Reign of Coins (3 page)

Alistair eyed me curiously after I posed this question. It certainly wasn’t how he expected the story to start.

“The one who aspired to be Sultan of Khwarezm, in the early 1200s?”

“Yes, he’s the one,” I said. “Persia wasn’t big enough for him, and my coin’s curse fed his insatiable lust for conquest.”

I smiled, grateful for his prior knowledge of the Shah. Alistair’s expertise as a professor was in Middle Eastern history, but I doubted the Shah’s fateful arrogance regarding the Silk Road in the thirteenth century captured his imagination anywhere near how it had fed my irritation when it happened ‘real time’.

“So, we’re talking about the Shah who was extremely paranoid and whose ambitions defied the diplomacy of Genghis Khan?” He chuckled and paused to sip his wine. “And, here I thought you were going to start things off with a ramble about tracking your coin to the nomadic tribe Mr. Khan hailed from.”

“I didn’t know him as Temujin, if that’s what you’re getting at.” I shot him a fatherly look. After all, I could just as easily keep him in the dark regarding my role in what went down eight hundred years ago. “I had heard the legend of a nomadic warlord becoming a formidable entity—one powerful enough to overthrow the great Chinese kingdoms of the north.”

“That’s because he was a master of forced diplomacy.” Alistair lifted his glass in mock salute. “Khan kept the bloodshed to a minimum by giving the rulers of each Chinese city and town an opportunity to step aside and let him through. That was before
Ala ad-Din Muhammad defied him.”

A rush of memories suddenly flooded my awareness, awakened from the deep recesses of my mind. It was more than I expected. I heard the screams of women and children, while the men of Samarkand lost the fight to protect them. All because of one man’s foolishness. Shah Ala ad-Din Muhammad had fallen under the influence of one of my blood coins.

Genghis Khan was not a friend, but neither was he my enemy. We met during my last visit to Khwarezm, where I sought to reclaim this particular coin. Ala ad-Din had recently slaughtered Khan’s personal Mongolian envoy and executed an imprisoned delegation of the Mongol’s ambassadors—crimes he would pay dearly for. The coin enhanced the Shah’s wickedness, and I was oh, so close to getting my hands on it. It’s bluish glow emanated faintly from inside his heavily guarded personal chambers.

“So, Pops, what does Khan’s tiff with Ala ad-Din have to do with the coin we’ve traveled half the world to find?”

My son’s voice snapped me out of my stupor.

“The Shah’s reckless actions were inspired by the coin’s inherent evil,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Those actions inspired a retaliation that undoubtedly was fed by the same wickedness. A plague spread out to the Mongol army from inside Samarkand, and I could feel the change invade them all.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

I looked up from my wine glass to see Alistair shaking his head. Without access to the scene playing in my head, the historical annals he had studied painted a much softer scene than the merciless ripping of human flesh I recalled.

“As you stated, Genghis Khan and his Mongol army had always deployed some vestige of diplomacy,” I explained, finding my normal voice. “But, from the day Samarkand fell until the moment his reign ended, his diplomacy was no more—especially against Islamic peoples. The new policy was to slaughter everyone standing in his way—even those who didn’t offer resistance, but were also Muslim.”

“And, you truly believe the untimely fall of the Shah’s burgeoning empire was due to a coin?”

I hate it when Alistair plays the devil’s advocate. He damned well knows this is not only what I think, but is also verifiably true.

“Yes,” I said. “Along with the Shah’s bent toward wickedness. It certainly wasn’t because of evil inherent within Genghis Khan.”

“How so?”

“It was the way Khan looked at me when I was brought before him, an hour or so before he reneged on his amnesty promise for the Shah’s soldiers who had aided in the overthrow of Samarkand,” I explained. “I saw kindness in his face, which I didn’t expect to see, based on the ferociousness of his army of warriors.”

“Did you consider he might have you killed with the rest of the city’s populace?”

