknowns. After the ambush in Belgium, the sergeant had given the Den a SitRep, but he had gone silent after that.

Somehow their assailants had not only known his team’s landing field but had beaten them to the hangar. There was a leak. As impossible as it should have been, someone within his chain of command had given the enemy vital information.

Brandt had to assume that the mole hadn’t forgotten to spread his team’s ultimate destination: Paris. But what could he do? His team was the only one with boots on the ground in Europe. If any group could evac Lochum before their elusive enemy, they could. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t take precautions. They had changed cars, clothes, and even the route they were taking into France. If Command didn’t know his movements, they couldn’t leak them.

Scanning ahead, Brandt found the Eiffel Tower lighting up the night sky, a bright arrow on their compass. The laboratory was located only a few blocks from the Plaza.

Despite his worries, Brandt found himself admiring the view. For all his travels he had never been to Paris. Hell, he’d never been to any of the tourist Meccas. The scumbags he hunted usually didn’t go sightseeing. His view of the world was full of sleazy bars, war-blighted cities, and impoverished villages. Tasked with keeping civilization’s lights on, Brandt seldom got to actually see them.

The sound of Lopez signaling a left turn brought Brandt back to his immediate problem. He glanced into the mirror again. Would his team be ready for another firefight? Monroe had slid down a little, her head resting against Davidson’s shoulder. She looked peaceful, so unlike the little Amazonian warrior of the night before or even the obsessive-compulsive scientist on the plane. The worry lines creasing her face now smoothed into nearly porcelain features.