The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection With EXCLUSIVE Post-Shiva Short Story (16 page)

When Lochum finally met her gaze, his lips carried a genuine smile. Not a manipulative grin or a condescending smirk, but a true smile. She didn’t think she had ever seen that expression on his face before.

The professor handed her a magnifying glass. “Just look.”

Rebecca stepped back. This attitude she had seen before. Lochum had perfected domineering to an art form.

“And find what?” she asked. “Some wood slivers consistent with the stakes the Romans used to mount his head on the gate? Or maybe linen fibers deep in the joints to prove that his people stole the remains to give him a proper burial? That isn’t going to prove what you need it to prove.”

To her surprise, no anger rose in Lochum’s eyes. Instead, the professor just smiled that completely agenda-free smile again. “For an old friend, ‘Becca, please.”

His kind tone took her by complete surprise. She didn’t know what to do besides take the magnifying glass. Rebecca surveyed the ulna first. There were multiple superficial scratches. More than likely scavengers. Rats and the like. The radius had even more of the linear scorings. Hungry little bastards. But then she moved on to the pelvis, where there were hundreds of markings. Pulling back a few inches to take in more of the pattern, she realized that they were not random at all.

“That’s ancient Greek!”

Lochum didn’t sound condescending in any way. “Yes, and the lettering covers the entire surface of the skeleton.”

Rebecca swung around to find Brandt as stunned as she was. Whatever the sergeant’s skepticism a moment before, his face held only sheer wonder. Yep, that was Lochum at his best.

“Brandt, come look.” But the sergeant frowned, looking torn between his duty and his curiosity. “Just a peek,” she cajoled.

Who could turn down a direct view into ancient history? Especially someone who knew of Giv’at? Reluctantly at first, then with more intent, Brandt viewed the tiny scribbling.

Rebecca turned to Lochum. “Have you deciphered the text?”

“It is encoded as they would have done to ensure the Romans did not stumble upon their closely guarded secrets.” Lochum indicated the skull. “This section relates to his childhood.” He pointed to the femur. “But here is where we have made the most progress. Study these inscriptions.”

Leaning over Brandt, Rebecca moved the glass to the femur. These writings were more organized, with an obvious sentence structure. However, her ancient Greek wasn’t what it used to be. But the word “Christos,”
Christ
, was unmistakable.

“Can’t you see, ‘Becca? We have a map. A map to Jesus.”

* * *

Brandt stood up as Monroe and Lochum engaged in a heated debate that sailed over his head. He knew enough to know that they wanted to scientifically prove this theory, but once they started throwing around terms like messenger RNA and osteoid nuclei, they lost him. Watching the give and take between the two scientists, he could see how they might hook up. Rebecca had been right about the professor’s charisma. Even he had gotten caught up in Lochum’s enthusiasm.

The importance of this find was so clear that Brandt considered giving them an extra ninety seconds to pack up, but then three sharp clicks came over the radio. His hand flew to the device. He sent back a click. Three very urgent clicks returned.

“That’s it, people. We’re moving out,” Brandt said, loud enough for Davidson and Svengurd to hear. Which he knew they had, because Bunny started squealing.

Rebecca was equally flustered, but articulated her concern without resorting to a five-year old’s tactics. “We still have two minutes. Plus, this—”

“We’ve got company,” he said flatly. The time for academic indulgence was over.

Monroe nodded, but Lochum became agitated. “You don’t understand. We must carefully pack the bones within three separate layers of—”

“Monroe, could you explain to him what an order sounds like?”

She turned to the professor. “We have got to go, Archibald. Brandt’s not jerking your chain. An attack is imminent.”

“Now,” Brandt growled.

“But… but…” With each “but,” Lochum sounded more and more desperate. The stately, urbane gentleman dissolved into a confused old man.

Monroe untied the shirt at her waist. The sergeant had no idea where she was going with this, but he was willing to let it play out a few more seconds. Then she laid the garment over the skeleton.

“No! You’ll damage them!” the professor snatched away the much-studied femur as Monroe scooped up the rest of the bones.

