Then he turned toward the case and viewed the magnificent skeleton.
Mary.
Others clamored over the Holy Grail, but the cup was nothing but the vessel that caught Christ's blood. This body, this woman, held the Grail, felt the receptacle become heavy with her son's blood. Lochum did not search for such a paltry object. He had found history itself.
And Mary was every bit as beautiful in death as she was reported to have been in life. The professor knew Rebecca had doubted Tok's testimony that Mary was the Knot's founder, but Lochum believed him wholeheartedly. Just glancing at these white bones, and you knew they had not spent a single moment underground or in any ossuary box. These remains had been cared for since the moment of her death until now.
She was pristine.
Across the case, Tok stared at Lochum, but his voice rose from the man behind him. It might have been disconcerting if all else in the past day had not been equally surreal.
"Dr. Lochum, I hope you will abide by the bargain Dr. Monroe and I have struck."
"Why no, I shall not," he announced then looked Rebecca squarely in the eye as he continued, "for I need no incentive. I shall help you find Christ freely and of my own accord."
"Lochum!" Rebecca scolded, then lowered her tone. "Archibald, give yourself a minute to get your bearings."
But the professor seemed not at all confused as he circled Mary's body. "I need no time, dear child. I am resolved."
She stammered. What in the hell was Lochum up to? Could he be feigning help as she had or was he actually, truly, offering to assist the sect that had been trying to kill him for more than a decade?
"They're the ones who set up St. Petersburg. Paris. Bunny. Everything and everyone who's been destroyed has been at their hands."
Her professor just shrugged. "And I now concede to their superior firepower as they concede to my superior intellect."
Tok didn't seem inclined to agree, but the words coming out of Petir's mouth did. "We complement one another's skills."
Rebecca didn't believe for a moment that Tok had instructed his translator to say such a thing, for a hard look passed between the men. Lochum didn't seem to notice as he added, "Together we shall find Christ."
"The one who suffered upon the cross," Petir echoed.
Gritting her teeth, she prepped for an argument of epic proportions, but Lochum casually turned to her. "Why you are surprised, Rebecca, I do not know. You heard Brandt back at the dungeon, and for once, the soldier was correct. To think I will ever publish such a find is ludicrous, so why should I not take place myself at the best advantage?"
Lochum indicated the ancient remains surrounding him, then the volumes of papyrus and scrolls that lined the walls. It was a veritable cornucopia of knowledge. In addition Petir supervised technicians who brought in cold cathode lights to assist them in the examination of the artifacts. They were better supplied than in Paris.
"Because they will kill you once you are done," she hissed.
"And if somehow I escaped, they would kill me as well. Is it not better if I am to die that I do so fulfilling my life's quest?"
What in the hell did you say to that? His logic was flawed, but what could she argue in front of Tok? The professor's sudden capitulation doused any slim chance they might have had to manipulate their way into escape.
"Now then, may we get to work?" Lochum asked in a nonchalant air.
"Sarge!"
Brandt barely registered muddy water sloshing into his nostrils, let alone the distant shouts.
"He's over here! He's down! Where's Svengurd?"
A part of the sergeant's mind recognized Davidson's voice, but another part just wanted to surrender to the suffocating pressure in his head. Brandt could feel the private pull him up, but in no way could he help.
"Lopez, I can't tell if he's breathing!"
Suddenly the corporal was flashing a penlight in Brandt's eyes.
"Crap. I can't find any major wounds," Lopez continued as he took the sergeant's pulse. "He shouldn't be in this bad a shape."
"It's like they're sedated or something," Davidson ventured.
Lopez shook his head. "Poisoned more likely. Inhalant."
"Did you find the civilians?" Davidson asked.
"The archaeologist is dead, but no sign of Monroe or Lochum," Lopez answered as he pulled out his med kit.
"What the hell happened?" Davidson asked.
Brandt wanted to answer, to tell them everything, but his throat would not respond. Now stimulated, he realized the chamber was a foot deep in mud with more on the way. His breath became ragged as the sergeant felt his diaphragm contract on its own. Forget drowning, his body had commenced shutdown.
"You've got to do something!" the private demanded of Lopez.
"You don't understand. There could be fourteen million things wrong with him. Each and every one of them has a different treatment."
Davidson grabbed the corporal by the wrist. "Just give him something to wake him up, then maybe he can fill in the blanks."
Lopez rubbed his palms together over the med kit. Out of the corner of his eye, Brandt could see three syringes. "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe."
"There's got to be a better way," the private groaned, and Brandt silently agreed.
"You wanna fucking pick?" For the first time, the sergeant heard doubt in the Latino's voice. When Davidson didn't respond, the corporal went back to his syringes. "Catch a tiger by the tail."
Decision made, Lopez pulled out the syringe. "Help me raise a vein."
As the injection went in, it felt like someone had mainlined Krispy Kreme Donuts, Jolt Cola, and cocaine into Brandt's bloodstream. His body arched up and instead of wheezing to breathe, air came in gasps.
