30 Pieces of Silver: An Extremely Controversial Historical Thriller

by McCray, Carolyn

  Boom…boom…boom…

  Smoke swelled.

  As everyone scattered, Rebecca tasted a sharp bitterness to the smoke. Gas. Poison. How long had they been piping it in? The oily gas filled her lungs, seeping through her like liquid fire. She fought to stay conscious. The only two who didn’t seem affected were Tok and his translator. Brandt and Svengurd struggled in vain to stay upright. As she swooned backward, the ceiling cracked overhead and crashed down, sinking them into darkness.

  Only the flash of gun muzzles and the spark of ricochets illuminated the room.

  Someone screamed as her head hit the marble floor.

  * * *

  Fuck, fuck, and more fuck, Brandt thought as his arms refused to raise his weapon. As soon as he had tasted the metal bitterness in the air, he had forced out all the air in his lungs, but obviously that wasn’t good enough.

  They were screwed. Rebecca and Lochum were already down and Walker was nowhere to be found. To the left, Svengurd had propped himself up against the wall as debris tumbled from the tiled roof and whatever had been holding back the wall of mud from the dungeon had given way. Any escape back through the dungeon was impossible.

  Into the blurred chaos, Brandt fired as Tok scrambled to grab the remains, but a huge piece of ceiling came off, shattering the skeleton. Moving in slow motion, he tried to intercept, but his legs gave out from under him.

  Petir yelled, but Brandt realized too late they were evacuating. Tok grabbed Rebecca while Petir dragged Lochum toward the back of the room.

  “Svengurd!” Brandt used precious breath to yell, but as the corporal pushed off the wall to intercept, he fell to his knees, then to his face.

  Taking a breath that he knew would bring more knockout gas, he got his feet moving. He was almost there. Almost, when Walker stumbled out from behind the pedestal. Blood poured from a gash in his head. Brandt tried to shove him out of the way, but the dazed archaeologist grabbed his sleeve.

  “Rebecca!”

  “That’s who I’m trying to rescue!” the sergeant growled.

  Then Walker took a bullet in the throat. He groped at his neck, blood bubbling from a hit to the trachea. Brandt couldn’t help but assist the man to the floor, even though it sapped the strength from his own muscles.

  “To the Prince…” he whispered as he shoved the bone he had been clutching into Brandt’s hands. As he took the bone, Walker’s jaw went slack.

  Dead.

  There was nothing more he could do, so with the last of his strength, he staggered to the hidden exit Rebecca had disappeared through, but found it blocked by a huge section of fallen ceiling.

  “No!” Brandt pounded the rubble, not caring that he nearly broke his hand, and the world got smaller and smaller until it faded out completely.

  The Thirteenth

  Judea

  AD 42

  Judas strode toward the small hut that had been their crowded dwelling, proud he had secured much finer accommodations elsewhere for the same fee. It had taken nearly three hours of bartering, but Judas did not mind the effort, for their coffers dwindled day by day, and just this morning James had instructed him to take even greater care with their coin.

  This brought great delight to Judas’ ears, for it meant their relentless path toward Jerusalem and the horror that it held may not come to pass.

  John the Baptist’s imprisonment at the fortress of Machaerus had given them all pause. But the Baptist had not been arrested for agitation against the Romans, as all had feared, but instead for speaking out against Herod’s illegal marriage to his brother’s wife.

  Reports from Andrew’s brother, Levi, told of John’s good spirits, and despite the fact that Herod authorized the arrest, the governor seemed of temperate mood and was given to inviting the Baptist for meals, apparently roused by John’s faith.

  Ignoring the pain in his knee as he climbed too quickly, Judas ducked under the doorframe, ready to tell the others of the good fortune, but clearly he had walked in on an argument long underway.

  “Do not use his words against us!”Andrew said harshly to Magdalene.

  The accused was seated, head bent over her stitching, but Judas could see the flush to Mary’s cheeks as the three men stood before her. Besides Andrew, there were Paul and Thomas.

  “I speak only the truth,” she said without raising her eyes. “Jesus insisted that all the women, not just I, enter Jerusalem with him.”