“It’s the only way, Archibald.” Within three seconds, the doctor had gathered the skeleton, tied the shirt off, and flipped the makeshift bag over her shoulder. “Ready when you are.”

He normally didn’t like chicks in the field, but this one…

This one might be a keeper.

Paths, Crossed

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Jordan River

40 Days Hence

With the only light coming from the sparkle of scattered stars, Judas struggled to keep awake as Ameil snored on a blanket laid out on the sandy ground beside him. He had made a vow to Jesus, but he had family obligations as well. The boy’s father had left with the other men to seek work to the south, Daniella was sucking a coughing babe, and Lila had chosen this day of all days to begin her labor. His mother had harangued him for leaving at such an auspicious moment, but Judas’ word was his life.

With the commotion in their two-room house, someone needed to care for Ameil, so Judas had brought enough water and food for all three. They had spent the day reading Scripture, fashioning a game board out of a piece of driftwood, then playing Tau into the late evening.

To Ameil, this was nothing more than the best of holidays. Judas had even let the boy win a few rounds of the game of twenty squares. Perhaps a few of those he did not intentionally lose. The boy was bright and picked up the game with surprising ease.

One day perhaps Ameil might study under Jesus. That would please Judas greatly, but it would most likely upset the boy’s father. He expected the child to work, as all his people did, but Judas had seen what toll this exertion had on their souls.

Ameil was still eager for the knowledge of the world and would best spend his days bent over a book rather than a sickle. Judas pulled the wool blanket over the boy’s shoulder. Those worries were for another time. This day was reserved for greeting Jesus, but as the sun sank past the horizon worry had crept into his heart. What if God had another plan for Jesus and had taken him away from this land for good?

As the evening stretched into night, Judas’ unease grew. What if God had not provided? What if his friend had succumbed in the wilderness? Judas would never say these concerns out loud for they were blasphemous, but his heart was disquieted. God had allowed the Romans to occupy their rightful land. He turned a blind eye to his Chosen People’s suffering. Would God really care for a single man out in the desert?

A noise from behind startled Judas from his pondering.

“Jesus?” Judas asked, although the man who mounted the small crest could never be mistaken for his friend.

Tall, dark-haired, with no beard, broad of shoulder but narrow of hips, James seemed less a brother to Jesus than Judas. He knew of the rumors cast by those who did not know the men. Rumors that the Virgin had been no virgin were fueled by how little the two brothers looked alike, but Judas believed Mary fully. When she spoke with such rapture of the angels who told her of the holy child within her womb, who could doubt her?

“Judas,” James said with no warmth. “I might well have presumed you would be here.”

Judas reached his arm out in greeting, but James appeared to have missed the gesture for he strode past, searching the darkened desert that stretched out before him. “Before he left, Jesus made a vague reference to Noah’s test of faith.” James looked over his shoulder at Judas. “But I might suppose he spoke plainly of the night he was to return?”

Judas nodded, causing James to snort. They had never been familiar, but it was rare for the taller man to display such rudeness. Since childhood, it had always been a singular question to Judas why they did not quicken more to one another. They had far more in common with each other than either had with Jesus. Both knew the burden of supporting their families. They both knew how very small they felt before Jesus’ towering faith.

“I do not know why I bothered,” James said, as he headed back toward the river.

Judas took a step before him, not so much to block James as to delay him. “Jesus will be well pleased that you are here to welcome him home.”

James caught his eye and without words expressed, they both knew Judas’ words were a stretching of the truth.

“As always, he has his reasons, James.”

Another snort. “Do not remind me.”

He had to scramble to keep James from passing him. “When God asks you to walk the path of righteousness, you cannot hesitate. You may not even take the time to blink an eyelid. Look at Abraham and—”

“Do you not think I hear enough from his mouth that you must reiterate such platitudes?” James said quite loudly.

Ameil stirred under the blankets.

Judas put a tentative hand on the man’s arm. “Please, the boy sleeps.”

For the first time, James’ face softened. “How old?”

“Just shy of seven years. I am sure he could tell you the exact number of days if he were awake.”

James nodded with a slight smile. “Yours?”

“No. My nephew.”

“You have not remarried?” James asked, with no hint of his earlier scorn.

