30 Pieces of Silver: An Extremely Controversial Historical Thriller

by McCray, Carolyn

  “There isn’t,” she answered as Lochum elbowed her out of the way.

  Brandt slowly lowered her to the floor as the professor strained to read the tiny silver lettering. Again the sergeant smiled.

  Maybe Brandt didn’t understand, so she clarified, “The one line is significant, but not that helpful.”

  “Luckily, that’s not the only blue flower.”

  * * *

  The Neanderthal had somehow done it again, Lochum thought, as ’Becca read from the fourth bloom.

  “ ‘But you ever remained in doubt as to what he brought. Until when he died, you said: Allah will never raise an apostle after him…’ ”

  Lochum nodded. He knew the passage well. It was from the Koran, entitled, “The Believer.”

  “Go on, go on.”

  The next line should have been, “Thus does Allah cause him to err who is extravagant, a doubter,” but given Rebecca’s hesitation, he seriously doubted if those were the next words.

  She looked down to Brandt, who was holding her up. They looked the pair in their ridiculous black garb. But he couldn’t care less.

  “If you two are done posing for a Hallmark card…”

  Rebecca blushed, and then cleared her throat before she repeated the last line. “‘Allah will never raise an apostle after him… But all that came before were cherished, so when the man of greatness asked for sanctuary of one of Allah’s favored, how could the Sultan decline his wishes?’”

  Lochum could feel his heart beat all the way out to the tip of his fingers. He almost did not want to breathe. He wanted this moment, this moment when they found written documentation of the final interment of Christ, to last forever.

  He distantly heard Brandt ask, “Any location?”

  Rebecca shook her head as Svengurd announced from around the corner. “Here’s another one, but it’s bigger.”

  Shoving the sergeant out of the way, Lochum burst around the corner, but skidded to a halt. Under the largest bloom yet, stood a huge mosaic of Christ holding the Torah.

  Lochum feared he might descend into a convulsive seizure. “It is his bones. It is his bones.” He kept repeating the phrase as Brandt lifted Rebecca to the heights once more, but she did not read. “Speak, woman!”

  “There are only ten words.”

  Every ounce of urgency was packed into his words. “Then read them.”

  Licking her lips, ’Becca spoke slowly. “‘Those who seek the bones must search beyond and below.’”

  “That’s all? You are certain?”

  However, from the despondent look on his student’s face, Lochum knew that she was most certain.

  Search beyond and below? That was the clue that led to Christ? He felt a rage build within his chest. They had come so far for so little.

  “All right, doctors. I’ve given you more time than I should. We need to be hitting the road.”

  Lochum was no fool. Even without Brandt’s urging, the professor knew they would have to leave the Hagia Sophia. They could not linger here too long without being recognized.

  Yet, even though he knew the sergeant to be right, Lochum did not move. Could not move. He stood before Christ with the words to find him, but he did not know how to interpret them.

  Beyond where? Below what?

  Now it was he who coveted Rebecca’s old computer. She could cross-reference all instances of the words beyond and below in the Koran to figure out possible locations.

  “Rebecca, we need to head out,” Brandt reiterated.

  Her lack of response made Lochum turn toward his student. She had that gaze that carried past the embossed ceiling and through to the heavens. Brandt urged her toward the ramp, but Lochum interceded.

  “Leave her alone.” Gently touching her elbow, the professor spoke softly. “What is it, ’Becca?”

  “It’s probably… It’s probably nothing.”

  But he knew full well it wasn’t. As did Brandt, for he was at her other shoulder as she mumbled, “Beyond and below.”

  Lochum could see her brain correlating data, discarding all that was superfluous and stringing together tiny beads of information.

  “That’s right, ’Becca. Let those synapses fire. Let it flow.”

  Almost in a trance, his student kept repeating the phrase, and then she suddenly sucked in a breath. Her first action was to look to Brandt and smile. He smiled back.

  Their gaze locked, but Lochum intruded. “Would you care to share?”

  Almost casually, Rebecca turned to him. “It is written in Arabic, upon blue paint.”

