30 Pieces of Silver: An Extremely Controversial Historical Thriller

by McCray, Carolyn

  It was not until the supplicant was fully blessed by John and submerged in the river’s warm water that Judas realized the man’s identity.

  Jesus! His old friend.

  Many times Judas wondered how the awkward boy had fared as a man. It had been well over a decade since they had last shared a moment together. Duty had taken Judas north, while his studies had taken Jesus south. He had heard of Jesus’ accomplishments, yet had wondered why his friend had not begun a ministry of his own. But seeing him standing beside this John, Judas could see the years had been good to his friend. Jesus’ eyes twinkled with nearly the joy that Ameil’s did.

  His nephew looked up to Judas with eyes wide. They were not in the presence of one great man, but two. Prophecies had been on everyone’s lips, but now seeing these men standing side by side, even Judas could feel the import of this Baptism.

  Glancing about the crowd, Judas found Mary apart from the throng. But instead of pride in her eyes, Jesus’ mother had her hands to her pinched lips, shaking her head. James hugged his mother tight, but even Jesus’ younger brother could not calm her disquiet.

  Judas looked out at the river again as Jesus waded to the water’s edge. Other supplicants who had gathered to be blessed now touched Jesus’ robe. The crowd parted as the Red Sea had done for Moses.

  Judas thought to join his childhood companion, but so many yearned for Jesus’ company that he did not wish to intrude. “Come, Ameil, let us find our way back.”

  But the boy was tugging him toward Jesus. “Stay, stay, stay!”

  “I think I have enough coin for dried apricots,” Judas coaxed.

  Ameil clapped his hands high in the air and turned on his heel, but the crush of worshippers made it impossible to pass. Judas guided the boy to a small path that bordered the desert, then curved back to meet the village.

  “This way, nephew.”

  The boy let go of Judas’ hand and ran down the path, kicking up dirt as he went. He almost called for Ameil to slow his pace, but why not allow the child to enjoy the spring day? His nephew knew the way to the baker and his treats better than Judas. No matter how long it took for him to join Ameil, the child could be found waiting for his bit of sweets.

  “Judas!” someone called from behind. He turned to find Jesus cresting the small hill. To Judas’ surprise, Jesus embraced him as he would kin. “How glad I was to see your countenance amongst the worshippers!”

  While Judas recognized Jesus, this was not the awkward, almost sullen, boy he remembered. His face was aglow with an easy smile that parted his bearded face.

  “I thought you were still in Jerusalem,” Judas said, taken aback by the enthusiasm of his friend’s welcome.

  Jesus patted him on the shoulder. “I was, but when I heard of this man preaching peace upon the riverbank I had to attend for myself.”

  “As did I.”

  “It has been too long, Judas,” Jesus said, the grin slipping from his lips. “So much has transpired. Too much to speak of here on the road.”

  “Then come to my home,” Judas suggested, but Jesus shook his head. “Your family would be welcome as well. I saw Mary and James in the crowd.”

  Jesus shook his head sharply. “They leave for the Holy City even now.”

  “Without you?”

  “I have another journey, but it is providence we have met here.”

  Judas waited for him to elaborate, but the quiet, almost reclusive friend of old seemed to emerge from this outgoing, almost gleeful Jesus.

  “Might I assist you in any way to prepare for your trip?” Judas asked.

  Solemn eyes met his own. “That is always your way, my friend. Generous when you have no cause to be…” Jesus looked up to the sky like he did so many years ago. He spoke but did not look at Judas. “This baptism has opened my heart. Something stirs within my breast, desperately wishing to be unleashed.”

  “Then release it.”

  Jesus grinned. “But, my dear friend, I do not yet know what it is.”

  They laughed heartily, but once the humor was spent they became solemn. Judas knew that of which Jesus spoke. He had felt it in his heart too. The feeling was beautiful in its ripeness but frightening in its intensity.

  “I must meditate upon this, Judas. I must go into the desert until I know what gift God has given me, and how I am to use it.”

  Judas did not argue. This was Jesus’ way. “Then let us go to the village. We will find a donkey and load him with food and blankets and—”

  “No, I must leave now. Alone.”

