The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection Part 18

"In the morning, then." Judas went to leave, but James caught his arm.

"I know there are ways... That this is not the proper time or place yet... We may leave as early as tomorrow..." James was acting peculiar. It wasn't like him to not just speak his mind, no matter the other's feelings.

"Whatever worries you, James, speak it freely."

The taller man smiled, but with little joy. "You have been better than a brother to Jesus, yet I feel we have been little of a family to you, Judas."

Ameil was heavy in his arms, or he would have waved away James' concern. "Your heart has enough weighing upon it. Give my feelings not another thought."

Darkness had fallen completely, and if it were not for the candlelight spilling from a nearby window, Judas would not have been able to see that instead of relieving James, his words seemed to agitate the man even more.

"You think fondly of Ruth, do you not?" James asked.

Judas did not know where this strange turn of conversation was leading, but he answered truthfully. "Your sister is a blossom in a snow-covered field. She is loved by all who know her."

"Then might you consider taking her as your wife?" James asked.

"I... I'm not... I don't..." Judas could not help but stutter. He was prepared to speak of many things. Of supplies, routes, housing, but marriage?

"Please listen, Judas, before you answer. You have done much for Jesus. You have kept him grounded to this earth when all around thought he might ascend into the heavens and never be seen by mortal eyes again."

Judas shook his head. "I but sat with him as a child and do not-"

"Jesus would be pleased to have you a member of our humble family."

"I am honored." Judas looked down at Ameil. It had been long since he had considered fatherhood. Might one day he have a boy of his own?

"Think upon it," James suggested, but Judas shook his head.

"I must decline," came out of his mouth before he could stop it.

James spoke even lower than before. "Do not worry. Mother knows of our plans and has... Well, she will not object in public to the marriage."

The Virgin had never taken to him, so Judas was not surprised the woman viewed the match with disdain, but in the end her feelings did not bear on his decision. "We embark on a quest that may carry us far, many times in the face of the Romans' will. I would not wish that worry upon a young bride."

"She is Jesus' sister, Judas. Ruth walks our rocky path whether she is married to you or not."

Judas sighed. The reasoning had felt sound. But spoken aloud, he knew James was right. In truth, his heart was still heavy from loss. "I know it has been years, but I still cannot imagine being with one other than my Deliah."

James seemed to understand his remorse. "Neither does Ruth have delusions that this marriage would be anything but slow to grow."

"The offer is enough, James." What Judas thought would end the conversation seemed to agitate the taller man even more. Was there more behind the proposal than even Judas suspected? "James, please speak the all of it. There is only G.o.d and myself to hear your words."

"It is only that... Jesus wishes to acknowledge you publicly."

"Let his heart rest easy. I know of our bond."

James shook his head. "No, he needs-"

The door opened before James could respond, and John exited the house with as much urgency as he had entered it. The Baptist walked past without a word, but Judas called to him.

"John, is all well?"

The wild look sparked anew in the Baptist's eyes as he surveyed both of them. "In the months to come, the weight loaded upon your shoulders will break one of you." Then the Baptist was gone into the night.

Shame rose in Judas' cheeks. There was no doubt of whom John spoke. James was above reproach. With honor and dignity he had supported his family through the hard work and sweat of a man, whereas Judas had groveled at the Romans' feet for sc.r.a.ps.

Did this sp.a.w.n Jesus' interest in a more permanent bond between them? Did the most holy of them wish to shield Judas somehow from the coming doom? Judas could not meet James' eyes until he heard a hearty laugh.

"He must have been a most pleasant traveling companion."

Judas could not help but grin.

"Do not fret of Ruth or John." James grasped Judas' shoulder. "Your love for Jesus has been steadfast. In the end, it is what will be remembered."

Judas wished he believed the words, but it was kind of James to say them. "I know not what burdens I will bear in future, but this boy strains my arms. I should get him to his bed."

James clapped his shoulder one last time before heading back into the house. "Sleep well, friend. Tomorrow we are reborn."

As he climbed the steep path to his house, Judas could not pry John's words from his mind. Why had the Baptist said such a thing? Why speak such prophecy unless one could change the wrong and make it right?

Ameil stirred, eyelids fluttering, then buried himself deeper into the crook of Judas' arm. The boy was old enough that Judas should awaken him to walk the rest of the way, but was loath to put the child down. Too soon Ameil would be forced to shoulder his own burdens.

At least for this night, Judas was strong enough to carry them both.

CHAPTER 11.

Budapest, Hungary Rebecca awoke to the Budapest sky, as gray and bleak as her mood. Pulling the covers over her head, she tried to go back to sleep, but Lochum's excited "oohs" and "ahs" easily penetrated the thin blanket. Across the dingy hotel room, the professor perched on a rickety chair, studying John's bone. The sound of his pencil scratching against the hotel's stationery irritated her ears, so she might as well accept it. There would be no more rest.

Besides, sleep had not been that kind to her. Nightmares of bombs and planes falling from the sky had plagued her throughout the night and left a sickness in her belly.

