30 Pieces of Silver: An Extremely Controversial Historical Thriller

by McCray, Carolyn

  They stayed there, motionless, exchanging a few breaths until Brandt realized he needed to get out of the bunk now, or he’d do something he’d regret.

  “I’ll take the top bunk,” the sergeant said as he went to squeeze past her, but she put a hand on his naked shoulder.

  “Stay.”

  It hurt his throat to say the words. “I can’t.”

  “Not for that,” Rebecca said. With just the right amount of pressure, she pushed him down to the bed. The motion wasn’t charged with sexual urgency, but had an insistence to it nonetheless. “Just stay with me. Really stay.”

  Despite the million reasons he shouldn’t, Brandt opened his arms, letting her slip into his embrace. Resting her head on his bicep, she curled her body against his, then took his other arm and draped it over her waist, the circle complete.

  Now, it was his turn to pull her close so that there wasn’t a hairsbreadth between them. The rise and fall of her rib cage in turn moved his own. Soon they were breathing in perfect synchrony.

  It had been so very long, but Brandt finally felt at home.

  Prophecies

  Jerusalem

  AD 42

  Judas wiped sweat from his neck. The road was hot and dusty as the pilgrims arrived for Passover, but their party traveled no farther. Jesus had stopped their procession far short of the city’s wall. They had waited patiently for over an hour. Due to the sun’s relentless burn, the women tossed blankets onto a nearby tree to provide shade for the little ones, but with such a large assembly, babies began to cry, children whined, and dogs barked.

  “He will not even discuss the reason for our delay,” Andrew fumed. For all Jesus’ sermons on patience, the younger man was quite anxious to have events unfold upon his insistence.

  The Twelve had gathered, but Judas stood apart from them. His leg ached with an intensity it had not since childhood. The swift pace they had assumed over the past three days had inflamed his knee so that he could not stand for long without support, but he did not wish the men’s frustration directed toward him, so he leaned against a tree, feigning meditation.

  “Judas! Look who has joined our humble ministry!” Jesus called from down the road.

  “Uncle!”

  There was only one voice that brought such joy to Judas’ heart.

  “Ameil!”

  Despite his leg’s complaint, he rushed to meet his nephew, catching him at a run, pulling him into a warm embrace. “How I have missed you!”

  “I learned to milk a goat!” Ameil announced to the growing crowd.

  Judas spied the boy’s father behind Jesus. “Kyle. Thank you for joining us.”

  “Jesus promised me work in the city.”

  His friend patted Kyle’s back. “God shall provide, as he always does.”

  Paul, however, seemed less certain. “Will he be as patient for your entrance into Jerusalem?”

  With an easy smile, Jesus put an arm around his disciple’s shoulder.

  “We delay no longer.” He leaned over to Ameil. “Do you think you could lead a donkey, child?”

  The boy nodded solemnly. “If they don’t move, you pull their tail.”

  “Indeed,” Jesus chuckled. “Could you go down the road and bring back the ass tied to the fence?”

  “May I? Please. Please. Please?” Ameil looked at Judas, but Judas made certain to glance for Kyle’s permission before he gave the child leave.

  “Of course.”

  His nephew dashed off as if he hadn’t just walked an enforced march for over a week. To have the resilience of youth.

  Paul was not pleased. “That honor was reserved for Andrew’s son.”

  “There is a season for all. Not all fruit is meant to be picked when ripe.” Jesus answered cryptically.

  After months living with his dear friend, Judas had begun to suspect that at times Jesus used his parables not so much to instruct but to avoid conflict. How could you argue if you weren’t sure of the Savior’s meaning?

  But Paul seemed intent on doing just so. “Prophecies are not mere words, Jesus, they must be fulfilled. We cannot deviate from our course.”

  Judas knew the apostle referred to their long dissections of the Holy Scripture. So much was foretold of Jesus’ life, and they used the ancient words as a compass to guide their ministry.

  “You do not think I have seen this path since I was Ameil’s age? My coming to Jerusalem was prophesied, but it is I, alone, who chooses with whom I journey.”

  The rest appeared taken aback by the force of the Savior’s words, but Judas was not surprised. The closer they came to Jerusalem the more intent his friend had become. The more withdrawn. The more like the awkward child upon the river.

  The end was near. They all felt it.

  Rome and Jesus could not both lay claim to the Holy City.

  And by Scripture, it would be Christ to die and resurrect so that they might all be saved.

  CHAPTER 29

  Deep below Prince Island

  Dazed, and his earpiece buzzing incessantly, Tok allowed himself to be dragged down the rough dirt steps. His hooded guard guided him into the bowels of the mountain. They traveled deeper than even the destroyed chamber where Mary and the others had rested.

  Hot tears burnt in Tok’s eyes.

  The Virgin was gone. Smashed to ruin because of him.

  He should have died in that blaze, but Petir’s quick mind had gotten them out of the chamber before the world exploded into searing reds and oranges. But he did not think his mentor had saved him out of affection.

  No, as Tok’s feet slipped out from under him, and his guard scraped him along the root-encrusted stairs, he was certain that Petir wanted his student alive only so that he may answer for his weakness.