  “What?” Judas asked before he thought best of it.

  He was not at all surprised that Jesus wished the women to accompany him into the Holy City for it was his way, but Judas was surprised that they were discussing the trek at all. James had made it seem that Jerusalem was a distant goal, no longer their driving force. They were not due to travel for another week. Otherwise, Judas would not have left such a sizable deposit at the inn.

  Thomas obviously thought that Judas’ words indicated that he had thrown in with them and pointed an accusing finger at Magdalene. “She thinks to usurp us! She thinks herself special in the Lord’s eyes!”

  Judas wished his leg were stronger, and he could carry him out the way he had entered. He wished to partake in none of this strife. The tension between the Twelve and Magdalene had been brewing, and now seemed near to bursting.

  “You feel this way, do you not, Judas?” Paul asked.

  In no other matter would the Twelve deign to consult Judas. In all other matters, he was an outcast among the apostles. Only Jesus or James ever inquired into his heart.

  Before Judas was forced to answer, Andrew took up the call. “We go to the Holy City to announce Jesus’ claim to the throne of heaven. The high priests will cast their gaze far and wide to find reason to spurn his claim. Why would you not counsel Jesus to leave you behind?”

  When Magdalene’s eyes rose, they flashed with anger. “Perhaps I do not feel that I should judge the wisdom of Jesus. Where he wishes my feet to tread, I shall walk.”

  While every word in her retort was a stinging rebuke of the men, they could not argue against Magdalene without admitting the pride within their own words. The younger Mary had learned much from the Virgin when it came to quieting men’s tongues.

  So again they turned to Judas. Paul the most exasperated. “Tell her, Judas. Tell Magdalene that Jesus’ eyes are clouded. That it is we, we the Twelve who have sworn to protect Christ, who must decide such things.”

  “Why debate Jerusalem at all? Do we not have the luxury to ponder such delicate matters?” Judas asked, rather than answering Paul.

  Thomas seemed taken aback. “Have you not heard?”

  “Of what?”

  Andrew’s voice cracked as he spoke. “John the Baptist is dead.”

  Judas shook his head, not willing to accept such dire news. “He is but imprisoned.”

  “Herod had him beheaded upon the insistence of his wife and stepdaughter. John’s head is now upon a spike above the fortress. Levy saw the sight with his own eyes. He is with Jesus now to tell him the all,” Paul explained when Andrew was unable to finish.

  The Baptist was dead. Whatever tenuous thread that had been holding Jesus back was now severed. There was no doubt they would leave, perhaps by nightfall and would be in Jerusalem well ahead of Passover.

  It seemed that fate was not one to be denied.

  Paul turned back to Magdalene, but Peter rushed in. “Jesus has asked us to gather.” Mary went to join them, but his words were pointed. “Only the Twelve.”

  With a sigh, she sat down as the other men fled the hut as if it were on fire. Judas more gingerly turned to leave when he heard a strangled sob. Magdalene tried to hide tears, but the pain had a life of its own.

  Awkward, Judas did not wish to intrude, but nor could he just leave her in such a state. “Do not invest so much in their words, Mary.”

  “But is that not what everyone thinks? That I seek to force a union with Jesus, or worse, that I am a whore?”

  He was taken aback by her forceful words, but he coul
d not argue their merit. Judas had heard similar proclamations and even worse from the Twelve, but he paid them no heed. Such talk revealed more of the men’s hearts than Mary’s honor.

  “Tell me again how they cannot hurt me,” she said, locking his gaze.

  “Does Jesus love you?” Judas asked, without thinking.

  Mary seemed taken off-guard. Suspicion was sharp in her eyes. “Yes.”

  “Then do not fret. They are only jealous because you are not of the Twelve.”

  Magdalene tilted her head, clearly not understanding his meaning.

  “We all are but members of the Twelve, none above the other, but you, singly, are the Thirteenth, Magdalene, and that grates against many.”

  Tears drying, she still shook her head. “So I am to suffer their looks? Their words of rebuke?”