"Sarge!" Davidson yelled as he tried to keep the sergeant down.
"Damn it! I told you I shouldn't give him anything!"
When Brandt's body slammed back down to the floor, his heart beat in fits and starts, but he felt strength course through his veins and into his muscles. Words, however, were still a painful proposition.
"Svengurd," he managed to choke out.
"On it," Lopez said as he grabbed his med kit and left Brandt's side.
The sergeant had to concentrate to get a single question out. "How?"
"How? What? I don't understand." Davidson said.
"Find?"
Putting the tourniquet on Svengurd, Lopez answered, "Yeah, a bunch of terrified grad students fleeing the Mosque wasn't too hard to spot."
"Who doesn't look that traumatized after meeting Lochum?" Davidson added with a snort.
Lopez chuckled. "But that brunette with the rack? Ouch! She was so hot, she burnt a hole in my heart."
Normally Brandt would have put a cork in their banter, but keeping oxygen in his lungs consumed his concentration. Still, the look he gave them must have been enough, because the private cleared his throat.
"Yeah, anyway, once we heard the student's story we explored the dungeon, but we found the whole thing collapsed."
Testing his newfound vigor, the sergeant tried to rise to his feet, but his balance lagged behind his will.
"Gotcha, Sarge," Davidson said as he struggled to help Brandt to his feet against the rapidly rising water level.
"Water?"
Leading his shoulder, the private explained, "Yeah, we kind of need a refresher course in explosive devices near water mains."
"Hey, we needed the pressure to blow through all that mud," Lopez commented as he helped Svengurd up.
The tall soldier had a wild look in his eyes as his teeth chattered uncontrollably, not looking like a traitor at all.
Pushing the word out, Brandt said, "Evac."
Lopez and Davidson looked at one another. Clearly neither wanted to be the first to give the bad news.
"What?" Svengurd croaked.
"It's a ways. In about hip-height water."
Brandt shrugged off Davidson's help but tilted precariously, nearly dragged under by the building current.
"Yeah, obviously when we devised this plan you guys weren't poisoned," the private said as he steadied Brandt again.
"Shot," Svengurd said, sticking his arm out.
The corporal was right. They would never make it without more go-juice. Brandt offered his vein as well. "Another."
Lopez backed away from them. "You guys are both tachy already. And you want more?"
The sergeant gritted his teeth. "Now."
Davidson pulled up Brandt's sleeve. "You heard the man."
The second injection became crystalline fire in his vein. The pain seared his lungs and his brain screamed, but Brandt gained his balance. After the shot, Svengurd flailed so badly that Lopez had to contain him, but within seconds, the tall corporal stood on his own.
"Go," Brandt commanded.
Wet cement was easier to walk through than the surging mud as they made their way back into the dungeon, then Davidson led them down a one of the side tunnels.
"This isn't the ..." was all Brandt could get out before he stumbled.
"Trust us, it is!" Lopez yelled out over the rising water, draping Brandt's arm over his shoulder.
With the assist, they made it through the last bit of tunnel and sloshed onto a rocky shore. Collapsing to the ground, he rolled over onto his back. Utterly and completely exhausted. An electrocution one day and poisoning the next surpassed even his sense of duty. If Tok didn't have Rebecca in his mute grasp, Brandt would have thrown in the towel.
"Come on," Davidson urged.
"Can't walk any farther," Brandt admitted.
"No worries." The private pointed to an inlet. "We've got a boat."
Boat? When did they get a boat?
No matter. Lopez fired up the engine and brought the vessel around to a small dock. Svengurd had to nearly be carried on, but Brandt managed to climb aboard with only a little help from Davidson.
"We might have broken in, but I'm telling you the Istanbul International Boat Show is worth the price of admission. Just listen to this baby!" Hitting the throttle, Lopez gunned them onto an underground river.
"This is a tributary to the Bosphorus!" Davidson yelled over the roar of the engine. "Turns out all Roman dungeons were built on rivers so they could dump the bodies!"
"The grad students were scared shitless but pretty knowledgeable," Lopez added.
Davidson turned to Brandt. "Any idea where Monroe or Lochum are?"
"Knot," Svengurd answered before Brandt got out his reply.
Lopez threw a glance to Davidson, "Told you."
"Where to, then?" the private asked Brandt.
Looking over, he found Svengurd slumped in his seat, nearly unconscious. Brandt could feel the poison dimming his mind as well. But he knew something, didn't he? Something the archaeologist said. A direction.
"Walker..."
Davidson waited, hanging on his every breath.
"Rebecca... find... Prince..."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand," the private said, but Lopez whooped.
"I do!" The corporal eagerly pointed to his pack. "Get the map, get it!"
Davidson grabbed the tattered tourist guide, unfolding it as Lopez concentrated on slaloming through the snaking waterway.