The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection With EXCLUSIVE Post-Shiva Short Story (28 page)

Clearing his mind, Tok prayed for guidance. He knew the two doctors would surface eventually. His cadre had eyes and ears throughout the city. Budapest and the Knot had ancient bonds. The city might be trying to recreate their Roman ancestry, but his sect had been there, had made sure this place was well loved by Rome. There was not a stone-paved street that did not know their influence. But for all this quiet presence, there had been no word yet on the doctors. He felt his muscles clench in frustration.

Normally he was a patient man, for he knew that God seldom respected man’s hurried timetable, but now…

Tok exhaled sharply. He must trust in God and be all the more patient. The Lord would reveal Lochum in his own time. Tok reminded himself that he was but the servant.

A tap came at his shoulder. Rising, he kissed Christ’s toes, then faced his mentor. Tok did not bother to turn on his microelectrodes, since Petir was already signing.

“We just received word that they entered the Great Synagogue.”

Tok signed back, “We have heard from our mole, then?” Since giving the order to bring down the London plane, his heart had been heavy, but might his dearest have survived as Lochum had?

But Petir shook his head sharply.

Frowning, Tok could not let his worry override his duty. “Are the doctors still there?”

A nod answered him. “Shall we draw to a close?” Petir asked.

“Have the cars readied.”

His mentor nodded sharply and headed downstairs again.

Tok smiled a secret smile. As always, when he released his will and went with God, God went with him.

* * *

Rebecca typed away, happy to have so much to do. Her mind was filled with letters and phrases instead of pain and loss. Inside the quiet synagogue with its wooden pews and beautiful tapestries, she could almost wipe away the past decade. Pretend that she had not had her heart broken and trampled underfoot by a professor she revered or that an entire team of men who sought only to help her were now dead.

Lochum hurried out of the Ark and handed her another carefully transcribed passage. “Do you have anything yet?”

“So far all we know is an awful lot about the harvest in 78 AD.”

He frowned for a second, then flashed a smile. “Was it bountiful?”

“Oh yeah. Bumper crop.” She could not help but grin back. No one could turn back the clock, but as Lochum patted her shoulder, it certainly seemed it might be possible in this place.

“Do not fret. All this strife will not be for naught.”

And for the first time in the last decade, she believed him. Then a cell phone rang. She looked to Lochum, but he shook his head. The sound was coming from within the Holy Ark.

Bart exited the chamber, pale and hurried. “You must leave!”

“You cannot suggest—”

“Your passports were flagged as wanted terrorists! The authorities have been notified.”

“What?” she and Lochum said together.

The rabbi was nearly apoplectic. “When you entered, they scanned your passports. The guard called to tell me you two were on a watch list!”

She should have anticipated this. Brandt would have, damn it. He would never have used the same documents they used on the flight to get into the synagogue.

Worry flashed that she might have to drag Lochum out of the synagogue to safety, but the professor was already packing up her equipment. “We must not allow anyone to know what we have discovered.”

Bart hurriedly placed another scrap of text into the professor’s hand. “Go out the door to the left, and follow the hall to the museum. There is a back door. It will lead you out into an alley. Go right. Don’t stop until you find a wrought-iron gate. It will seem locked, but if you just lift up on the right side, it will open.”

Lochum returned the rabbi’s embrace. “Thank you, Bartholomew.”

“I will copy more and send it once you are safe.” He and Rebecca exchanged a quick hug. “Do not wait another decade before visiting. Dolores will be wanting to see you.”

A knock came at the main doors of the synagogue.

“Go!” the rabbi hissed as he moved toward the front door.

Lochum took her hand, and they fled once again.

* * *

The light within the chapel went out as Brandt gripped his weapon.

Excellent. It was their first break in a long while. The tunnel was darkened with just the slightest light leaking from deeper inside the chapel.

He gave the signal. Svengurd and Lopez scurried across the archway and set up on the other side. With a nod, Svengurd entered. Lopez and Davidson followed. Brandt brought up the rear even though his every impulse was to rush forward, heedless of the danger.