  “Do you think me immune to such rough treatment?” he asked. When she could not argue, Judas continued, “What else shall we do, Magdalene? Will you refuse his call? Will you stay in the village stitching a pillow while Jesus goes to face his lot?” With a shake of her head, Judas had his answer. “Then I shall gather with the rest while you seek out Mary and console her, for news of the Baptist’s harsh death will sorely test her resolve.”

  He turned toward the door, but Magdalene caught his arm. “I would do anything to keep Jesus safe from harm. From Jerusalem. I would die to keep him from this Passover if I could.”

  “As would I,” Judas answered not certain where the determination in her grip and her words had come from.

  “If I am the Thirteenth, then you are the First, Judas. You are his dearest of friends.” With that, Magdalene retired.

  Despite her kind words, he was left with a heavy heart. Over the past while, Judas had come to hope John’s words would carry on the winds of time, scattering as each week passed, making them less and less potent. But the Baptist was dead. Jesus headed to Jerusalem, and Judas feared his own devotion would be as unsteady as his damaged leg.

  CHAPTER 25

  Island in the Sea of Marmara

  Slowly roused by the murmur of the sea, Rebecca found herself warm but not too warm. Even though it was hard stone beneath her, she felt perfectly comfortable. Through slit eyes, she found the room darkened except for a single shaft of moonlight that imparted a silvery glow.

  Memories tried to awaken her more harshly, but they felt distant and fuzzy, unattainable. How could anything be wrong when she felt this good?

  “That’s right,” a voice said as hands helped her into a sitting position. “Open your eyes.”

  Reluctant to comply, Rebecca shook her head. After all that had happened, sleep was blissful. After all that had happened…

  Startling awake, she jerked upright and pushed away the hands.

  “Do not fight. Allow the antidote to do its work.” Ignoring the advice, Rebecca turned to find Petir translating for Tok. “Dr. Monroe, just relax and answer our questions.”

  Scrambling away, her back hit a stone pedestal. Could it be the tablet that Magdalene had been upon? But that made no sense. The last she remembered, the chamber had been destroyed. “Where’s Brandt?”

  Tok coaxed her away from the table. “Please, do not make this more painful for either of us.”

  Rebecca struggled, trying to ask the bastard some hard questions, but her brain betrayed her. It simply didn’t want to argue. Whatever drug they gave her made her compliant. Yielding. Fighting the effect, Rebecca pictured the last time she saw Brandt. Not only was he alive, he was also firing. The sergeant had survived everything else this asshole had thrown at him, and he could survive the poison gas.

  Getting her bearings, Rebecca stood, taking a quick survey of the room, which was more of a subterranean library than a chamber. While the walls had clearly been hewn from rock, they had a polished surface that glowed in the low light. Along each wall stood heavy oak bookcases filled with ancient parchments. So that’s what gave the room its soothing musty smell. But the single most important item in the room was the silver-engraved pedestal with a single skeleton encased in glass.

  “Where am I?”

  “Beneath the Knot’s enclave. Now I have answered two of your questions, might you grace me a turn?”

  With Tok seeming so polite, and combined with the drug’s mellowing influence, Rebecca might have been lured into a sense of safety. But she noticed the parrot feather necklace hanging around Tok’s neck.

  Rage boiled away any lingering effects of the drug as she hissed, “That’s the chief’s!”

  With a smile like a puppeteer whose strings had just been revealed, Tok rose to his feet. “In his culture, to the victor go the spoils.”

  The true horror of what that meant hit her. “You killed the tribe. You killed them all!”

  “Because they did not tell me what I wanted to know.” Any conciliatory effort vanished, replaced with cold observation.

  “Neither will I,” Rebecca growled.

  Shaking his head, Tok signaled to his translator. “You make me resort to such tawdry measures.”

  Petir dragged a semiconscious Lochum into the center of the room.

  “We have not yet given your professor the antidote to the inhalant gas. Hold your tongue, and he might never return to consciousness.”

  Lochum’s head lolled to the side, his tongue partially protruding. A bit of saliva dripped down his shirt. To see her once-energetic professor in such a state rattled her. Worse, Brandt might be in the same state or dead.