Judas shook his head. After his wife, Deliah, had died from a fever long ago, he did not have the stomach to love another in such a way. “And you? Any boys of your own?”

“Miroma and I have not been blessed with any children as of yet,” James said, the sadness creeping back in.

“James, I know…” Judas hesitated. Sharing a bond with Jesus was not like sharing one with each other, but he could not leave the other man to his pain. “No matter his actions, Jesus loves and depends on you.”

The snort again. “And how would you know such a thing?”

“My father died young as well, and my mother… She took to her bed for weeks at a time. I was left to not only earn the coin, but I fed, bathed, and clothed the girls as well. I felt that she had surrendered her responsibilities, and they fell onto my already sore shoulders.”

James words were abrupt, but his tone sounded confused. “My own mother did no such thing.”

“Surely not Mary. It is Jesus to whom I refer. He was older and should have been out in the fields…”

The other man searched Judas’ face, then nodded slowly.

Judas continued, “But when my mother did come back to us, she told me not only of her feelings of guilt for leaving the household to one so young, but also of her gratitude.”

“I think it will be a day far from this one that Jesus would ever speak such words… At least to me.”

Judas could feel James’ ache, but was uncertain how to heal such a deep and personal wound. “We have carried much upon our backs, James, but think of Jesus’ burden. Could you imagine being singled out as a prophet on your very birth night? We both long to have Jesus’ vision, but could you dream of having it? Truly possessing the knowledge of God’s will for you? Knowing that in any failing, you fail not yourself nor your family, but God?”

The two men stood in silence for a few moments, breathing in the ripe night air carried by a breeze from the river.

Judas continued, “I do not think I have such strength within me.”

It was a few breaths before James answered. “In truth, neither do I.”

“Then it is up to us to ease his burden in any way we might.”

James sighed. “By being here when he asked.”

“And forgiving him when he did not,” Judas replied.

“Look! Look! Look!” Ameil’s high-pitched cry made both men turn toward the desert. “He comes!”

In the distance, a slim figure stumbled in their direction. Without a word, both men hurried into the desert as Jesus fell to his knees, then onto his side. When they reached him, Judas could feel his friend’s very bones, and his skin was like a reed after a drought. Yet somehow, some way, Jesus had survived. If it was not a miracle of God’s grace, then it was a testament to his friend’s faith.

“Help me,” James said as he took one shoulder.

Judas took the other, and they carried Jesus back to the blankets. They laid his frail frame onto the wool. James grabbed the waterskin and placed it against his brother’s lips as Jesus tried to speak.

“Drink, brother. Just drink.”

After a few gulps, Jesus raised a weak arm and pushed the water aside. “James, I did not wish you here.”

Judas’ breath caught in his throat as James’ face displayed every ounce of hurt imagined. James went to rise, but Jesus caught his sleeve. “I did not want you so troubled.”

For all the pain that was in James’ face, brotherly love replaced it. “You are no trouble, Jesus. Not ever.”

Jesus’ parched and cracked lips parted in a smile, accompanied by a wheezing laugh. “That is not what you shouted in your eleventh year when you were forced to fix our cart’s axle by yourself.”

Judas sat back on his heels to give Jesus more room as James smoothed a damp rag over his brother’s forehead.

“But that is what I meant, dear brother. That is what I meant.”

CHAPTER 8

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Panthéon-Sorbonne, Paris

The shouts and gunfire echoing off the laboratory’s hallway didn’t surprise Rebecca. She wasn’t sure if that a good thing or not. As usual, Svengurd was taking point as Brandt brought up the back, while Davidson tried to keep them moving in the middle.

“Stay together!” the private shouted as Bunny tripped and fell to the ground in a sobbing heap.

The professor’s shock had worsened to the point that he only stared straight ahead as his supposed love cried and cried, “I can’t. I can’t!”

“Lochum, help her up!” Rebecca yelled as the plaster above her head exploded into a cloud of dust from a ricochet.

Brandt nearly ran into her as he backed down the hallway. “Move!”

Acting off the sergeant’s urgency, Rebecca used her one free hand and pulled Bunny up. The sobbing didn’t stop, but at least the redhead had found her feet again.