  “I do not think God would quarrel if you brought water and flatbread.”

  But Jesus was impassioned. “If you felt the urgency in my feet, you would know I must leave with just my sandals and the robe upon my back.”

  “How long will you be away?”

  “Forty days and forty nights.”

  Judas shook his head vigorously. “Then I must get you some—”

  “If there is one thing I know…” Jesus took Judas by the arm, “it is that God will provide. I ask but only one thing of you.”

  “Anything.”

  “I fear this harsh journey will sap my will. I may return elated or broken. In either circumstance it is only you I wish to meet upon my return.”

  “Of course, Jesus. You had but to ask,” Judas assured Jesus.

  “In forty days may God grant that we chance upon this place again,” Jesus said.

  “But I will come with a full waterskin and plate full of sweetmeats,” Judas teased and his friend smiled, but Judas could tell he was already on his journey into the desert without taking a solitary step. “Off with you, then.”

  Without a look back, Jesus walked into the stark desert with such purpose it seemed as if God and he had a meeting place already set. Tears unexpectedly sprang to Judas’ eyes. It had been so long since they had been intimates, yet Judas missed Jesus already. He feared that upon his friend’s return that he would be neither the withdrawn youth nor the jubilant man who just left. He would be someone entirely new.

  No matter his worry, Judas vowed to revisit this place in forty days’ time. He would not betray Jesus’ trust.

  CHAPTER 6

  Paris, France

  Brandt turned down the Saab’s air conditioning. The oppressive heat of the Belgian afternoon had given way after sunset, and as they rushed toward the heart of Paris the temperature had become almost chilly. But without the fan on, the heavy stench that clung from the hangar fire became nauseating. Despite the bite to the air, the sergeant rolled down his window.

  Passing yet another car, he turned to Lopez. “Let’s take a little lead off.”

  The corporal obeyed as he glanced at his watch. “But you’ve got to admit… two hours and twelve minutes. Not bad.”

  Brandt didn’t want to encourage Lopez’s need for speed, but the quick travel time was even more impressive, considering they had taken precious moments out to switch cars twice and steal civilian clothes. Lopez, of course, had insisted he could make up the time in transit. There were moments that Brandt worried that the car would become airborne, but the corporal had delivered on his promise.

  The sergeant glanced in the rearview mirror. Svengurd leaned against the window, snoring lightly. Monroe and Davidson were asleep as well, their heads resting upon the other. Everyone had been dosed with antibiotics for their numerous wounds, but Brandt had made sure Davidson got a full dose of morphine before they departed. The private was full of youthful reserve, but you couldn’t get banged up like that and not pay a price. And he needed every one of them to be at the top of his game.

  They headed into a classic, textbook black box scenario. The condition of Paris, Lochum, and the Institute were all unknowns. After the ambush in Belgium, the sergeant had given the Den a SitRep, but he had gone silent after that.

  Somehow their assailants had not only known his team’s landing field but had beaten them to the hangar. There was a leak. As impossible as it should have been, someone within
his chain of command had given the enemy vital information.

  Brandt had to assume that the mole hadn’t forgotten to spread his team’s ultimate destination: Paris. But what could he do? His team was the only one with boots on the ground in Europe. If any group could evac Lochum before their elusive enemy, they could. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t take precautions. They had changed cars, clothes, and even the route they were taking into France. If Command didn’t know his movements, they couldn’t leak them.

  Scanning ahead, Brandt found the Eiffel Tower lighting up the night sky, a bright arrow on their compass. The laboratory was located only a few blocks from the Plaza.

  Despite his worries, Brandt found himself admiring the view. For all his travels he had never been to Paris. Hell, he’d never been to any of the tourist Meccas. The scumbags he hunted usually didn’t go sightseeing. His view of the world was full of sleazy bars, war-blighted cities, and impoverished villages. Tasked with keeping civilization’s lights on, Brandt seldom got to actually see them.