  “Is glory worth more to you than this man’s life?” Tok asked.

  The sergeant would never tell this bastard what he wanted. Hell, Lochum wouldn’t even tell Tok. Rebecca would be no different.

  Attempting to crawl, the professor tried to say something, but slack-jawed, the words died before they could be spoken. Her own head buzzed, and the drug’s insidious suggestions begged her to comply.

  “I don’t negotiate with murderers.”

  Tok’s lips curled down, and the translator’s voice became impassioned. “And how many would die if you found the last set of bones? Did you consider the wars and the countries in ruin? What are a handful of lives to avoid such global tumult?”

  Rebecca braced herself against the glass case, trying to appear strong when really her legs felt ready to buckle. “Whatever.”

  “You say that with such ease, but look beneath your hand.”

  Despite herself, Rebecca glanced to the skeleton that lay under the glass, but once you’d seen a couple of proto-Christian skeletons you’d seen them all. Upon brief inspection the bones had belonged to someone mature in years. There was mild spondylosis along the spine. The pelvis confirmed it to be a woman who had birthed at least one child.

  Breath caught in her throat as she snatched her hand back from the glass case. This wasn’t just any skeleton. “It’s… It can’t be.”

  “But it is,” Petir answered. “There lies Mary, mother of Jesus. The Blessed Virgin.”

  Pulling her hand back, Rebecca had forgotten Tok’s assertion that his sect held Christ’s mother, and now he suggested Mary lay beneath her fingers?

  “If you doubt, simply look at the inscriptions. If you trust me in nothing else, trust that the body is Mary’s.”

  Even on cursory glance, Rebecca found at least three separate passages that applied to the Virgin.

  Tok wasn’t lying.

  As much as Rebecca braced herself against it, seeing the Virgin did stir something within her heart. A welling of awe. Not trusting her voice to hide the wave of emotions, Rebecca remained silent.

  “Mary is the Knot’s founder. It was she who emboldened our forefathers to take whatever measures were necessary to protect what is most sacred to us. I am but a humble servant of hers.”

  She refused to believe such a thing, and it must have shown, for the translator began reading from the bones: “In all His glory we must keep this most sacred secret. I, Mary daughter of Anne, wife of Joseph, and mother of Jesus, do so seal it until God himself ha
th opened it.”

  Petir turned to her, his voice transforming into Tok’s words. “Do you hold yourself equal to God, Dr. Monroe? Or even Mary?” Tok walked closer, scrutinizing her face. “Oh, but I have forgotten. You don’t believe in such things. You only want the bones to prove there is no God. Is that not true?”

  Rebecca refused to meet the man’s eyes.

  “After all that you have seen, you still think random electrons control man’s fate?”

  “I’d rather have radiation than any God who would empower the likes of you,” she sneered.

  “For all you scientists strive to disprove the Almighty, you only serve to validate His existence.” Tok knelt beside Mary, putting his hand to the glass. “The universe spirals toward entropy, Dr. Monroe. Balance and harmony are but brief respites to the relentless forces of nature that aim to disperse, to devolve. Is that not what your science teaches us?”

  “There are opposing forces that maintain a dynamic equilibrium.”

  To this, Tok smiled. “What you call opposing force is what I call God. What you call ‘good radiation’ is simply His hand at work. This gene you search for isn’t a ‘smart’ gene. It is the ‘God’ gene.”

  Her scathing retort died as Lochum went into a grand mal seizure.

  “He has minutes. No more.”

  How she wished Brandt were here. He would have some scheme, some plan, to transform her helplessness into an advantage.

  Rebecca spoke without thinking. “For every answer I give you, you will do something for me.”

  “Such as?” Petir asked, for Tok.

  “Awaken Lochum. I’m going to need him.”

  * * *

  Despite the toxins in his bloodstream and the spasms of his body, the professor still felt the sharp needle penetrate his chest cavity, then his heart. He felt every milliliter of antidote pumped into his ventricle. Within a few beats, his fit subsided and his lungs took in full breaths.

  Lochum’s eyes rolled back in his head as the drug brought on a sense of euphoria. All his cares washed away on a gentle tide.