The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection

by Carolyn McCray

  “No, the Knot didn’t take him,” she finally concluded.

  “When was he removed?” Brandt demanded.

  When she looked up, her hand was on her hip. With the same set to her lips as she had in Ecuador. “You know what? Why don’t you worry about how you are going to get out of here and leave the archaeology to me?”

  With a tight grin, Brandt turned toward the tunnel, satisfied they were in good hands.

  The bitch was back.

  * * *

  Rebecca studied the slab, anger burning through her veins. She knew that had been Brandt’s intent, to turn her grief into tangible energy, but she wasn’t mad at him.

  She was mad at Lochum. After extracting her from Ecuador, the bastard had co-opted her own quest for his own. He had entangled her in a messy, bloody battle that she wanted no part of, and now with him gone, her life hung in the balance. Even though Lochum hadn’t slit his own neck, the professor had set the knife to his throat by helping the Knot.

  The old fool. They didn’t respect him. They had used him.

  Clearly he had made the same connection between the silver coins and the Roman mint as she had. Then not only had Lochum divined another path to the crypt, which didn’t surprise her given his in-depth knowledge of ancient Rome, but shared it with Tok. Her old professor had done the Knot’s heavy lifting for them.

  But with his body only a few feet away and not yet cold, Rebecca felt a tinge of guilt. Lochum was Lochum. There had not been one like him, and there never would be again.

  Sighing, realizing there was nothing of value to the pedestal, Rebecca turned to the walls. Before, when there was gunfire flashing and blood spraying, she hadn’t noticed the raw quality to the artwork. The murals were in the style of the era when Jerusalem had fallen to Rome, yet the strokes were not as refined. Almost as if there was a rage behind them.

  The abstract-style brushstroke would not flourish for a millennium, yet many of these images were incomplete. But at the same time, the unfinished nature seemed to be the painter’s purpose.

  Rebecca squinted at one panel, which represented the return of Jesus from his trials in the desert. At first, she thought the man standing beside Christ was his brother James, but then realized her mistake when she read the scrawled Latin. The man so close to Jesus was Judas.

  Her mistake was not without precedence. There were numerous contemporary accounts, mostly in the Gnostic Gospels, that the savior and his betrayer were as close as brothers and even looked the part.

  Many scholars used Jesus’ and James’ dissimilar features to strengthen their belief that Mary was a perpetual virgin. That she and Joseph never had sex and never gave birth to other children. These detractors asserted that anytime the Bible stated that Jesus had brothers and sisters, they were in fact just cousins.

  Lochum had scoffed at such theories. The Bible was pretty clear. Jesus had siblings. Blood siblings. And this painting supported that notion as James stood nearby and was described clearly to be the brother of Christ with no disclaimers. Another figure, a little boy, was identified as Ameil. Now she had a face to put with the name on the Knot’s roll call, but still didn’t know who the child was, or his significance.

  At the bottom of the picture, like an artist’s signature, was the symbol of the Knot. The image so similar to the Buddhist Love Knot that it had condemned Svengurd.

  But she couldn’t think like that. Instead, beneath the symbol was the name James. Not surprising. She glanced around the room to find another twenty-nine Knot symbols with the name of one of the conspirators under it. She pulled the list she had transcribed from Magdalene’s bones and found it confirmed here. All members of the Knot.

  But the intriguing fact was that under the primary member’s name was a list of another dozen or so people. Rebecca was reminded of Tok’s cryptic statement. “The Knot is but a tangling of threads, not without their frayed ends.”

  Before it had been an interesting theoretical concept, but now seeing the names scrawled on the walls with their sect’s followers, it became tangible. Names were listed such as Perl the Menter, Simon of Butin, and many, many more.

  Much as John the Baptist and Jesus had their own congregation, these thirty had a personal cult that traveled down through the centuries—acting independently of the Knot. It had been John’s sect that had bombed Paris. Might she be dealing with a similar situation?