Checking his corners, Brandt realized the chapel was bigger than he had guessed. For a chamber completely carved out of the surrounding limestone, with ceilings high enough for a chandelier. The furnishings were simple. Unstained wood held together with rusted nails, yet they were far more elegant than many five-star hotels. The sanctuary must have been lovely once, but now it was trashed. The bastards had overturned everything. Even the altar.

“Sarge,” Lopez said seriously enough that the hairs on the back of Brandt’s neck rose.

The sergeant strode over and found what had Lopez worried. The priest whom he had just spoken to lay dead on the floor, his neck slashed.

Brandt’s jaw clenched into a knot. He should have fucking gone in right away. Screw the odds. He had delayed, and this man had died for it. The sergeant swore a thousand curses in his mind, but none of them brought the priest back to life. And he had another life to consider.

“Move forward.”

Without hesitation, Svengurd crept up the short stone staircase to the closed door. It should lead to the tomb of King Bela and his Queen, at least if the tour map could be trusted.

As Lopez provided cover, Svengurd jerked the door open. They filed into the candlelit crypt. The king and his queen were encased in a stone tomb that was so finely sculpted that you felt if you reached out you would touch flesh. All around the tomb, carved columns rose to the rock ceiling. They should have been able to advance quickly, but as they rounded the corner to the northwest staircase, the sight brought them to a halt

The two nuns were sprawled dead on the floor, but at the least their dark robes hid the brunt of the blood. The poor novice’s gray habit showed the volumes of red pouring from her neck.

Brandt knelt next to the young girl who had, until five minutes ago, been preparing to marry Christ. To his surprise, she was still alive, barely.

“Lopez!”

The corporal was beside them in a second, trying to stanch the flow, but the girl’s breaths came in gurgly gasps.

“Shh. Let him do his job,” he said, trying to comfort her.

Her eyes rolled to the stairs, and her last dying word was, “Trap…”

Brandt heard the telltale clatter of a grenade bouncing down steps.

He was on his feet.

“Go, go, and more go!”

* * *

Cutting through the synagogue’s cemetery, Rebecca and Lochum were at a full run when they almost collided with a tree. Only it wasn’t a real tree. In their hurried flight, she had forgotten about the Weeping Willow Memorial.

The metal tree climbed twenty feet above them and each leaf was inscribed with the name of a Jew who had died during the Holocaust. It had always been both a horrid reminder of all those killed, yet was also an incredible testament to a generation that refused to shy from such awful loss so that they might still embrace their future.

Right now though, the draping steel tree was simply in their way. They darted to the left, ran through the World War II-era graveyard and made it into the alley. It must have been dinnertime, for in the buildings all around, Rebecca could hear families settling down for the meal. Dishes clanged and children were called in from their play.

Her footfalls sounded so loud in her ears. Despite the evening clamor, Rebecca was certain the entire neighborhood must have heard their flight, but still they ran. Whether it was the authorities or the Knot at the synagogue’s door, they were getting as far away as possible.

In the twilight, the alley seemed to stretch on forever. Lochum sounded winded, and her legs were heavy as well. Finally, they found the iron gates. The metal twisted upon itself in a unique manner. The pattern seemed vaguely familiar, but she could not place it.

At first the design appeared as if the craftsman had attempted a flower, but aborted halfway through. The finished product was beautiful if not a little disturbing.

“Help me,” Lochum said as he tried to shoulder open the heavy gate.

Rebecca backed him away. “He said to lift it.”

She used one hand at the right corner, and the incredibly heavy metal lifted up easily and swung open, almost inviting them in. Was it part of the architect’s plan or a flaw that made it open so easily for someone who knew the trick?

As they entered the stone courtyard, their footsteps quieted. The hectic sounds from the neighborhood died off as well. She looked at the gate again. Now she knew why it looked so familiar.

“Gozsdu Udvar.”

Lochum glanced about. “So right you are.”

Despite their panic, neither moved. The Gozsdu courtyard was the ground zero of the old World War II Jewish Ghetto. This courtyard connected to six others. In the very overcrowded heart of Pest this huge housing complex stood deserted. No one had lived here for more than fifty years. Ragged curtains stirred as a gentle breeze blew through broken windows. Eerie didn’t even begin to describe the place. Gozsdu was on no one’s tourist map.

