“How much longer until they intercept?” the sergeant asked as Rebecca emerged from the hatch.
If anything she was even prettier than she had been the night before. Her face had softened with sleep, and her eyes were unfocused and dreamy.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
No one answered as Davidson checked and rechecked his scope. “At this rate? Ten minutes at the most.”
Rebecca cupped her hand and looked out over their wake. By now even the naked eye could make out the glint of their pursuers. She looked into his eyes. What could he say to her? How was she going to react?
But instead of tears or panic, Rebecca simply sighed. “Fine. If we’re going to be attacked, I’ll go get dressed.”
The simplicity of her reaction made him smile. Maybe last night his instincts weren’t wrong after all.
* * *
As she put on another pair of socks to fill up the room inside boots two sizes too big, Rebecca felt the boat make a sweeping right turn. They were on the Tiber. Rome was just a dozen kilometers up the river, yet with three boats on their tail it might as well be Cairo they were aiming for.
“Hope you’re decent,” Davidson yelled as he clamored down the stairs and opened the storage cabinet under his bunk.
“Are they catching up?”
The private nodded as he grabbed fistfuls of Uzi clips. “They’ve got crazy speed. Lopez is having a cow.” He stumbled forward and dropped about half his payload as the boat was rocked by an explosion off to their left. “That would be the RPGs,” Davidson said casually as he gather the clips and vaulted up the stairs.
Rebecca finished tying her boots and followed the private on deck. In the brief moments she had been down in the hold, they had converted the boat into a gunship.
Brandt fired into the distance, but clearly with little hope of hitting anything. “I think you should stay below deck.”
Another RPG exploded closer on the left.
“I seriously doubt it’s any safer down there.”
The sergeant shrugged. “Stay by Lopez then, and keep him filled in.”
Rebecca could see that every muscle in the corporal’s body wanted to turn him around toward the action, but taking the river at these speeds was even more dangerous than the open sea. Here there were shoals and silt deposits that could shatter their boat more effectively than any RPG.
Brandt patted Davidson on the back. “You ready?”
The private rotated his arm then nodded, sinking into a crouching position. Bracing the shoulder, Brandt knelt behind him. “Let ‘er rip.”
Even Rebecca could see the lead boat, but the craft bounced off their wake, its nose catapulting high into the air, then crashing back down. She didn’t think even Davidson could make that shot. The private concentrated, then pulled his eyes away from the scope, flexing his fingers.
“Problem?” Brandt asked.
“Just got to get into the zone.”
Davidson leaned into position and began measuring his breath just as he had done back in Belgium as he prepared to take out the escape car.
“Speed up,” he said to Lopez who was more than willing to comply. “Right there.”
Two more breaths and he pulled the trigger. At first it appeared to be a miss, then the boat swerved sharply to the left, cutting directly in front of the second craft. Their speed did more damage than Davidson. The second boat cut the first in half, igniting a billowing cloud of fire. Whether it was damage from the collision or the inferno, the second craft sputtered to a stop and tipped backward, sinking before their eyes.
“That is so what I am talking about!” Lopez whooped. “Dude, you can have a turn with my sister after a shot like that!”
Unlike their usual banter, Davidson remained focused on his last target, but the boat zigged-zagged through the water. He took two more shots with no response, then jerked his rifle upright.
“I don’t want to waste the ammo.”
Brandt nodded. “At least you’ve made them more cautious.”
Clearly their pursuers had backed off and receded into the distance. They’d even stopped firing the RPGs. At least for now.
“Looks like docking isn’t going to be an option,” Brandt commented.
But the corporal just wore his patented Cheshire cat grin. “Oh, don’t you worry. I’ve got a plan, and it rocks.”
Despite the confidence in Lopez’s voice, Rebecca was worried.
Very worried.
* * *
Tok clenched his jaw as the guard-turned-executioner placed the spike against his skin. The dull metal point touched right above the wrist, between the ulna and radius. The hooded figure raised a heavy mallet and with a single stroke pounded the iron through his flesh, then deep into the wood.
For once Tok was glad to be mute so that no one could hear his scream. The pain radiated from his wrist to his shoulder and then lanced his heart. It took his breath from his lungs. The room alternated black and blindingly white. His vision betrayed him, confused by the waves of nausea.
Too soon the second spike was placed over his right hand. The hand that had endured so much pain already. The hand that had survived eight surgeries. The executioner cared as little as the Romans and pounded the dull spike between the bones of his wrist.
Tok’s breath caught, and he could not release it. The pain became a physical entity in the room, chasing away his thoughts and driving the air from his chest.
In his mind, he begged for any other punishment. The harshest scourging. Drowning, anything but this. Unswayed, the guard tugged the crossbeam upward, forcing Tok to his feet, the wood heavy across his shoulders. With a heave, the guard lifted him by his skewered wrists onto the cross itself.
In that moment of searing agony, Tok honestly could not remember what he had done that deserved such cruelty.
Skin tore and muscles frayed under the strain. He gasped for air as the weight of his body kept his ribs from expanding. How could men survive for days like this? He would barely last an hour.
“Sit,” his executioner demanded.