Balling the threadbare pillow up to stretch out a crimp in her neck, Rebecca couldn't recall how she had even gotten into bed. It wasn't so much that she could not remember the night's events. It was that she just didn't care.

After landing in Budapest, Rebecca would have been just as happy to have checked into the Airport Hilton, but Lochum had taken the helm of their midnight escape, having them switch cabs several times before forcing them to walk blocks upon blocks to this c.r.a.ppy hotel.

How she missed the days when the professor insisted on five-star accommodations. A room at the Hilton would never smell like stale cigarettes and casual s.e.x. No, the Castle Hill Hilton would have crisp sheets, along with a view of the Fisherman's Bastion.

Larger-than-life statues of dragons and mighty warriors would have been the view outside her window instead of soot and grime. Even though she could only make out a vague outline of the distant hill, Rebecca could easily call up Buda's Castle District in her mind. The ancient community had always been her favorite. Sure, there were castle spires reaching for the heavens, declaring this the seat of power in the region, but she quickly recalled the fishermen who harvested this river long before kings erected their impressive castles.

Tired of constant raids that ravaged their families, ancient fishermen built the Bastion to protect their lives and livelihood. The fortress would be considered impressive in its size and craftsmanship even if royalty had erected it, but the ma.s.sive complex had been constructed block by block by simple fishermen. Those men had carried stone from as far away as five hundred miles to protect their families.

She could only imagine how difficult it must have been to build the lengthy stone ramparts over the precariously uneven terrain. The walls undulated over the steep hillside in an almost serpentine manner. The ramparts' length was punctuated by regularly situated watchtowers that jutted high into the sky, providing an unparalleled view of the Danube River. Rebecca could see why tourists had dubbed it the Great Wall of Hungary.

But her favorite had always been the heart of the Bastion. The structure was grand in scale, but the stained gla.s.s windows that twinkled even on an overcast day captured her imagination. Love of their town, love of their families, and love of their craft could be felt in each and every pane.

The two-towered Bastion was almost storybook in its perfection, as though someone had taken Disneyland and plopped it down in the middle of Buda. Only this Bastion could never be mistaken for a set piece. Real battles had been fought there. Those huge statues across the street from the Hilton commemorated men who had defended their land against barbarian invaders.

To truly appreciate their artistry, you would need an entire day just to wander the Bastion's grounds, studying the statues and the incredibly detailed reliefs carved into their base. Each was unique, telling a tale of the city's history. Whether relaying a king's coronation or a queen's funeral march, the reliefs were a visual history of this most ancient of cities. So many tourists flocked to England and France for a taste of history, but Budapest was history.

Unlike other bustling European metropolises, somehow this city straddled both the East and the West, the past and the present. It had known the harsh rule of the Khans, the Ottoman Empire, the n.a.z.is, and Stalin, yet somehow Budapest persisted, maintaining its unique flavor and ident.i.ty through the war and devastation.

However, if you tired of Buda's violent past, you need only go around the corner to St. Matthias Church, as she had on so many occasions. As the oldest Catholic church in the region, it had some of the most magnificent murals in all of Europe. How many weeks had she spent within the church's walls? The five-story bell tower. The hand-painted mosaic tiles.

Rebecca sighed and pulled the thin sheets tighter around her chin. All of this she could have seen from the Hilton, but no, they were shacked up at the Mez Zsir Szalloda. Loosely translated-The Honey Drippings Hotel.

The overnight attendant certainly hadn't raised an eyebrow at the May-December couple. The cash that changed hands guaranteed their anonymity.

Rebecca vaguely remembered objecting to the bedding arrangement, but Lochum had ignored her. Which was probably for the better, since she couldn't imagine having spent last night in a room all by herself. A terrible chasm had formed within her chest, and Rebecca feared if she were left alone with her sorrow she might fall into it.

"Perhaps you might consider rejoining civilization, at least before your coffee gets cold?" Lochum asked from across the room.

Her throat ached from sobbing and the last thing she wanted to do was join the world. The lumpy mattress and smelly linens were fine with her.

But her old professor was persistent. She could hear footsteps as he crossed the room. The clink of a coffee cup on the nightstand sounded far too loud. How many of those little liquor bottles had she gulped down during the flight? After learning of the London plane's demise, Lochum had kept her plastic cup full of alcohol.

"Your sergeant would not wish you to languish like this."

Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut against the words. She had tried so hard not to think about Brandt. And what did Lochum know? Maybe the sergeant would want her to grieve him and grieve him hard.

The professor jerked the blanket from her shoulder. "I would think you were in the mind for revenge, dear girl."

She didn't bother to pull the cover back. Rebecca looked out the smudged window. Low clouds hung over the city as if it were under blankets as well, too sad to rise.

"Fine. If the mountain will not come to Mohammad," Lochum said as he pulled his chair over to her bedside. "You cannot imagine what I have learned! I have single-handedly quadrupled our understanding of early Christianity in one night."