“I was prepared for it, especially when his generals—including one of his sons—insisted on my execution. He waved them off, and we spoke briefly outside his tent.”

“I assume it wasn’t casual conversation concerning the weather, or was it?” Alistair jested while sipping his wine.

“No, it wasn’t,” I said thoughtfully, while the ancient scene continued to play in my mind. “He knew I was different. Maybe it was on account of his affection for shamanism, or my non-Persian appearance.”

“And, just like that he let you go?”

“When I told him I intended to pursue the Shah to Urgench, He gave me a horse and enough jerky to last a few days. I would’ve survived without the rations, but didn’t want to offend him. I thanked him and promptly left. It wasn’t long before I heard anguished cries behind me….”

“You know what his men did to the people of Samarkand, correct?”

“Yes. But, I didn’t see any of it,” I said. “It wasn’t until I gave up my search for
Ala ad-Din and returned to the city’s ruins a few months later. I’ll never forget the pyramids that filled the plain outside the broken city walls.”

“Pyramids made up of human heads, of helpless men, women, and children that Genghis Khan’s men slaughtered outside the city without mercy,” said my son, quietly. It was as if he shared the mental image of the terrible, foul scene I came upon that midsummer afternoon so long ago.

To this day I see it all clearly, beneath a cloudless sky. Memories do get buried in my mind, but a byproduct of my curse is the clarity they still have when they return. No matter the event, it is as if it happened yesterday. Always.

“Why did you go back to Samarkand?”

“To find my coin,” I told him. “I foolishly assumed Ala ad-Din took it with him, but I soon learned the Shah had left his entire wealth behind him. The coin was hidden with other treasures beneath the palace. When I returned, however, the Shah’s thick vaults had been completely plundered by the Mongols. There was nothing there…just a dead city.”

“And, your ‘feel’ didn’t warn you that you were on the wrong track, huh?”

Careful, my boy. I know what you’re getting at.

“I ignored my instincts, since I’d already decided to not hang out in Samarkand any longer than necessary.”

“Do you ever think you might’ve been able to save any of the people had you stayed?”

“No.”

But that’s not necessarily true. It would’ve been extremely dangerous, but I’ve long been haunted by the likelihood I could’ve saved a few of the children. I had encountered a number of orphans in the city. If I hadn’t been so consumed with chasing after a villain, who in the end didn’t even have what I wanted, maybe I would’ve seen the opportunity to save someone other than myself.

If I could do it all over again right now, yes I would risk life and limb to carry as many as I could out of harm’s way.

“That was unfair of me to ask,” said Alistair, as if sensitive to the cloud suddenly taking over my countenance. “How did the coin get from Samarkand to Hong Kong?”

“At the time, I had no idea what became of it,” I confessed, trying to push the unpleasant images of the plain of human pyramids out of my awareness. “I had no idea what became of it for almost four hundred years. The journals you mentioned earlier mark the beginning of its reintroduction to the world.”

“Your journals talk about the Mongol Queens, who carried some powerful influence in the Mongolian Empire,” continued Alistair, who in effect had taken over my story. I chuckled at the irony. “One of them, named Khutulun, was mentioned by you as having the coin.”

“Yes, that’s true.” I nodded approvingly. “She was the exception as far as being affected by the curse is concerned. I almost missed the connection to her, since the coin’s curse affected her parents and seemed to skip a generation before bringing calamity to her descendants. But, after it passed through her hands to her son, and from him to his daughter, intermarriage with a wealthy merchant in southern China was what brought the coin to this part of the world.”

“I thought it didn’t surface in Hong Kong until 1851?”

“Correct, again, Ali. Generations of merchants in the Cheung family line eventually found their way here, in 1737, and through intermarriage with the Gu family, the coin ended up here.”