Confused, Tok felt a narrow plank attached to the cross. He maneuvered his body so that the narrow seat supported most of his weight. Relief flowed through him.
He could breathe!
His wrists would forever be useless, but he could breathe!
Then he realized that it was no act of kindness to offer the seat. Instead it allowed the executioner to align his ankles over one another.
Tok’s pride wished him to be still and accept his punishment like a warrior, but something deeper and more primordial took over, and his legs flailed, kicking at the man and his damned spike.
But the executioner was prepared for his brutal task and allowed Tok to writhe until the pain in his wrists sapped his strength. Weak and panting, he could not put up any resistance as the hooded guard wedged his ankles between the wood and his body.
Clenching every muscle in his body, Tok felt the spike drive through one ankle, but the man had not hit hard enough and the metal tip bounced off his left tibia.
God, no! Was all Tok could think as the executioner realigned the spike, grinding the metal against the ankle already pierced.
Harder than he ever had before, Tok tried to shout. But only an incoherent garble came from his throat as another swing jarred his entire body, and his ankles were nailed to the cross.
Anger, shame, and self-pity coursed through his veins.
How had their savior willingly offered himself to such suffering?
CHAPTER 30
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Tiber River, Italy
“That’s not a plan,” Rebecca said, hand on her hip. Lopez was insane. Crazy. Out of his mind. “It’s suicide.”
But rushing toward the bend in the river, no one was listening.
“Everyone below deck,” Brandt ordered as he urged her forward.
She went to argue, but his firm grip didn’t invite discussion
. If Lopez’s plan had any chance of working it required their pursuers to see them go into the hatch before they made the last curve toward Rome.
Davidson was the first down, already disassembling his rifle, packing the pieces into his clothing. The sergeant crammed weapons into his pants.
“I say we think this through,” Rebecca implored. She was banged up. Hell, they were all banged up, but through no fault of their own. Even cutting to half speed, this “plan” of Lopez’s would change that, putting them squarely in harm’s way.
The corporal’s stomp sounded above their heads. In a rush, they climbed back onto the deck. Rebecca glanced over their stern. The other boat was out of sight. In front of them, and coming up fast, was the Ponte Rotto Bridge. A bridge constructed of solid stone. Stone that would crush them if they made a single misstep.
“Move out,” Brandt said as Davidson climbed over the windshield onto the boat’s hood as it hauled ass at over a hundred miles per hour, hitting the water with something akin to a ton of pressure per square inch.
In a single leap, Brandt cleared the windshield. “You can do this.”
Rebecca doubted that, but she accepted his hand and soon the three of them balanced on the slick hood as the archway rushed toward them.
“On my mark,” the sergeant growled as Lopez cut the throttle, gripping her hand tightly. “Three… Two…”
She could see crags in the stone’s surface as Brandt yelled, “One!”
Launching herself, Rebecca flew through the air. The “plan” was to land and roll onto the bridge itself, but she got nowhere near that height. Slamming into the stone guardrail, her hands scrambled for purchase as Lopez hit the gas and his windshield whisked under her. The water would break any fall, but the other boat was due around the corner at any moment.
Then the sergeant was there and Davidson too. They hauled her up and over the edge in a single motion. They even cushioned her landing.
She really, really, really needed to get some of these guys for her fieldwork.
* * *
“Get down!” Brandt hissed as they all went to their bellies.
The sound of the other boat roared down the river, but then slowed. Had they seen Rebecca dangling there? Their engine sputtered as the driver cut the power. The vessel was built for high torque, not idling.
“Should we scramble?” Davidson whispered.
Brandt shook his head tersely. They had to wait it out. There were too many gaps in the stone railing. If they tried to rabbit, they’d be spotted. No, they were safer pulling a possum behind the stone facade.
Then a huge metal hook flew over the retaining wall.
They were discovered.
“Move!” he hissed, but Rebecca held his arm.
“Wait. Don’t you hear that?”
Sure enough another engine screamed in complaint. Only Lopez could make a machine beg for mercy so desperately.
“Suckers! I knew you’d do that!” he yelled.
Brandt risked a glance over the edge to find the corporal aiming his boat right at their pursuer’s boat. The two vessels collided in a crash of metal and fire that heated through even the thick stone.
“Go!”
They sprinted across the bridge, finally ducking between two buildings as the neighborhood poured out to see the spectacle.
So much for stealth.
* * *
Tok kept his eyes tightly closed. Tears still somehow snuck out the corners, but he refused to sob. He had already shamed himself too greatly. He would not add to his humiliation, but the nails crushed tender tissue between coarse metal and his own bone.
Agony was too gentle a word for the pain. Waves of nausea threatened, but with a firm resolve, he kept his teeth clenched. He would not give the Twelve the satisfaction of seeing him lose his stomach.
The sound of whispered prayer filled the small subterranean chamber. The Twelve’s words soaking into the dirt walls. If Tok had not turned his implants to high before entering the room, he would not have been able to hear their hushed words. And so many of those words were new to the world. They were spoken from the bones just recovered.