  Which brought her to “the man without contempt,” the man who stole Christ from the Virgin, the man who carried Jesus to his final resting place. Perhaps he was listed here. Maybe she could divine if he moved the body and why. But when she searched the wall she found the moniker, “the man with contempt.”

  With contempt? Was it a misspelling? The penmanship might be frantic, but it was bold and precise. When had the man found contempt? What had happened?

  That’s when it hit her. Jesus’ body not been moved in antiquity, or stolen, or destroyed.

  Christ had never been here at all.

  * * *

  Out of the corner of his eye, Brandt saw Rebecca stumble backward into the marble slab, clutching it to stay upright. Fearful an occult injury was rising to the surface as her adrenaline waned, the sergeant rushed over.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She pushed his worried hands away. “He was never here.”

  “Who?”

  “Jesus.” Rebecca looked into his eyes. “The man who hid him lied.”

  Brandt was totally confused. “What man and what lie?”

  “The man with contempt…”

  He grabbed her shoulders. “Rebecca, you’ve got to tune in. Catch me up.”

  Her eyes seemed to refocus. “Okay, you know the bones’ inscriptions hold clues to where the next set of remains is hidden. With me?”

  “Yeah. John to Magdalene to Mary to Jesus.”

  Rebecca took a deep breath, seeming to get her wind back. “But I just realized that those clues are not necessarily linear.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Clearly frustrated, the doctor drew images of the different bones in the dust covering the slab. “Just because something is transcribed onto John’s bones does not mean it relates to finding Magdalene’s body, and so forth.”

  “Then what does it relate to?”

  Making lines that intersected the different bones, she brought the lines together at a nexus. “To finding Jesus’ body. Not even Mary’s bones contain all the clues necessary to find Christ. You need to piece together many clues from the other bones as well.”

  Brandt nodded. “Got it. It’s a multidimensional puzzle.”

  “Exactly. So I went over all the clues in my mind and realized that some of the statements I thought related to Magdalene’s bones actually referred to Christ and that…”

  The sergeant waited for a breath, then another, but Rebecca didn’t answer, so he finished for her, “That the man who was entrusted with carrying Jesus lied to the Knot?”

  “Which I should have suspected. I mean, he agreed to take the bones with Mary, but lied. In the dark of night he stole the bones and was gone for years. When he returned he told them that he buried them here, but he didn’t. He lied again.”

  “But he’s a member of the Knot, right? Why would he lie to them?”

  Rebecca pointed to a name on the wall. “He found contempt.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  She looked into his eyes. “The Knot. For some reason they pissed him off, but royally. He took the bones and hid them from everyone. Even built this false crypt in case anyone came looking.”

  Brandt felt like stumbling back, but not out of disappointment like Rebecca, but out of relief. Christ was safely hidden away. “So we have no way of finding Jesus?”

  He might have been relieved, but she looked crushed. Brandt pulled her into his arms. “It’s okay. The Knot knows the same thing. Whatever they were so desperately hiding is safe. They can crawl back into their hole. You’re off the hook. We can come in from the c
old.”

  But for all his reassurance, Rebecca still cried. He stroked her hair, murmuring comforting words, but Brandt’s mind was racing. It now made sense why Tok had made such a hasty retreat. There was no reason to linger. The chamber was useless. Which meant he and Rebecca were safe to follow their path out. Why bother springing a trap when there was nothing left to trap?

  Therefore they could reconvene with his team, call for an extraction, get a good night’s sleep, and be home by this same time tomorrow.

  He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Rebecca didn’t put up much resistance to being guided from the room until they passed Lochum’s body. “Help me.”

  “I know you don’t want to just leave him here, but we can’t risk carrying a body—”

  “Just help me,” she said in a tone that made him take the professor’s limp body into his arms as Rebecca prompted, “Over here.”

  As she indicated the slab, Brandt realized what she was doing.

  The world thought the professor dead. There would be no one to attend his funeral, even if the government allowed one. Why not leave him here? In a chamber created to house a great man?