  The sound of Lopez signaling a left turn brought Brandt back to his immediate problem. He glanced into the mirror again. Would his team be ready for another firefight? Monroe had slid down a little, her head resting against Davidson’s shoulder. She looked peaceful, so unlike the little Amazonian warrior of the night before or even the obsessive-compulsive scientist on the plane. The worry lines creasing her face now smoothed into nearly porcelain features.

  “I wish the doc back at the base was that hot,” Lopez snorted. “Shit, they wouldn’t have to order any of us to get a physical. We’d be there three times a week, at least!”

  Not wanting to admit he had indulged in similar thoughts, Brandt changed the subject. “You gave her the quarter dose of morphine, right?”

  “Popped it in with the antibiotics. Should help with the PTSD.”

  Brandt didn’t argue with his corporal, but the doctor didn’t have post-traumatic stress disorder. Back on the Tarmac, Monroe’s face hadn’t blanched until he gave her the cryptic message from Lochum. Whatever her mentor was working on had rattled Monroe to the core. Hence, the morphine.

  “Street parking or underground structure?” Lopez asked.

  “Underground.”

  The car’s grille bounced off the curb as the corporal took the turn a little too quickly. “My bad.”

  At least the sergeant didn’t have to wake up the others. A wave of groans arose from the backseat.

  “Look alive,” Brandt ordered. “We’re exiting at a roll.” Davidson and Svengurd gave a curt nod, but Monroe looked a little queasy at the thought. “Lopez, keep within a ten-block radius. Maintain radio silence. Use clicks only if imperative.” Off the corporal’s vigorous nod, Brandt continued, “and do not get pulled over for a traffic violation.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Lopez actually took his foot off the gas as they neared the elevators. “Don’t forget to tip your driver!”

  Ignoring the corporal, the doors burst open as everyone poured out of the vehicle. Without waiting for confirmation that they were out safely, Lopez hit the gas, laying down rubber on the ramp. The sharp sound of the BMW’s grille hitting the curb echoed through the deserted garage. Brandt helped Monroe to her feet, since the morphine still seemed to be working its magic.

  “We’re lucky if he doesn’t get arrested,” Davidson commented as he started to reassemble his rifle.

  Brandt shook his head. “Let’s keep the civilian vibe going until we know more.”

  The private stowed his weapon in his jacket as Svengurd hit the elevator button. Everyone backed as it opened immediately. On Black Ops, good luck usually translated into setup. Svengurd must have agreed, because he checked the entire elevator—even lifting the maintenance hatch.

  “All clear.”

  Great, Brandt had been so worried about his men being rattled, but here he was the one sweating. So much for shaking off the hangar assault.

  “Move in,” he ordered, making sure worry didn’t reach his voice.

  Entering the elevator, Brandt punched the seventh-floor button, but the doors didn’t close. Everyone’s guns went up.

  What the fuck?

  But Monroe just sighed. “Don’t worry—it’s just a fifty-year-old elevator. You have to be gentle.” Lightly she tapped the button, but nothing happened. “Wait for it,” she said, as the doors smoothly closed.

  Monroe seemed unconcerned, but to Brandt it seemed as if the elevator had asked them if they were really, really sure that they wanted to go up into the dark laboratory with its disturbing secrets.

  With the pit in his stomach doubling, Brandt no longer wanted to.

  * * *

  As they exited the elevator, Rebecca’s head swam. It felt surreal to walk down the hallway surrounded by four armed men, their guns bristling.

  So much for the civilian vibe.

  “Shouldn’t there be a guard posted?” Svengurd asked.

  “I don’t like it.” Brandt had the same look he had on the Tarmac.

  As they came to an abrupt halt, whatever hangover she had cleared.

  No, not here, was all she could think as Svengurd put a hand on the doorknob. The men silently counted down when the door flew open.

  All guns came to bear as the petite redhead called back into the laboratory. “Coti, we’ve got company.” The woman looked the soldiers up and down, especially Brandt. “And my, what big guns they have.”

  “Identify yourself,” the sergeant barked.

  Relief washed over Rebecca. She knew the woman. Maybe not her name, but her position. Young, perky, breasts, calling Lochum by his nickname? This slip of a thing was the professor’s grad student “with benefits.” Rebecca should know. She had once filled that position.