  He knew that should mean something, resenting like hell that her brain worked faster and better than his. It took a large gulp to swallow his pride and say, “So we are looking for another church?”

  “We’re not looking for a cathedral…” Rebecca’s smile grew. “Or a synagogue…” She looked him in the eye as she finished. “We’re looking for a mosque.”

  * * *

  Tok let his fingers glide over the hundreds of tiny chips that made up the wall of the Sultan’s Harem at the Topkapi Palace. Gilded beams ran between the exquisitely detailed panels. This wall portrayed a beautiful garden with the apple tree of temptation at the center. How many months had it taken for the artisan to create just this one panel? Given that every wall within the Harem was so decorated, Tok could only imagine it had required years to complete the entire labyrinth of quarters.

  Jasmine still permeated the air as he entered the interior courtyard. To keep their harem from the public eye, the sultans had built this grand space for their women to lounge. Built of bricks cut from pure marble, the empty chamber nearly glowed. He could only imagine when it was filled with sweet perfume, strolling peacocks, and strong African eunuchs guarding the land’s fairest beauties.

  Stepping out onto the terrace, Tok took in the fresh sea air. Housed at the apex of the Seraglio Point, the women’s quarters overlooked all of Istanbul. To the north was the expanse of the Golden Horn. In the opposite direction was the snakelike Bosphorus that bisected Istanbul in half. And to the east was the Sea of Marmara, from which he had just sailed. There was no better view than from this spot.

  Although the Sultan’s Palace was now a museum, Tok had no concern that he would be disturbed as he awaited word from Petir. The Knot had deep ties to the Department of Historical Structures. The place had been cleared before they even docked.

  Turning south, he looked over to the Hagia Sophia. It was grand in both size and purpose. Tok was not at all surprised that Lochum sought the oldest church in the region. Like the palace, with its sprawling courtyards and pavilions, the Hagia Sophia had a million nooks and crannies. Each one might hold clues to the most sacred remains.

  Two years ago, based on a new interpretation from the founder’s inscriptions, they had scoured the Hagia Sophia searching for any link to the holy family, but had found none. Even now, with the rest of James’ bones they only had a vague connection to the crown of Constantine’s Holy Roman Empire. It vexed him that with so little Lochum had accomplished so much.

  But now they were in Tok’s proverbial backyard. There was not a single centimeter of this town he did not know as well as the scars that riddled the back of his hand.

  As the afternoon sun beat down upon him, Tok retreated from the balcony and sought the cooler interior. Petir had reached out to their contacts at the Hagia Sophia, but the word had been mute so far. And their own scholars were of little help, either. They could not find a single reference to the Hagia Sophia. Only an allusion to people of faith from beyond.

  The stone absorbed the sound of heels upon the marble, so it was not until Petir was close that Tok heard his mentor’s arrival. He was obviously anxious, for the older man fell into old habits, signing as he approached.

  “They have left the Hagia Sophia,” Petir’s fingers flew.

  “To where?”

  Clearly his mentor was distressed. “The Blue Mosque.”

  “The Blue Mosque,” Tok repeated, to be cer
tain.

  His mentor spoke aloud for the first time. “The Blue Mosque.”

  Even though he saw the words, then heard the words, Tok still did not believe them. It made no sense. The Knot had no connection to the Blue Mosque. To the Great Mosque in Mecca or even Mohammed’s Mosque in Medina, yes. But the Blue Mosque? It was insignificant to Christ or Mohammed’s lives. The building of Istanbul’s house of faith had only been an Ottoman attempt to raise their religious profile.

  There was absolutely no mention on any of the bones of the Mosque. How could there be? Islam arose centuries after their savior’s death.

  Lochum must be mistaken. Or was he…?

  “Shall we intercept them before they enter the sanctuary?” Petir asked.

  Tok’s hand went up on its own to halt his mentor’s plan before it was crystallized into action. Quickly his mind caught up with his hand. To intercept would be too public. Too exposed when there was another way. A dark way. A secret way. An ancient way.

  “Gather the alchemists.”

  His mentor blanched, and his nostrils pinched again, creating a high-pitched wheeze. “Are you certain?”

