The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection With EXCLUSIVE Post-Shiva Short Story (14 page)

“I wish the doc back at the base was that hot,” Lopez snorted. “Shit, they wouldn’t have to order any of us to get a physical. We’d be there three times a week, at least!”

Not wanting to admit he had indulged in similar thoughts, Brandt changed the subject. “You gave her the quarter dose of morphine, right?”

“Popped it in with the antibiotics. Should help with the PTSD.”

Brandt didn’t argue with his corporal, but the doctor didn’t have post-traumatic stress disorder. Back on the Tarmac, Monroe’s face hadn’t blanched until he gave her the cryptic message from Lochum. Whatever her mentor was working on had rattled Monroe to the core. Hence, the morphine.

“Street parking or underground structure?” Lopez asked.

“Underground.”

The car’s grille bounced off the curb as the corporal took the turn a little too quickly. “My bad.”

At least the sergeant didn’t have to wake up the others. A wave of groans arose from the backseat.

“Look alive,” Brandt ordered. “We’re exiting at a roll.” Davidson and Svengurd gave a curt nod, but Monroe looked a little queasy at the thought. “Lopez, keep within a ten-block radius. Maintain radio silence. Use clicks only if imperative.” Off the corporal’s vigorous nod, Brandt continued, “and do
not
get pulled over for a traffic violation.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lopez actually took his foot off the gas as they neared the elevators. “Don’t forget to tip your driver!”

Ignoring the corporal, the doors burst open as everyone poured out of the vehicle. Without waiting for confirmation that they were out safely, Lopez hit the gas, laying down rubber on the ramp. The sharp sound of the BMW’s grille hitting the curb echoed through the deserted garage. Brandt helped Monroe to her feet, since the morphine still seemed to be working its magic.

“We’re lucky if he doesn’t get arrested,” Davidson commented as he started to reassemble his rifle.

Brandt shook his head. “Let’s keep the civilian vibe going until we know more.”

The private stowed his weapon in his jacket as Svengurd hit the elevator button. Everyone backed as it opened immediately. On Black Ops, good luck usually translated into setup. Svengurd must have agreed, because he checked the entire elevator—even lifting the maintenance hatch.

“All clear.”

Great, Brandt had been so worried about his men being rattled, but here he was the one sweating. So much for shaking off the hangar assault.

“Move in,” he ordered, making sure worry didn’t reach his voice.

Entering the elevator, Brandt punched the seventh-floor button, but the doors didn’t close. Everyone’s guns went up.

What the fuck?

But Monroe just sighed. “Don’t worry—it’s just a fifty-year-old elevator. You have to be gentle.” Lightly she tapped the button, but nothing happened. “Wait for it,” she said, as the doors smoothly closed.

Monroe seemed unconcerned, but to Brandt it seemed as if the elevator had asked them if they were really, really sure that they wanted to go up into the dark laboratory with its disturbing secrets.

With the pit in his stomach doubling, Brandt no longer wanted to.

* * *

As they exited the elevator, Rebecca’s head swam. It felt surreal to walk down the hallway surrounded by four armed men, their guns bristling.

So much for the civilian vibe.

“Shouldn’t there be a guard posted?” Svengurd asked.

“I don’t like it.” Brandt had the same look he had on the Tarmac.

As they came to an abrupt halt, whatever hangover she had cleared.

No, not here
, was all she could think as Svengurd put a hand on the doorknob. The men silently counted down when the door flew open.

All guns came to bear as the petite redhead called back into the laboratory. “Coti, we’ve got company.” The woman looked the soldiers up and down, especially Brandt. “And my, what big guns they have.”

“Identify yourself,” the sergeant barked.

Relief washed over Rebecca. She knew the woman. Maybe not her name, but her position. Young, perky, breasts, calling Lochum by his nickname? This slip of a thing was the professor’s grad student “with benefits.” Rebecca should know. She had once filled that position.

The redhead played coy. “My, my. So many questions when you haven’t even bought me a drink yet.”

Maybe this show-your-cleavage-and-giggle thing worked on most men, but Rebecca knew Brandt wasn’t kidding. Not at all. “Identify yourself
now
, or I will put a round into you.”

Rebecca stepped forward. “Brandt, it’s okay. She’s a grad student.”

