Judas and the Vampires (8 page)

“I don’t recall what I told you last night,” he said, sheepishly. “But surely there are other things we can do that don’t involve personal embarrassment to me.”

“Ah, come on, old man—you’ll have a blast!” I teased. I’m pretty sure my mischievous grin raised the ante on Amy’s look from a moment ago.

“Oh, yeah? The last time you said those words I almost fell into an active Chilean volcano!” Without waiting for us, he moved quickly toward the food court. “If either of you want to break your necks while riding a pair of wooden sticks, then be my guest. I’m sure I can find enough other distractions to keep me occupied until it’s time to go!”

Ms. Golden Eagle hurried to catch up to him, chuckling along the way.

“I’m just kidding!” I picked up my pace when the two of them made a beeline toward a breakfast vender. “Besides, we’ve got some patent leather luggage to hunt for!”

I heard him groan disgustedly before increasing his strides. He was all business now, with Amy scurrying to keep up with him. Meanwhile, I kept pace, but at a distance. I had just noticed three robed men watching us from the second floor landing near the main escalators. One wore a distinctive ghutra that I recalled seeing at the airport. Perhaps it was nothing. But years of working undercover for the U.S. government had taught me to study consistencies versus inconsistencies within my surroundings. This skill could’ve saved me from several of my deaths in the early years of my existence.

In any case, I made a mental note of the men, being careful to keep my upward glances to a minimum. From the looks of things, neither my son nor the lovely lady gracing us with her presence had an idea anything was up. That was good...less to go wrong if everything progressed in a normal fashion.

“Hey, Pops, hurry up and join us!”

Huh?

Alistair motioned to a table near the middle of the food court. I casually walked over to them while they waited, catching a glimpse of the men moving closer to us from upstairs. Either they were watching us, or someone else, in the vicinity of the table Alistair and Amy had chosen.

“Go get something to eat and we can start discussing what to do next,” said Alistair, to which Amy added a supportive nod.

“Pops?” I eyed him suspiciously.

I sauntered over to the breakfast burrito booth located right smack between a pizza place and McDonalds. Literally dozens of questions filled my mind while I waited for my bacon and egg wrap to be prepared. I repeated my simple question upon my return to the table.

“She knows, Pops,” said Alistair, confirming my immediate fears. “She knows all about you, your real age, and even your quest for the final nine coins paid in exchange for Jesus Christ.”

I laughed...uproariously. Really I did. I mean, wouldn’t anybody? All the while, three men dressed in typical Saudi headdresses watched from a couple hundred feet away.

“He’s telling you the truth,” said Amy, evenly. “And I believe him. I believe you really are Judas—”

“Sh-h-h-h!!!”

I leaned toward her, ready to shut her mouth by force if necessary. I couldn’t believe this was happening—especially in a fairly crowded mall with lots of shoppers around us. Granted, I had already attracted some attention with my sudden burst of laughter. Most of the people spoke in one form of Arabic or another, but I could damn well guarantee every one of them at least understood English. How I longed for Alistair to become proficient at Hebrew or Yiddish slang so we could discuss this matter in semi-privacy.

“You are
really
him.” Amy eyed me coolly, though I’m sure more on account of my sternness than the revelation itself. “Based on everything he told me, it makes sense...especially when I consider some of the amazing things my father discovered and actually witnessed through his research.”

“When did you tell her?”

I determined right then to keep my tone calmer. I was seething inside, since not even Michael or the rest of the CIA knew this information about me. My cover had just been blown by the only person I trusted.

“Last night,” he said, to which she again nodded confirmation. “Last night Amy and I shared some incredible information both ways, while you practically had your face inside the ample bosom of the girl named Pirma!”

Ooh, I forgot all about that...although I can assure it was nothing serious. No more scandalous than a gentleman getting a lap dance from a stripper.