  With a cruel smile, Tok inclined his head. Finally Lochum would receive what they so richly deserved.

  CHAPTER 23

  Hagia Sophia, Istanbul

  Brandt brought up the rear, vigilantly checking their surroundings for threat, although he had seldom visited such a serene park before. The short distance between the Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque was filled with carefully pruned trees and strips of bright green lawn. A huge fountain filled the rest of the space. Tourists were everywhere, making it difficult to scan the crowd for possible assailants, but also giving him a sense of familiarity.

  But he could not be lulled into a sense of security. If they really were this close to finding Jesus, the Knot would become even more vicious. He wouldn’t put it past this group to firebomb the Mosque just to get to Lochum. Not that Brandt hadn’t on occasion wanted to set the man on fire himself, but it was his job to keep him from getting crispy.

  “What’s that doing here?” Svengurd asked, pointing to an imposing obelisk to the east of the Mosque.

  Rebecca indicated the hieroglyphics lining the pink granite statue. “It’s the Obelisk of Theodosius. He ‘borrowed’ it from Egypt when he was Emperor.”

  “He just decided to throw down an obelisk across from the Hagia Sophia?”

  Brandt liked the way Rebecca chuckled as she shook her head, making her blonde hair curl at the side of her face. “No, it’s the only remaining structure of the much larger Hippodrome.” Rebecca must have read the question on their faces, for she continued, “Hippodrome translates, ‘horse park’, or more accurately, ‘chariot racetrack.’ ”

  “Yes, yes, enough about the entertainment culture in ancient Constantinople,” Lochum said as he motioned them forward.

  Svengurd seemed intrigued, though. “How big was it?”

  “By the few markers left to measure, it was about the size of two football fields.”

  “Really?” Brandt asked.

  Not so much that he cared about the answer, but Brandt wanted to see Rebecca’s eyes light up again as she answered. “Really. From historical documents we know the Hippodrome sat more than a hundred thousand people and housed not only the chariot races but plays and political debates. It was perfectly positioned.” She nodded toward Svengurd. “As you mentioned, the Hippodrome sat across from the Hagia Sophia, but before the Mosque was built, a massive Roman Palace sat on these grounds. The arena’s center stage abutted the Palace wall.”

  “Tarry not!” the professor said as he tried to hurry past the muscular corporal, but Svengurd simply blocked him with his frame.

  It looked like Lochum might actually try to challenge him.

  “Remember our talk about protocol,” Brandt growled.

  “You don’t understand. The call to prayer is soon.”

  Brandt looked at his watch. “Care to give me an actual time?”

  Clearly as exasperated with Brandt as Brandt was with him, Lochum stormed past them. “I do not have time to fill the holes in your education.”

  He was about to retort when Rebecca pulled him toward the Mosque. “He’s an ass, but he’s right. Prayers are not set by the clock but are based on the sun’s position. And it’s dipping quickly.”

  Sunset was almost upon them as they headed toward the high archway that led to the Mosque’s whitewashed courtyard. Hanging from the top of the arch was a thick chain that connected to two other chains secured to the wall. Svengurd nearly had to duck to get under them.

  An odd adornment for a place of worship.

  Rebecca must have followed his gaze. “The chains kept invading horsemen from riding into the Mosque. Those Sultans knew what they were doing, didn’t they?”

  Brandt had to agree. The ancient builders had captured the essence of military strategy. Make it simple but highly effective.

  As they crossed the enormous courtyard, they found very few worshippers, and those were concentrated in the center of the white-stoned space, near a central fountain. There they cleansed their hands and faces.

  “The purification fountain,” Rebecca explained. “All of the Great Mosques have one.”

  Continuing toward the main structure, Brandt was struck by how similar the mosque and the Hagia Sophia were. Both were sprawling complexes punctuated by huge domes. Only the mosque had more semi-domes than the church, and six minarets flanked the periphery of the Mosque.

  If Davidson were doing his job, the private had already moved to one of them. Lopez, as well, should be realigning their extraction plan.