Luckily, Lochum stepped into the hall before shots were fired. He looked part Einstein, part Bill Gates, and another part Southern gentleman. Taller than even Brandt, his presence backed the soldiers up a step.

“Bunny, please be civil to our virile protectors,” he said as he extended a hand to the sergeant. “Professor Lochum. Glad to make your acquaintance.”

Brandt did not take the hand. “Where are your guards?”

The grad student leaned her head against Lochum’s shoulder. “They cramped his style, so he sent them home.”

Lochum laughed. “Bunny does so like to exaggerate. I recommended they retire as they only brought focus to the building.” Off Brandt’s frown, the professor continued, “I have kept myself alive for over a decade under much more hostile circumstances than these, Sergeant. Trust me, their dismissal was for the best.”

Brandt’s eyes flickered to Rebecca’s. He silently asked if the professor was for real. She nodded. It sounded like classic Lochum.

“Let’s take this party inside, then,” Brandt said.

As usual, Svengurd took point as they entered the laboratory. Rebecca was so used to this pattern that she barely noticed the men fan out as Brandt held back. No, she barely noticed anything as the sharp smell of antiseptic bit her nose. No matter what country or even continent, a lab always meant sanctuary. The microcentrifuges, spectral analyzers, and antiseptically clean counters made her knees feel weak. Fieldwork was a means to an end. This was where her heart lay. Facts could be found here. Life had an order and precision that could not be found outside these walls.

“Clear,” Svengurd sounded off, followed closely by Davidson.

“Start packing, Professor,” Brandt ordered. “We’re out in ten.”

Lochum puffed like a mating grouse. “Perhaps you are not aware of the importance of my work here.”

Rebecca could hear the growl in Brandt’s voice before he even opened his lips. “Perhaps
you
are not aware that I—”

“St. Petersburg,” she said flatly.

Both men turned to her. Brandt quizzical. Lochum unnerved.

“Belgium was twice as bad,” she said pointedly to her ex-professor. Rebecca made sure to have his attention before she continued. “You barely made it out of the Russian ambush. You won’t survive this one.”

As Lochum surveyed her features, Bunny glowered. The young beauty, obviously used to being the center of attention, did not appreciate that fact that both men were appraising Rebecca.

“We are in the middle of seventeen different DNA map sequences and half a dozen Haplo-gene denaturing,” Bunny huffed.

Rebecca spoke to the professor. “If we hurry, we can pack up the most important artifacts and rerun any tests that are still pending.”

Bunny pushed her lip out into a full pout. “Coti.”

Rebecca wondered whether men actually responded to that maneuver.

Perhaps Lochum had in the past, but this time he extracted himself from her embrace. “Given the incredible significance of our work, a bit of precaution might be warranted. Now start packing while I show Dr. Monroe the extent of the find.”

Acting as if Bunny were nothing more than a student, Lochum urged Rebecca forward. “Come, come. Even you will be impressed, my dearest.”

“What? I mean… Do I…?” Bunny’s cheeks blotched.

Lochum’s cajoling tone was gone. “Pack, Bunny.”

Shocked, the younger woman stammered, “Can I… I mean, can I at least have some help?”

Davidson looked at Brandt. The sergeant didn’t immediately reply. Instead, he hit his radio once. A staticky click responded. Brandt nodded to the private to help then turned to Svengurd. “Stay on the door.”

The sergeant was at her heels as she followed Lochum into a separate area of the laboratory. The tall professor turned to Brandt. “You would best be served aiding in the manual labor.”

Rebecca expected Brandt to bristle at Lochum’s tone, but the sergeant simply shrugged. “Until we’re on American soil, where she goes, I go.”

Lochum glared at the much younger man with an intensity that had melted university presidents and foreign dignitaries, but the sergeant just casually readjusted his weapon, getting comfortable.

“We’re down to nine minutes, Lochum,” Rebecca said as she stepped between the two men. “Do you really want to spend these precious seconds quantitating your respective testosterone levels?”

The professor’s lips gradually parted in a grin. “Forgive my manners, ‘Becca. It has been so long since we entertained guests,” he said, then turned to Brandt. “Please join us. I am sure there is much for you to learn.”

If the sergeant was bothered by the implied insult, he didn’t let it show. Instead, Brandt stepped in front of them, quickly checking the corners. Lochum rolled his eyes at the sergeant’s effort, but Rebecca had learned the hard way that Brandt’s paranoia was well founded.