Pain was not the only source of his stinging tears. He could feel the rebuke in each of their voices. To hear of James’ regret after the crucifixion and his quest to redeem himself hurt in a way he never imagined. To know he would die before he knew the full truth of this great man’s life. He would die before finding Him. It was more cruel than even the spikes through his flesh.
A stirring passed through the room. Squinting against the bright light, Tok looked at the Twelve. They were of bent heads, consulting in tones low enough not even his amplifiers could overhear—then one stepped forward.
“It is time to end this,” the masked member intoned through a voice modifier. No one was to know who stood in judgment.
Tok gulped. Suffering for days turned his stomach, but to face death now? He was not ready, but he kept his lips pursed. He would beg no more.
Let death come, then.
The executioner grabbed the mallet he had used to drive the stakes and swung it over his shoulder. The heavy hammer arced up, then swung toward Tok’s left leg.
He braced for impact but someone charged into the room.
“Stop!”
Confused, the executioner changed trajectory and only grazed his knee. Tok blinked several times, for he could not believe who stood between him and death.
It was Petir.
But his presence was an unprecedented breach of ritual. A breach so great that it carried a penalty of death.
“Lower him immediately!” the older man demanded.
The executioner moved toward the cross until the hooded leader of the Quorum stepped between Petir and Tok. “How dare you violate the holy sanctum of this trial?”
As a shock to all, Petir backhanded the man, sending him sprawling. A collective gasp escaped the Quorum. The action reminded them that Petir was no ordinary member of the Knot.
Long ago, Tok’s mentor had stopped being a man and had become a legend. He had been captured and tortured by three separate popes for his role in the Knot. Israeli Nazi hunters held him for almost a year for his tangled relationship with the SS, and imams around the Middle East had issued enough fatwas against him to fill a library.
With every ounce of this earned reputation, Petir glared the Quorum down. “You have tainted our Lord with this black assembly. You are operating without the blessing of the Knot and laid upon this servant of God a death sentence to serve your own petulance.”
“Do not think your intrusion will go unpunished!” the hooded man said shrilly. Not even his modulator could hide the tremble in his voice.
Petir took a step forward as the man shrunk back, raising an arm to protect himself from a strike that did not materialize. “Do you think I am naïve to your game, Darve?” The room trembled as the others’ robes rustled like leaves blown by a strong fall wind. “Yes, I know all who stand in opposition today. Klarmont. Fanco. Shallan.”
Now there were too many voices to count as all raised shouts of alarm. The Quorum’s identities were sacrosanct. But now this strange, hurried ritual came into sharp focus. Each of those named was no friend of Tok’s. Each resented his rapid ascent of position and power.
“Do you know the punishment for falsely convening a Quorum? Guards follow on my footsteps. If you wish not to be arrested, I suggest you flee now and do not look back.”
Darve tried to stand strong before Petir’s billowing rage, but his colleagues melted into the darkness. Soon he alone stood before Tok’s mentor. “You overreach, Petir.”
The words might have been meant as a threat, but they sounded hollow as they echoed off the nearly empty chamber.
The older man turned away from Darve and directed the executioner. “Take him down, or you shall answer under my knife, Jonathan.”
As Darve slunk from the room, his tormentor pulled the spike from Tok’s ankles, then his left hand. He tried to keep himsel
f upright, but as the final spike was wretched from his flesh, he fell into Petir’s embrace.
Slowly he lowered Tok to the floor. “There, there, be still.”
“I thought you had abandoned me,” he managed to whisper.
Petir hugged him to his chest. “Never, never, my friend. My only sorrow is that I did not arrive before this travesty.” As he turned to Jonathan, his mentor’s tone firmed. “Help me get him to the infirmary.”
The thwarted executioner backed a step away, then turned on his heel and fled up the steps like a young girl.
Petir’s stance changed. His shoulder fell, and the older man looked near tears. “Forgive me, Master, but we must hurry. Can you stand?”
Tok’s eyes burned with bitterness that he could not fulfill his mentor’s request. Petir’s eyes frantically searched the room. He rose and pulled the crossbar from the beam. “Use this as a crutch. I will hold your other side.”
But Tok’s feet refused to respond to his mind’s commands. “Petir, I fear the guards will have to see me crippled like this.”
“There are no guards, Tok. Or if there are, it is to arrest the both of us.”
“I do not…” He studied the older man’s wrinkled face. The grooves were deeper than Tok had ever seen. “I do not understand.”
Petir’s words were rushed. “This sorry lot may have convened a false trial, but that does not mean a blessed Quorum will not reach the same conclusion. We must depart before they are alerted to my actions.”
Tok’s mind spun worse than it had on the cross. “You… You mean to act against the Knot?”
“Yes!” Petir said earnestly, then quieted. “In this, yes. We alone are destined to see this to the end. No other, Tok, no other.”
Something in the pride that shone in his mentor’s face made strength surge through his legs and the pain abated if but a bit. With Petir’s help, Tok gingerly reached his feet, then with the help of the very piece of wood that bore his bloodstains. He took a tentative step toward his fate.
CHAPTER 31
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Rome, Italy
Lopez burst into their suite at the Hotel Cicerone. “I love Rome!”
The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection Page 39
