The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection With EXCLUSIVE Post-Shiva Short Story (18 page)

He wasn’t sure if he had dozed off or if Lopez was just that quick, but the chopper’s landing gear, bouncing off the hospital’s rooftop, woke Brandt. Not thinking, he pushed himself upright, then regretted the instinct. His head swam, but he kept his footing as the hospital’s emergency personnel rushed onto the helipad.

Fuck. He had no cover story prepped. Arriving in a shot-up television helicopter was going to take some explaining.

Before Brandt could get to the door, Monroe attempted to speak French to the hospital workers, but it clearly wasn’t going too well.

“Obviously Cambodian French is not quite the same as Parisian,” Rebecca said as she tried to reiterate her point to the nurses.

This could be a disaster if none of them spoke the language. Between the members of his team they were versed in seven different languages with another five dialects, but what covert operative needed to know French?

So far the medical staff focused on the redhead’s condition, but no matter the emergency, they were starting to throw quizzical glances to the bullet holes and strange company. Five men with a bloody woman and another spouting garbled French were sure to get a visit from security at any minute.

Then Lochum brushed past him, rattling off orders in crisp French. The staff immediately snapped to attention as if the director of the hospital himself had just emerged from the helicopter. All their energies were redirected to Bunny rather than the odd circumstances of her arrival.

“What’s he saying?” he asked Monroe, who was studying the conversation closely.

She listened for another second before responding. “I’m pretty sure he’s telling them we’re an international crew working on the Eiffel Tower story when another explosion occurred.”

“You’re pretty sure?”

Monroe shrugged. “Either that or he is ordering sashimi. Like I said, it’s not Cambodian French.”

How a guy who had only been semi-coherent a few moments ago could weave such a believable story was close to amazing, but Brandt would take it. Within seconds the medical staff whisked the redhead away, leaving them alone on the roof.

The sergeant leaned toward his men. It was the best he could do, as his leg muscles were still trembling. “All right, let’s head out.”

“Problem with that, Sarge,” Lopez stated as he climbed back into the chopper. “We’re leaking fuel. Bad.”

Shit. Could nothing roll in their favor?

“You can double our ETA to the airport if we have to go to ground,” Lopez added.

Brandt’s eyes darted to his watch. They were dangerously close to missing the last flight out for London. Fuck. He could normally process situations faster than this. His mind wanted to whirl, but he just did not have the RPMs yet. He looked out over the roof. On the other helipad was a medical transport helicopter.

With a smile, he turned to Lopez. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

The corporal grinned back. “Oh, yeah.”

“I’ll go round up some medical uniforms,” Svengurd said as he moved toward the roof door.

“Don’t forget the cooler,” Davidson shouted before Svengurd disappeared into the hospital.

When Brandt turned back to Monroe, she was obviously confused. “What just happened?”

Oh, he almost felt back to normal. “You’ll see.”

* * *

As their second helicopter within an hour lifted from the roof, Rebecca sat deeper into her seat. The doctor thought if she could just sink deep enough and feel, really feel, the steel beneath her, she would feel anchored. Because right now she was unhinged. Two ambushes in a day could do that to a girl.

But what did she do when she felt out of control? What always made her feel better?

Pulling out her laptop, Rebecca got back to work. In such a short time, Lochum had relayed an immense amount of information. She needed to correlate her own work with these new findings.

As Rebecca went to type, she found the keys moist and sticky. But the keys weren’t the problem. It was her fingers. Had she gotten oil on them? Then she realized blood was smeared all over her hands.

Bunny’s blood.

Frantically wiping her palms against her pants, Rebecca felt panic swell. Images flooded her head: Bunny being blown into the air, slamming against the cement ceiling, then falling back to the floor. Just like Yerato falling down the bank, Rebecca would never get that picture out of her head.

Rebecca looked over to Lochum. The professor just stared straight ahead. He was like a golem who had life breathed into him on the roof, but then returned to his mud-like existence. How could he not care? How could he just sit there when his lover had just been whisked to the ICU?