  So intent on running through his team’s tasks, Brandt was unprepared when he stepped into the Mosque proper.

  It wasn’t until that moment that Brandt realized he had never been inside an Islamic house of worship before. They weren’t the most American military-friendly places in the world. But this sanctuary seemed inviting to one and all. He wasn’t sure what he had ever expected, perhaps a den of terrorist plotters, but the Mosque eclipsed even the Hagia Sophia in its sheer beauty.

  The dome rose high above them, seeming to defy the laws of physics. Delicate blue tiles lined the ceiling in a swirling pattern that seemed to represent heaven better than even the Hagia Sophia. And unlike the church with its single row of windows, this Mosque’s walls were punctuated by hundreds of stained glass windows. More in number and beauty than any he had seen in cathedrals. The interior of the mosque was infused with a light that truly did appear otherworldly.

  “Brandt?” Rebecca tugged on his arm.

  “Sorry. What did I miss?”

  The doctor pointed to his shoes as she removed her own. “We can only enter in stockinged feet.”

  Brandt realized everyone else had already complied. Hurrying to catch up, the sergeant shook off his amazement. While he might be acting like a tourist, in truth, he wasn’t one. He had only one job, and that was to keep the doctor and her very annoying professor alive.

  Entering the sanctuary, they found only a few Muslims praying toward Mecca. He didn’t know much about Islam, but he knew that.

  “Where to now?”

  “I’m not sure,” Rebecca answered.

  Svengurd was on point, but Lochum took a sharp right and disappeared from view. “What the—”

  He looked at Rebecca, but she shrugged, apparently unaware of Lochum’s latest walkabout.

  “Catch up with him,” Brandt hissed to the corporal.

  Only through Svengurd’s expert tracking skills did they follow the professor to a narrow side hallway far off from the main prayer hall.

  Rebecca caught up with Lochum. “Where are you going?”

  The professor ignored her, opening a nondescript door.

  Svengurd grabbed the professor’s arm. “Keep dreaming.”

  Checking down the long hallway, Brandt made sure there were no civilians before he pulled his weapon.

  “This is ludicrou
s,” Lochum grumbled, but he noticed that the professor placed himself squarely between Svengurd and Brandt.

  The corporal’s flashlight was the only illumination in the small room. It took a few seconds for the sergeant’s eyes to adjust to the dark. But even then he had a hard time believing what was crammed into the tiny room.

  Roll upon roll of carpets were stacked so tightly there didn’t seem to be room for even furniture.

  “What the hell?” Brandt said for all of them.

  Lochum was too busy searching his transcription pages, so Rebecca spoke up. “Mosque carpets are always donated by the congregation. In a mosque of this importance, if a rug has a single loop of thread damaged, it is immediately replaced, hence all the backup stock.”

  “Okay,” the sergeant replied, “but why are we here?”

  Ignoring him, Lochum began moving the large rolls of carpets toward the edge of the room.

  Rebecca seemed equally quizzical of his strange behavior. “Archibald?”

  “Child, either help me or get out of the way.”

  To Brandt’s surprise, Rebecca obeyed. “What are you doing?”

  The professor tsked-tsked loudly. “For all your computational faculties, ’Becca, you so readily forget your history.”

  The sergeant could see the woman’s back arch at the insult, but she was obviously intrigued. “Why don’t you remind me, then?”

  Svengurd followed the two doctors with his flashlight, making Lochum’s face glow as if he were a mad scientist.

  “Current events are always built upon past ones, my dear. Do not so easily forget the lessons of Budapest… This Blue Mosque did not spring from nothing, now did it?” Lochum paused, but when Rebecca didn’t answer, he continued, “What did we pass on the way in?”

  Brandt could see Rebecca’s brow furrow in thought. It was not her best look, but it usually got the job done.

  “The Hippodrome.” Her words came out faster, more sure. “This was the site of the Emperor Septimius Severus’ Great Palace. The racetrack is the only visible ruin of the Roman seat of power. But… by the time Sultan Ahmet Camii built the mosque the Palace was nothing but a shell of its former glory. It was basically a teardown. He demolished it to build the mosque.”