Waiting until the sergeant gave the nod, Rebecca stepped into the eerily lit room. Cold cathode lighting, while best for studying ancient bones, always cast a pall over the room. Beneath the greenish light were displayed several dozen skeletal remains from the Eiffel Tower crypt. She read the report on the plane, but to see the bodies spread out was simply overwhelming. Archaeologists waited entire lifetimes for a find like this.

“How many are intact?”

With great pride Lochum answered. “Thirteen.”

“Thirteen?” She swung around. “That must be some kind of record.”

“And another dozen partial skeletons. Carbon-dated to the early Christian period.”

That information might have been more impressive if she weren’t familiar with ancient remains. Even the most advanced dating techniques had a seventy-five-year margin of error. So no matter how much Lochum wished these bodies were Christ’s contemporaries, these bones could have been from early in Julius Caesar’s reign, well before the prophet’s birth, all the way past the Judean Uprising, long after Jesus’ demise.

Still, the find was incredible for the sheer number of remains and their relative degree of preservation. Rebecca leaned over the closest set of bones. They truly were remarkable specimens. Someone had cared greatly for these people before interring them. The bones were pristine, except for a slight amount of antemortem damage. The ulna and radius were marred at the wrist, along with damage to the tarsal joint.

“Have you confirmed the presence of iron?”

Lochum nodded vigorously. Clearly he wished to amaze her with his insights, but was too consummate an educator to taint her findings.

“Crucifixion then.” Rebecca replied as she picked up a small brush and carefully dusted the bones around the area of damage. To think, an iron spike had been driven between the wristbones, then nailed to a cross. This man had suffered for hours, even days, before dying of exposure, blood loss, or scavenger attacks.

Lochum turned to the sergeant, excitement flavoring his words. “Any discovery of remains this old is always stimulating, but the fact they had been crucified makes them exceptional.”

“Eight minutes.” Brandt tapped his watch.

The professor’s hackles went up. Rebecca knew from personal experience that Lochum didn’t cotton to being ignored. “Perhaps you are unaware, my dear soldier, that although the Romans crucified several thousand men, sometimes hundreds in a single day, over a brief two-year period, there has only been a single set of skeletal remains ever found. Does that not rouse your brutish brain to wonder what happened to all those bodies? Only one out of thousands found?”

“You mean the body discovered at Giv’at with the iron nails still impaled in the ankles?” Brandt responded with an almost bored tone.

Rebecca swung around to stare at the sergeant. How the hell did Brandt know about a completely obscure Israeli archaeological find from the sixties? Was this the same soldier who dropped wreckage onto two gunmen? Guys who did such things seldom tossed out rare academic facts.

Brandt must have seen the disbelief on her face, because he winked at her like “and you thought you had me pegged” before he continued, “I believe the current theory is that the Jewish families stole the bodies during the night, then buried them in well-hidden tombs or ossuaries.”

* * *

The only sound in the room was the redhead’s annoying whine emanating from the other room. Poor Davidson. The kid had his work cut out for him helping the grad student pack.

Brandt glanced at Monroe and Lochum. Both doctors were still at a loss for words. They just stared at him. Ivy Leaguers. They thought they had the corner on knowledge. You did not need seven initials after your name to educate yourself.

“And it’s seven minutes now,” Brandt reminded them.

That snapped Rebecca out of her shock. “I didn’t realize you were versed in Christian antiquity.”

He shrugged. “You never asked.”

Rebecca wanted to ask another question, but Lochum cut in. “Then you must understand how important my work here is.”

Brandt was glad that he turned their attention back to the skeletons. He felt uncomfortable elaborating on his own studies, since he had no scholarly interest in crucifixions. Instead, his curiosity was born of faith, and he doubted either of these scientists would understand.

When he didn’t answer, the professor’s tone rose from its usual baritone. “Can you not see that this may be the first real, tangible proof of that theory? That we can prove once and for all that it was not scavengers who scattered the remains, but instead an organized and concerted effort by the Jewish community to honor and protect their dead.”

Brandt glanced into the other room. Svengurd viewed the hallway through the cracked open door as Davidson packed a case of vials into a crate. Bunny hovered over him, henpecking the whole time but not lifting a finger otherwise to help.