But then she realized that the professor actually
cared
about Bunny. You didn’t go into shock unless it mattered. It was hard to stomach, but her arrogant, aloof professor was having the most human response than any of them. Here she had gone back to work within seconds of sending Bunny off. Glancing about the helicopter, she found Davidson cleaning his weapon. Lopez must have his earbuds in, as his head swayed to some unknown rhythm as he flew the chopper. Brandt and Svengurd were huddled over their new equipment, talking animatedly. Life as usual for everyone but Lochum.

He looked lost—probably because he
was
lost. His only companion had been stripped from him. It looked as though he hadn’t taken his own advice. Her professor had become invested in someone other than himself.

Long ago, Lochum had taught her that she could rely on only herself. Almost to prove the point, he had screwed her over royally, publishing her findings under his name. After leaving his program and his bed, Rebecca had taken the lesson very, very seriously.

She adopted the life of a nomad. Putting down no roots, keeping an arm’s length from her students, changing universities like worn-out slippers, Rebecca had created the perfect life, alone. No one to hurt you.

Frowning, Rebecca realized that life on the outside also meant no one guarded your back. Her eyes flitted to Brandt. Even though it was just his job, he had saved her life, a couple of times over. In such a limited span of time, she had come to depend on it. To see him sprawled on the ground, helpless, had unmoored her. And she hated the feeling of uncertainty. The sensation of being swept along by events beyond her control. That she actually relied on someone outside of herself.

Lochum had fallen short of his ideal, but she could accomplish it. That brief sense of camaraderie paled in comparison to this feeling of almost desperate need.

Going back to her laptop, she could feel the science soothing her once again. A girl and her computer. That was the life.

* * *

Lochum watched as Rebecca typed away, even as the helicopter banked hard to the right. She was the poster child for obsessive-compulsive disorder. Once trained upon a task, neither matters of heaven nor earth could shake her. But that’s exactly what his newly self-appointed task had become.

His momentary shock at Bunny’s tragic end had transformed into a razor sharp focus. The girl was gone, beyond his help. But he stood at the epicenter of a miracle being born. Larger than life events were unfolding, and he had to have his wits about him. Bunny would be grieved, but only after he brought Christ back to the world.

Studying his former student, Lochum knew her ruse. As much as Dr. Monroe tried to pretend her work ethic was born of professionalism, Lochum knew that computer of hers was nothing more than a pacifier. By indulging in this scientific retreat, he knew her weakness.

Just as he had known years ago, long before laptops became her pacifier, books had been her solace. Any life upset would send her scurrying to the library. The deeper her nose into a volume, the more vulnerable she was. In such a time, when her roommate had slept with Rebecca’s boyfriend, Lochum had comforted his grad student right into his own bed.

Given her determined typing, the professor felt certain he could bend her to his will once again, but on this occasion, he had an obstacle. The professor looked toward Brandt. The two had forged a tentative bond. It was palpable. He had sensed the attachment the first moment they had stepped into his laboratory, and it had been his instinct to truncate it.

Unfortunately, the soldier was no spineless academic to be so easily repelled. Brandt had nerve and a weapon and did not seem hesitant to use either to protect ‘Becca.

The sergeant frantically worked on a scheme that reeked of an amateur while Rebecca desperately tried to type away her anxiety. The two were ripe for manipulation. Once done with his gambit, neither would know what struck.

* * *

Rebecca was well on her way to statistically proving that the silver coins from under the Eiffel Tower were indeed connected to the one they had found in Bethlehem, when her old professor sat down next to her.

“I do not trust these men,” he said, sounding recovered.

She was so not in the mood for his crap. “They just saved your life. Try a little gratitude.”

The older man closed her laptop. “No matter my misgivings, do you not find it a tad convenient that you have been attacked twice? Twice when the location was known only by this man and his commanders?”

Gulping, Rebecca opened her laptop again. Did Lochum really think that she hadn’t considered the course of events? But to suggest Brandt was a pawn of their attackers? Never.

Lochum pressed on. “How do we know that we are not walking into another trap? He means to take us to London. As if this conspiracy could not cross the Channel.”

Rebecca’s mouth was on autopilot. “Whatever happens, Brandt can handle it.”