  Rebecca was right. With the Vatican overhead, Lochum would be in good company.

  The Betrayal

  ══════════════════

  Jersusalem

  AD 42

  Judas laughed easily at Peter’s good-humored jest that Thomas did not believe that Magdalene’s haroset had been made from fresh figs until he tasted it himself. This was the best of Passover Seders. The lamb was tender and fragrant, filling the spacious room with the scent of God’s love. The tishpishti, always his favorite, was soaked in the most flavorful honey. His only disappointment was that Ameil was not present.

  With both the Romans and the Temple priests frowning upon Jesus’ presence in Jerusalem this Passover, Kyle had feared a raid. Judas had assured his brother-in-law that the location was well kept from prying eyes, but Kyle had taken the boy to his cousin’s home in Bethany for the Seder.

  For once in the longest time, the Twelve were well suited. The tension of the arduous trek to the Holy City seemed to melt as Mary’s butter did over her pastella, for Jesus was alive. His ministry bloomed as the growing number of pilgrims for the holiday flocked to his sermons, yet still no arrest. So as savory as the lamb tasted, their mouth watered for freedom. Tomorrow, as the crowds drained from Jerusalem, so did the threat.

  “More haroset?” Magdalene asked.

  His belly was full of the kaftes and artichokes, so he declined. “Your meal has been too bountiful. I can take no more.”

  But the woman seemed unsettled by his words. “Did you not find the almonds crushed to your liking?

  Judas felt near to bursting, but he did not wish to disappoint Magdalene. Taking a slice of the unleavened loaf, Judas dipped the corner into the thick jam. “Thanks be to you.”

  Magdalene nodded as Mary entered with the symbolic fifth glass of wine. They had already drunk the fourth chalice to commemorate God’s promise of Redemption. This fifth was meant for the prophet Elijah so when he returned to earth he might drink to declare God’s final salvation.

  The table quieted as she stood before Jesus. Mary looked hesitant, but her son nodded solemnly. With great care, the mother of Christ laid the cup down in front of her son. She then kissed the decanter of wine and filled the chalice.

  Judas had been to many Seders and had never seen this ritual. The glass was normally set before an empty seat. Jesus surveyed those on either side of the table, then brought the cup to his lips.

  But before drinking, he dipped a bit of coarse bread in the haroset, then ate it. “This is my body.” Then to the amazement of all, Christ drank the holy wine meant for Elijah. “This is my blood.”

  The others were in various states of rapture. For months now the Twelve had begged the Savior to embrace his heritage and announce to all that he was Elijah reborn, but Judas felt a weight settle upon his heart, for he knew this proclamation heralded only pain.

  Judas glanced to James, whose lips were set in a straight, unyielding line. This act bode poorly. Jesus was not awaiting Rome or Herod to act, but signaled for himself the beginning of the end. The high priests would never tolerate one who claimed to be Elijah to walk amongst them. Their retribution would be swift and cruel.

  Jesus raised a hand to quiet the assembly for his tone was somber. “Before this night is banished by the dawn, one of you will betray me.”

  As voices rose in protest, Judas sought James’ gaze. What did his brother mean? But James would not meet his stare, instead the taller man’s eyes bored into Christ.

  “He who dipped his bread before me will seek the Temple guards and bring them to my threshold.”

  Everyone searched about, trying to divine whom Jesus meant, when Judas looked to Magdalene, whose eyes had watered over. It was then that Judas felt the crumbs upon his fingers.

  He had been the last to dip… upon Magdalene’s insistence.

  As the others erupted into shouts, Judas rushed from the room, stumbling down the steps and out onto the dim street. Judas gripped the railing, fearful he might fall to his knees if he let go. He wished to run far and away, but his leg failed him. It would go no farther.

  Why had Jesus and Magdalene conspired to make it seem Judas was the betrayer? He could not, would not, offer his friend to the Romans. Jesus might be prophesied to die, but never with Judas’ assistance.

  “Do not be angry with me,” a voice called from the doorframe.