  The redhead played coy. “My, my. So many questions when you haven’t even bought me a drink yet.”

  Maybe this show-your-cleavage-and-giggle thing worked on most men, but Rebecca knew Brandt wasn’t kidding. Not at all. “Identify yourself now, or I will put a round into you.”

  Rebecca stepped forward. “Brandt, it’s okay. She’s a grad student.”

  Luckily, Lochum stepped into the hall before shots were fired. He looked part Einstein, part Bill Gates, and another part Southern gentleman. Taller than even Brandt, his presence backed the soldiers up a step.

  “Bunny, please be civil to our virile protectors,” he said as he extended a hand to the sergeant. “Professor Lochum. Glad to make your acquaintance.”

  Brandt did not take the hand. “Where are your guards?”

  The grad student leaned her head against Lochum’s shoulder. “They cramped his style, so he sent them home.”

  Lochum laughed. “Bunny does so like to exaggerate. I recommended they retire as they only brought focus to the building.” Off Brandt’s frown, the professor continued, “I have kept myself alive for over a decade under much more hostile circumstances than these, Sergeant. Trust me, their dismissal was for the best.”

  Brandt’s eyes flickered to Rebecca’s. He silently asked if the professor was for real. She nodded. It sounded like classic Lochum.

  “Let’s take this party inside, then,” Brandt said.

  As usual, Svengurd took point as they entered the laboratory. Rebecca was so used to this pattern that she barely noticed the men fan out as Brandt held back. No, she barely noticed anything as the sharp smell of antiseptic bit her nose. No matter what country or even continent, a lab always meant sanctuary. The microcentrifuges, spectral analyzers, and antiseptically clean counters made her knees feel weak. Fieldwork was a means to an end. This was where her heart lay. Facts could be found here. Life had an order and precision that could not be found outside these walls.

  “Clear,” Svengurd sounded off, followed closely by Davidson.

  “Start packing, Professor,” Brandt ordered. “We’re out in ten.”

  Lochum puffed like a mating grouse. “Perhaps you are not aware of the importance of my work here.”

  Rebecca could he
ar the growl in Brandt’s voice before he even opened his lips. “Perhaps you are not aware that I—”

  “St. Petersburg,” she said flatly.

  Both men turned to her. Brandt quizzical. Lochum unnerved.

  “Belgium was twice as bad,” she said pointedly to her ex-professor. Rebecca made sure to have his attention before she continued. “You barely made it out of the Russian ambush. You won’t survive this one.”

  As Lochum surveyed her features, Bunny glowered. The young beauty, obviously used to being the center of attention, did not appreciate that fact that both men were appraising Rebecca.

  “We are in the middle of seventeen different DNA map sequences and half a dozen Haplo-gene denaturing,” Bunny huffed.

  Rebecca spoke to the professor. “If we hurry, we can pack up the most important artifacts and rerun any tests that are still pending.”

  Bunny pushed her lip out into a full pout. “Coti.”

  Rebecca wondered whether men actually responded to that maneuver.

  Perhaps Lochum had in the past, but this time he extracted himself from her embrace. “Given the incredible significance of our work, a bit of precaution might be warranted. Now start packing while I show Dr. Monroe the extent of the find.”

  Acting as if Bunny were nothing more than a student, Lochum urged Rebecca forward. “Come, come. Even you will be impressed, my dearest.”

  “What? I mean… Do I…?” Bunny’s cheeks blotched.

  Lochum’s cajoling tone was gone. “Pack, Bunny.”

  Shocked, the younger woman stammered, “Can I… I mean, can I at least have some help?”

  Davidson looked at Brandt. The sergeant didn’t immediately reply. Instead, he hit his radio once. A staticky click responded. Brandt nodded to the private to help then turned to Svengurd. “Stay on the door.”

  The sergeant was at her heels as she followed Lochum into a separate area of the laboratory. The tall professor turned to Brandt. “You would best be served aiding in the manual labor.”

  Rebecca expected Brandt to bristle at Lochum’s tone, but the sergeant simply shrugged. “Until we’re on American soil, where she goes, I go.”