Lochum turned her chin toward him as he had done so many times before. It used to make her feel special, but now it just annoyed her that he thought she could be manipulated like a lovesick student.

“Tell that to Bunny,” he said.

Lochum had miscalculated whatever pained response he thought he was going to evoke. “This is your patented ‘use a recent painful experience to engender rapport’ technique, isn’t it?”

“How dare you,” he hissed, “…speak to me in such a tone? For the last ten years I have led a life of misery. While you were off gallivanting round the world gathering data for your damned radiation theory, publishing year after year about this ‘smart gene,’ then—”

Now she was equally pissed. “Where I got bitch-slapped by every editor. They took pot-shots at my theories, my conclusions, my—”

“That’s exactly my point! You became the cause célèbre!” As the soldiers looked over, Lochum lowered his voice. “The spotlight turned upon the lone woman striving for scientific proof of mankind’s genius while I wilted in the shadows. No lecturing. No research. No keynote—”

“Get over yourself!” Rebecca barked. The professor’s self-indulgence became unbearable. “Just get to the point. What do you want from me?”

Sucking in a breath, Lochum searched her face, but she was done. Done with his self-aggrandizing. Done with his exploitation. He must have sensed her mood, for he dropped the holier-than-thou tone.

“I digress,” he said as he ever so carefully pulled the femur out from inside his jacket. “Back at the laboratory, we were interrupted before I could elaborate upon my studies.”

Rebecca went back to her typing. “Look, we’re all fried, Lochum.” Still covered in Bunny’s blood, she overrode his objections. “Once we’re safe, I promise I will give your findings my full attention.”

Lochum grabbed her wrist, forcing her to look at him, his eyes wild with passion. He shoved the bone in front of her, pointing to several lines scratched above the femoral trochanter. “The scripture speaks of a place where bones were interred. Where
James
was laid to rest.”

“James?
The
James? As in Jesus’ brother?” Despite her fatigue, she looked at the relic. Could it really hold such a potent clue? Curiosity got the better of her. “Does it give a location?”

“Pest.”

Great, this was going to be another one of her former professor’s “
Where’s Waldo
? – the Antiquity version.” But even annoyance couldn’t stop her from taking the bait. “Is that a code or anagram?”

“My dear, your ancient history really is quite in disrepair.” Before she could argue, Lochum continued. “In the distant past there were two cities: Buda and Pest.”

Without conscious thought, Rebecca finished his statement. “As the two grew they merged. The region became known as Budapest, eventually becoming Hungary’s capital.” Her mind churned through everything she knew of the area. Speaking her process out loud, “It was visited by proto-Christian evangelicals in the immediate post-crucifixion period.”

Lochum had his cat-that-ate-the-canary look. “AD 87 to be exact, and it has the largest network of interconnecting caves. Many of which have been sealed off for centuries.”

Reality edged out Lochum’s swirling mythical excitement. Rebecca shook her head. “But you’ve surveyed there. Three times with me, and how many times on your own before that? Legend is thick with this rumor.”

“But now we know with certainty it is there. Perhaps deeper under the Castle region. I always said we should have blasted through that rock face.”

As Lochum blabbered on about how not finding James was somehow her fault, Rebecca stared at the bone. Under the light of her laptop screen, she could barely make out the writing.

Pest. Not Buda, but Pest.

“We excavated in the area of the Christian churches and crypts.”

“Obviously not deep enough,” Lochum said with disdain.

Rebecca smiled. For all his brilliance, he could be so very blinded by his own press. “We’ve never looked under the Jewish sector.”

“Why would we, when—” Lochum abruptly stopped mid-sentence, then laughed. “My dear, there is a reason I need you. Pest! Of course. No one has searched in that half of the city. All eyes have been set on the east.”

No matter the length of time that had passed or whatever maturity she had gained, it still felt pretty damn good to have impressed Lochum. But there was someone else she wanted to share the discovery with. “We’ve got to tell Brandt.”

“Shh!” he said as he pulled her back down to the seat. “Listen to you! Running to your knight in shining armor.”