“Okay...but why did you feel compelled to tell her about me, son?” I managed to reduce my voice to a harsh whisper while I casually looked around me. Keep it cool, William...don’t let on to the general public that anything’s amiss. Especially stay mindful of the gallery audience still studying our area from the second floor landing. “Why’d you tell
anyone?
Do you realize how
very
serious this shit is??”

“Yes, I do!” he responded angrily, though like me, he kept his harshness hushed. “But we can trust her, Pops—believe me. She’s been exposed to far more incredible things than a man who simply can’t die!”

His bottom lip quivered as he looked away. It made me want to comfort my son as Amy did right then, with her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. Sweet, decent lady.... I wondered if she saw the same little boy deep within this man who was certainly old enough to be her grandfather. (I know this must be difficult for most folks to keep straight.... Me, ‘father’ and the ancient man whose body is in the prime of life as compared to Alistair, my son, who’s just a few years away from academic retirement.)

“Can you keep it a secret?” I sought to close the wound of exposure as quickly as possible. “It literally can become a matter of life or death.”

Alistair sat up straight in his chair, and the surprised look he gave me was as if he heard this advisement for the first time.

“You know it’s the truth, son—we’ve been over this many times.” I hoped my expression was one of compassion. He nodded thoughtfully.

“You can trust me, William,” said Amy, her voice soft, sultry...and unmistakably serious. “I know you don’t know me well enough to make a completely sound judgment at this point, but I swear I will never say a word about what I’ve learned to anyone else. I’ll only speak of it to Ali, and you—should you be gracious and comfortable enough to share your experiences and wisdom with me at some point in time.”

Such flattery. Yet, the keen sense for determining the truth that I’ve developed over the years confirmed her sincerity to my heart. At least for now. Money, glory, and pleasure are three vices I’ve seen firsthand change sincere promises to bygone arrangements. Ms. Golden Eagle bore the mark of previous wealth, so that meant the only immediate dangers to alter her pledge were her vanity and whether she had any physical addictions. Not necessarily substance problems per se, it could just as easily mean a sexual or intellectual itch too deep to protect for loyalty’s sake.

“Okay...we’ll give it a whirl and see,” I told her, hoping the smile spreading across my face was more devilish than sardonic. “Our food will get cold if we let it sit much longer.”

“Once Amy shares the experience she had with a pair of angels, I think you’ll forgive my indiscretion, Pops,” said Alistair, giving me a knowing look while taking a hefty bite out of his omelet. “And her father, Dr. Stephen Golden Eagle, recorded similar experiences—multiple angelic visitations while he translated the Tibetan text for Stanislav.”

“So, I guess the visitations had something to do with his translation work? And he was the first one to discover the papyri in question, correct?”

The whole affair was taking on a ‘Mothman Prophecy’ sort of feel. Incidentally, ‘moth’ men are more closely related to most angels than the majority of paranormal enthusiasts realize. Very few angelic beings are as pretty as Christmas card depictions. Some are quite frightening, and we’re not even talking about demons.

“Yes, that’s correct,” she said.

She seemed much more relieved, and yet there was some nervousness about her father’s work. I wanted to find out much more about the angelic visitations, as well as the details of the manuscript. There was much to learn from her—very useful information both for the current adventure and possibly for something down the road. But now wasn’t the time to talk about it.

“I definitely want to chat more about your father’s experiences, though not here in this place,” I said. She concurred with a subtle head nod. “Let’s finish our breakfast and do a little shopping.”

***

Amy served as our tour guide that morning in the mall, taking us to the finer stores and other sites. For a while, I believe she seriously thought my son was truly in the market for some new designer luggage. Perhaps I let that ruse go on longer than I should’ve, but it served as a little payback for Alistair’s earlier indiscretion. There’s also a small amusement park inside the Mall of the Emirates, which he wasn’t averse to visiting. Better than the prospect of donning a pair of skis and possibly running over someone. Shortly after 11:00 a.m., we began our trek back to the main entrance, and were pleasantly surprised to find that our taxi had returned early.