  “I won’t betray you.”

  As Jesus stepped out into the waning light, he wore a sad smile. “But you must. They would believe no other capable of such a feat.”

  Judas stood in stunned silence. This manipulation had stretched back further than he had realized. During the long months of their ministry, Judas had often wondered why Jesus had done little to challenge the Twelve’s attitude about him. He had thought it a lesson to teach Judas to accept the world as it was, but he realized Jesus had intentionally kept him on the margin. With everyone’s already sour opinion of him, how easy it would be for them to believe he would turn his friend over to the cursed Romans?

  “I will not fulfill John’s word,” Judas spoke passionately.

  Jesus shook his head. “The Baptist did not know the all. You must betray me, Judas, so that I might live.”

  Confused, Judas shook his head. “They mean to crucify you.”

  “And he means to survive it,” Magdalene said from behind them. “If we perform this properly, the potions he used upon me might allow him to survive so that he might rise again.”

  Judas looked at his friend, who neither argued with nor confirmed the woman’s words. “That is blasphemy.”

  But Magdalene’s head shook violently. “Is it? Just as you helped arranged the ass and the palm fronds for his entrance into Jerusalem, we are simply fulfilling God’s plan.”

  “But are we not to trust in Him? Trust that he will raise you from the dead.”

  Jesus found his voice. “And what if we have misinterpreted scripture? What if He does not? What if He expects us to use our minds as well as our hearts. Can we risk all that we have accomplished to fall away?”

  “Then Magdalene can assist you,” Judas spat, his heart in a tug-of-war between anger and hope.

  “Would that he would let me,” the younger Mary snapped back.

  Jesus put an arm around Judas’ shoulder. “When this plan was first conceived, I thought of no other that I would trust with this most important task. If there is any chance at all, the timing must be precise. You must leave now, Judas. I must be arrested before the moon reaches its zenith.”

  Quaking under his friend’s touch, Judas shook his head. “Andrew or Thomas—”

  “No other knows, Judas. They cannot. They must believe so that all others believe.”

  Shouts came from the room above them. The Twelve were in
great fervor. Surely damning him.

  “We must return,” Magdalene said, disappearing back into the house.

  “Do you not wish to sit upon a bank with me again, my friend?”

  “Always,” Judas choked out.

  Jesus cupped Judas’ cheeks with both his hands. “This is the only way. Please, go to the temple. Tell them where we reside. I beg you.”

  Then the Savior was gone as well, leaving Judas alone with his pain. To turn Jesus over to the priests would be a betrayal of the worst, yet not assisting with his arrest could jeopardize his friend’s life.

  But in the end, his decision was made for him. Just as Mary had said, his love of her son was both a gift and a curse. For no matter the request, Judas could not deny Jesus.

  Despite his leg’s pain, Judas began the long trek to the temple. Even though Jesus had set him upon this course, Judas could not help but feel that with every step he was fulfilling John’s harsh words.

  CHAPTER 33

  ══════════════════

  Rome, Italy

  Rebecca sat in their suite’s overstuffed couch, yet still she couldn’t get comfortable. How could she when her guilt sat right next to her? The large seat seemed far too small. The suite was four-star, yet felt cramped and dingy to her. Her eyes stung from crying and her feet ached from walking hours and hours out of the false crypt.

  It turned out that the path Lochum used to find the burial chamber was connected to a tangle of Christian catacombs. For the umpteenth time, she kicked herself for not thinking of it. She had been so focused on the Pope’s Palace that she had neglected the more ancient, deeper, origin of the Vatican. Even before Romulus and Remus, the hill had been considered a sacred burial site. Hell, the early Christians had interred Peter under there.

  When they exited the tunnel system under the Basilica of St. Clemente, Rebecca had burst into tears. Brandt had to nearly carry her out of there. If only she had done was Lochum had taught her and looked back through time. If only she had been a better student, her professor might be alive. They could have intercepted Tok. Freed Lochum before it was too late. Instead, he had died in her arms.