Yet this piece of property was within a stone’s throw of all of Pest’s historical buildings—the synagogue, the opera house, and even the Parliament building. This patch of land was prime real estate. Over the years, city managers and land developers had tried to revitalize the area into either commercial shops or private residences, but each time they tried, tragedy befell those who attempted to alter a single piece of pavement.

Folklore had spun tales of a haunting. Only those most hated by the Nazis had been housed here so that the German General Eichmann could overlook them from his office just above the gate. Whispers stirred that those who were watched day and night had cursed the place forever. So half a century later, this once-bustling neighborhood had become a ghost town.

It was also a dead end. All other exits had been blocked by the Germans long ago and had never been opened. The heavy gate was the only way in or out of the Gozsdu.

She looked back down the alley. As the sun set and the high buildings on either side cast dark shadows, flashlights played in the distance. Obviously, their pursuers were expanding the search beyond the temple.

“Why would Bart have sent us here?” she asked.

Lochum closed the gate and took her hand. “We’ve got to get inside.”

Rebecca followed him, but her feet were reluctant. As broken glass rattled in windowpanes, it seemed that the ghosts were telling her it was safer out there with their pursuers than in here with them.

* * *

Luckily the grenade had just been a Flashbang, but they were still hurting. Lopez only had one functioning earplug, so he was shouting constantly. Davidson’s goggles had slipped as the private turned to run, so Svengurd was forced to be his eyes as he fired at the enemy.

For all that, their retreat was fairly organized. Two by two they laid down cover fire while the other two beat a path out, then switched roles. Of course, the cover fire wasn’t covering very much since they were almost out of bullets.

Brandt had to force the novice in her bright burgundy stained robes out of his mind. He couldn’t get any more pissed. His men were already strung too taut. They could take men dying before their eyes, but to have a woman, especially a young girl, go down? It made them do stupid shit like fire off way too many rounds into the darkness when you had limited ammo.

“Shorter bursts!” he yelled over their gunfire.

“What?” Lopez shouted back.

Brandt put a hand on his shoulder. “Save what you got.”

Lopez took his finger off the trigger.

They were deep into the tunnels by now. Lost, but hopefully so were their pursuers. They were too far underground for any infrared tracking equipment. But who needed sophisticated equipment when all the pricks had to do was follow the sound of his men’s gunfire?

“Svengurd, stow it!” Much lower he hissed, “Silence.”

Once his men stopped firing, they could hear a scattering of gunfire, but it was off to their right. Another much farther away. Brandt breathed a well-deserved sigh of relief. They had lost them in the labyrinth of tunnels. At least for now.

He whispered to Svengurd, “Get us out of here.”

As they moved out, Brandt went to take Davidson’s arm, but the private brushed him off. “I think we’re all blind down here.”

Brandt hoped it was true as Svengurd painstakingly backed them away from the chapel.

CHAPTER 16

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Gozsdu Udvar, Budapest

Lochum glanced over to Rebecca as she crouched beneath a cracked window, chewing the edge of her lip. She fretted per usual. The girl could not see an opportunity when it was right in front of her, even if it came in the form of a dilapidated house. She worried that Bartholomew had sent them into a trap, but he knew better. The rabbi had sent them exactly where they needed to be. Why this house in Gozsdu was so important, Lochum did not know, but he would if his student would just get off her doomsday rant.

“Rebecca, my darling, could you please focus on my question?”

She glared at him. “Don’t start, Lochum.”

“Then answer my query. What is so special about this patch of earth?”

Her cheeks were crimson, and every innocuous noise caused her to flinch. “You know the story of the Ghetto as well as I do.”

“Dear child, expand your mind. What was so unique to the ancient peoples of this land? The rest is just an echo of that previous suffering.”

With a resigned sigh, Rebecca opened her laptop. Once she was busy typing, Lochum peeked out the window. Beams of light crisscrossed the darkened buildings, but so far none had ventured into the cursed courtyard. Was that Bart’s plan? To use the haunted history of this place to their advantage, or was it something more?