  So they descended deeper. Below any of the laboratories, beyond even the well that fed the monastery. Tok could feel the weight of earth pressing down upon him. Not for the punishment that was about to be meted out, but for his failings.

  Brusquely, he was shoved to the base of the steps. Before him opened a judgment hall hewn out of the bedrock. It was black except for a single beam of light which shone harshly above to the center of the room. Around the edge, deep in shadow, stood an assembly of twelve hooded judges.

  His accusers. His jury.

  Was Petir amongst them? Would he be the first to recount Tok’s many crimes against the Knot? Would his dearest mentor indict his most unworthy student for hubris?

  How many times had Tok, himself, stood at the edge of that hall and decided another’s fate? But today it was his life that hung in the balance.

  The guard went to jerk him to his feet, but Tok knew the ritual. Without prodding, he stripped naked and then walked over to the natural spring that bubbled up into the volcanic rock and dipped his hands into the icy water. Slowly he washed every inch of his bloody and bruised body even though the frigid water stung his wounds and blanched his hand’s scars. But, no matter. One must be pure to face his fate.

  Donning the proffered loincloth, Tok stepped into the center of the room, taking care to resist the urge to shield his eyes from the harsh light. He deserved the scrutiny the Twelve now gave him.

  By the Knot, he should have been asked to answer for his crimes, but only silence greeted him. No lengthy questioning. No inquisition. No words at all.

  The only sound that pierced the still air was the scrape of wood against stone. Even under the bright light, Tok could feel his eyes dilate as the guard dragged a long stake into the center of the room and threw it down. Tok’s failures had been great, but this was a punishment so cruel it had never been dealt by the Knot. Mary had forbidden it.

  His muscles quaked even though he begged them not to as the guard guided the stake into a freshly dug hole and brought it upright. The thick wood now stood over seven feet high. The guard dropped another shorter plank and two metal spikes at the base of the stake.

  No wonder there was no need for discussion or inquiry.

  Tok had al
ready been tried and convicted. His execution was ordered.

  Just like the man they had protected for over two millennia, Tok’s suffering would be upon the cross.

  * * *

  Brandt awoke with Rebecca curled asleep in his arms, but something was wrong. Davidson snored like a deaf eighty-year-old, but that wasn’t it. The arm under her head tingled with pins and needles, but that wasn’t it, either.

  The boat hit one, then another wave. Too long an interval. They were slowing. Carefully extracting himself from Rebecca, Brandt pulled on his dry pants as a weak light filtered under the hatch door. It had been longer than four hours since he had lain down, and Lopez hadn’t awakened him or Davidson. The corporal must have stayed at the helm the entire night.

  Barefoot, Brandt climbed the short staircase and stepped out into the early morning breeze.

  “Tell me you got some,” Lopez asked with a grin.

  Ignoring him, the sergeant squinted and could see land to their starboard. “What’s with the decreased speed?”

  “We’re about to hang a right into the Tiber.”

  Brandt was shocked, even though he shouldn’t have been. “We’re that close?”

  Lopez stroked the dash of the boat in a way that was somewhat unnatural. “I promised her a lube job if she got us in before zero seven hundred, local time.”

  With new appreciation, Brandt looked to the right. There was Italy. “How much longer until we reach Rome?”

  The corporal shrugged. “I can’t maintain anywhere close to these speeds on the river, so we’re looking at an ETA of twenty minutes, maybe half an hour.”

  That should have been good news, but Brandt’s stomach actually sank at how quickly he was going to have to put on his cover. Not only did he have to steal priest’s clothing, he actually had to wear them. The thought killed any buzz he might have had from spending the night with Rebecca.

  “Do you mind taking the binoculars and looking over our stern?”

  “Why?” the sergeant asked as he picked up the glasses and scanned the waters behind them.

  Lopez shrugged. “It’s probably nothing.”

  Brandt’s ears pricked up. Lopez wouldn’t have asked if it was nothing. But as the sergeant surveyed the relatively quiet Tyrrhenian Sea, there didn’t seem to be any threat.

  Groggy, Davidson climbed on deck rubbing his neck. “Who put my head inside a garbage can and kicked it around all night?”

  “My mama,” Lopez answered as the private swatted at the corporal but missed by a mile.

  “Take a look. You’ve got better eyes than I do,” Brandt said as he handed over the binoculars to the kid.

  Almost lazily, Davidson scanned the horizon. “Hey, is that the mouth to the Tiber up ahead?”

  “Yes, but I meant check out behind us.”

  “Oh, sorry.” The private yawned, then sucked in a breath. “Crap.”

  “What is it?” Brandt asked as Davidson fiddled with the knobs.

  “Get my rifle.”

  Not liking the sound of that, Brandt grabbed the weapon. “Here.”

  Fully awake, Davidson braced the barrel of the rifle on the back guardrail and knelt down to line up his sights. “We’ve got company.”

  “How many boats?”

  “Three.”

  Of course there were three.

  “And they are gaining on us,” Davidson added.

  Brandt turned to Lopez. “I thought you said this was the fastest boat in the world.”

  “No. I said this was the fastest long distance boat in the world. There are swifter crafts out there, but they aren’t rated for extended ocean travel.”

  “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.