Unbeknownst to either my son or Amy, our three observers kept close watch as we moved through the mall—even coming within twenty feet of us at one boutique. I tried to get a better look at them just before we exited the main entrance and climbed inside the taxi. My view of them remained unclear, other than the guy with the distinctive ghutra. He looked pissed, as if they were supposed to detain us somehow or...worse.

I kept thinking about it as our taxi raced back to the airport. Based on past experiences, I pictured the trio hopping into a Mercedes and racing after our car with assault rifles pointed at us through the windows. That’s all it took for me to take further precautions. This time, I slipped the driver two Grants to get us back to the airport in a hurry.

Chapter 8

Despite the challenge of getting Alistair and Amy back onto the airplane without alarming either one, all in all I was pleased we did so without any overt confrontations. Neither one noticed the three men running after us through the terminal as we boarded our Emirates luxury jet. I assumed in a matter of minutes we’d be back in the air, placing hundreds of miles between our pursuers and us.

But we first had to contend with a surprise guest on the aircraft. Cedric Tomlinson sat in my pod, a glass of fresh champagne in one hand and a lit slim Panatela in the other.

“William!” His contemptuous smirk belied the mellowness of his charismatic deep voice. “It’s
so
good to see you, brother!”

I’m sure Ms. Golden Eagle was taken aback less by the presence of a complete stranger to her in our midst as she was by the man’s allure. A veteran of more than twenty years with the CIA and FBI, Cedric’s high cheekbones and deep brown eyes within flawless ebony skin had proven near-fatal time and time again for many debutantes in distress. At least for their hearts, I should say. Only the slight gray specks in his closely trimmed goatee gave away his age. Much like my son, Cedric had always cherished his freedom from romantic restraint, despite complications brought on by his uncommon handsomeness and infectious smile.

But different from Alistair, Cedric has always been an active player. More so than me—even in my most hedonistic moments. I recall thinking right then that
all
ladies present on the airplane should take notice.

“What brings you here?” My tone cheerful despite my wariness, I had a pretty good idea what had inspired his visit. It wasn’t a social call that brought him to Dubai from D.C. “Did Michael decide we needed more spy-power for our ‘little ole’ expedition?”

“That’s what I love about you, Willie boy—you’ve always got something smartass to say!” He laughed warmly. “And this must be Ms. Amy Golden Eagle hanging on Alistair’s arm, huh?”

“I am,” she acknowledged, suspiciously. “So you work for Michael?”

I guess her awareness of our government’s personnel didn’t extend far beyond Michael’s immediate staff and contacts. Cedric’s responsibilities extend into many divisions within the CIA. It made his presence on our plane both perplexing and a bit ominous.

“Let’s just say he and I work together...frequently,” he said, a slight smile upon his face. “Especially in situations where we’re forced to handoff our ‘plants’ moving from one location to another. We decided two nights ago that Dubai would be well suited for this particular mission.”

“So, will you be joining us to learn firsthand what Mr. Stanislav is up to these days?” Alistair moved over to his pod while motioning gentlemanly for Amy to take her seat. That left only me still standing, since my seat was taken. “I don’t suppose we will finally get an official itinerary with what exactly you guys want us to do...or will we?”

“Yes, you will.” Cedric took a sip from his champagne and a short hit from his slim cigar. “No more mysteries, my man! No doubt ya’ll have been wondering why Michael didn’t contact you guys with anything other than a vague request to spy on Stanislav’s operation. Right?”

Alistair and I nodded while Amy looked on with a puzzled expression on her face. This was indeed the first time she’d ever been involved with something like this. The first time working undercover for the U.S., I could tell it would take her a while to catch on to how assignments are generally handled. A little bit of info here, followed by a few more specifics there, and so on and so on.... Until all the ingredients are laid out and it’s too frigging late to pull out.