“Hmmm…. That’s quite a bit of history, Pops, and to think it could’ve turned out differently had Ala ad-Din Muhammad chosen differently,” said Alistair, pausing to finish his wine. “Your tale didn’t take near as long as you thought it would. Maybe we should start keeping records like you used to do with your journals, and include them with the coins. We can research the ones we already have when we get back to D.C., and keep a log for the ones still out there that you’ve got a hot ‘feel’ for.”

“Sure, we can do that, son.”

In truth, it might be a good thing for Alistair, especially, since I pictured a difficult adjustment ahead for him. Teaching history to college kids had been his life and passion for most of his adulthood. He’ll need a new hobby, at least in the short term.

The big thing now was making sure this coin didn’t get away again.
I could feel its pull getting stronger. Despite often being in the same general locale with this elusive coin during the past few centuries, the last time I had been close enough to see its glow was nearly eight hundred years ago. Somehow, I had to get close to my coin again in the next few days, and make sure I didn’t leave Hong Kong without it. I sure as hell didn’t want to wait another eight hundred years before the next good opportunity came along.

Chapter 3

We returned to our room around eight o’clock. Determined to catch an amazing sunset, Alistair decided the outdoor pool atop the building would provide the best vantage point, and hurriedly left my presence. Despite his budding love affair with Amy Golden Eagle, I sensed his real interest was in ‘scenery’ unrelated to the sun’s disappearance in Kowloon Bay. In the past I might’ve joined him, but Beatrice’s steady return to youth had altered my perspective on that sort of thing.

When I ended the first installment of my story at her Good Shepherd bedside, it had all the makings of a fabulous romantic reunion for us. My beloved wife seemed to recognize me when she awoke. The age-defying crystals had begun to heal her tired and worn body, as well as her mind, and I was beside myself with joy. Unfortunately, her only recollection of me was as her grandson—the ruse created twenty years ago by Alistair to explain my sudden appearance in his life.

I’ve tried to take comfort when she eyes me curiously and says things like, “William…you truly remind me of my late husband—
your
grandfather and namesake. Oh, how I wish you had known him!” Alistair almost made the blunder once of telling her that I really am her husband, but I interrupted him before he could. He soon realized it’s best to wait until her mind fully heals and she can handle hearing the truth about me.

It could be years before Beatrice sees me as the William she dearly loved long ago. At least she’ll finally be able to leave the nursing home when we return to Washington. She’s moving in with us, into Alistair’s spacious penthouse condo. I’m actually more excited about that event than the coin we hope to collect during our Hong Kong visit.

As I sat on my bed, smiling while I thought about this stuff, the phone rang. The hotel operator stated an old friend who’d already called three times that evening waited on the line.

“Go ahead and send the call through,” I said, releasing a low sigh. She sounded grateful that I would finally agree to speak to Michael Lavoie. “Hello?”

“Hello, William. Are you enjoying your little game of avoiding me?” Michael sounded annoyed.

“No games here,” I said, unable to stifle a slight snicker in response to his little dig. “I don’t work for you guys, and I’m done enduring your coercion efforts—even the clever ones you’ve come up with lately. It’s long overdue. My dad and I will finally enjoy a vacation without CIA interference.”

“Shhhh!!” he whispered harshly.

“Oh, come on, Mike. I doubt anyone who gives a damn is listening in right now—definitely no one who means a damned thing to you or me.”

Honestly, that might not be true when a ruthless Russian assassin brought back from the dead was on the loose. I laughed irreverently anyway.

“We need your help—”

“No you don’t!” I interrupted him. “Like I told you before, you need to quit blackmailing civilians to take care of your shit. You’ve got plenty of trained men and women to easily handle whatever it is you need done.”

There, that should do it. Succinct, though delivered with less panache than Michael’s vanity would prefer.

“We can’t get close enough to this one,” he said, releasing his own low sigh. There was pain in his voice. My longest standing supervisor with the CIA was up against a wall. “Time is of the essence, William. Something terrible will happen if this guy slips out of Hong Kong with whatever he came for.”