Good for you, she thought but did not bother to give voice. She wanted to give him no excuse whatsoever to continue the conversation.

Lochum, however, seemed undeterred. "What type of revelations, you ask? Why, let me show you!"

Carefully her mentor laid out sheets of paper on the bed. They were filled with chicken scratch. If she hadn't worked in his laboratory for years, she might have mistaken the writing for ancient Greek itself.

"It is very clear from this pa.s.sage that The Baptist acknowledged Jesus as the true Messiah, and they repeatedly discussed his ultimate fate upon the cross. John even mentions that Judas was there during Christ's Baptism! Can you imagine? Mary, James, John, Judas, and Jesus all there!" Lochum's voice took on an ephemeral tone. "Envision standing upon that bank, looking down upon the flowing waters of the Jordan River. Did those watching know they were witnessing for the birth of a new religion? A religion that would sweep the world and ultimately transform the occupying Romans into its humble worshippers?"

Any other time, Lochum might have lured Rebecca into his hyperbole, but today she just wanted to close her eyes and pray for a dreamless sleep.

Rebecca could feel her old mentor's eyes upon her, but she kept her gaze to the window. Out there, somewhere, they were preparing Brandt's body for transport back to the States. Did he have any family? Would they have a formal funeral? Did covert operatives have that honor?

A tear trickled down her cheek. Lochum was blabbing on, but he stopped and wiped it away. "My sweet, your sergeant would be quite embarra.s.sed by such a display."

Words finally rose to her throat as she sat up in bed. "Just stop it. You didn't know him at all. You were barely in the same proximity for an hour, and the entire time you hated him."

A sad smile spread across the professor's face. "I did not hate him, darling. I was jealous of him."

"Whatever," Rebecca said, as she wiped away tears.

"Do you know why?" The softness to his voice made her turn. "I was jealous, because for the entire time he had your eye. I tried to manipulate, cajole, and dance my way into your gaze, but I could not."

Even though Lochum was being as sensitive as a man like him could be, it didn't make her feel any better. If anything, it made her ache for Brandt all the more.

"Oh, 'Becca. If I could leave you to your sorrow I would, but I need you, child." He picked up one leaf of his notes. "I have transcribed the entire codex from the bone. Many pa.s.sages I have been able to decipher, but none which hold a single clue to James' whereabouts."

When she did not respond, the professor pulled out a small magnifying gla.s.s from his pocket. Only Lochum would carry around a miniature magnifier. He tried to get her to look at the surface of John's bone. "Within these untranslated pa.s.sages is locked the answer to the greatest mystery man has ever known."

Obviously, the professor realized that encouragement was having no effect, because he stood up to his full height. "This is quite enough, young lady. Do you or do you not have your interpolative translation program on your computer?"

Rebecca nodded, mainly so he would stop needling her.

"Good, good. I just need you to enter in these nine pa.s.sages."

She glanced down at the paper. Rebecca could see why he needed her help so badly. Ancient Greek was a b.i.t.c.h of a language. Not because they used past, present, and future tense in the same sentence, but because they used no punctuation and very often didn't bother to even put s.p.a.ces between the words. Her eyes ran back and forth over the text. You had to hunt for words with unique lettering, pull them out of the pa.s.sage, then work forward and backward to find the next word. Even under the best of circ.u.mstances this tedium made her brain hurt, but today the letters were just a huge jumble that came close to giving her a migraine.

"It's too much," Rebecca heard herself say.

Lochum only sounded encouraged. "I know. I know. But I have asterisked these three sections that were near references to James."

Whether it was the sheer look of eagerness on his face, or her soul finally being roused from its slumber, Rebecca picked up the paper. "I'm going to need my laptop."

Like a child told he could go play in the park after a long rain, the professor ran over to their table and grabbed her computer.

Stomach still sour, Rebecca launched the translation program. "Don't get your hopes up. This could take hours, even days, and I can't even guarantee that the program will produce a true translation."

"Yes, yes, you are a rousing example of enthusiasm."

Frowning, she typed in line after line of cryptic letters into the program. Finally, an error message sprang up. She had exceeded the buffer's capability, yet she had barely entered the first pa.s.sage of three.

"I'm going to have to do the translation section by section," Rebecca said with a flat tone.

Lochum looked to argue, but she pointed to the error message. "Scare me up another sixteen gigs of RAM, and I could do it all at once."

Since he obviously did not even know what sixteen gigs of RAM were, let alone how to obtain some for her, Rebecca closed the error window then hit the b.u.t.ton. The tiny on-screen centurion spun around and around.

Rebecca sank back onto the bed. "There's nothing to do now but wait."

"Perhaps I might talk you into a shower?"

She glared. "I might not get out of bed all day, so just deal with it."

Lochum grabbed his coffee cup from the table. "I'm off then, to refresh my beverage and get you some sustenance."

Without waiting for a response, he was out the door. Rebecca breathed out a long sigh. Last night she might not have wanted to be alone, but today all she wished for was solitude. Was a single day off too much to ask, after everything that had happened?