Reign of Coins (6 page)

“Yes…I do.”

“Long ago you saved your son from chemical destruction to his body, and later in life you provided hope to an elderly woman—your wife—who might’ve died hopeless without your frequent trips to Good Shepherd Nursing Home.” I no longer tried to fill in the blanks of how he knew all of this without actively participating in my life. “Those unique opportunities were not wasted when you saw them. Don’t waste them now.”

“I’ll have to think about it…I can let you know my decision in the next few hours.” True, he had brought up some good points, but still…. “If it puts Alistair in danger at all—especially since Kaslow is looking for me in this city as we speak—then all bets are off!”

“That seems fair,” he said, and suddenly glanced to his right. A pair of hotel patrons walked toward us. Likely, the young man and woman went about their personal business with nary a clue about a Russian hit man on the prowl, or the fact two unusual human beings conversed nearby.

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me if Paul and the gang knows your true identity, as well,” I said, trying to end our conversation on a lighter note. “I’ll be terribly disappointed if it’s only poor Judas who’s been discovered, and the pasty druid gets off scot-free…. Anything else you’d care to share about these demons in three-piece suits?”

He glanced again at the couple, who seemed to have stepped up their pace as they grew nearer to us.

“Just that you’re not alone in having your secrets uncovered,” he said, right before disappearing into the shadows again. “Our friendship has endured many trials in the past, and we’ve been exposed many times before now. Remember, as it was for us while we moved through centuries with our anonymity intact, it will someday be that way again.                                                                                                                                            Our bond may have waned at times over the years, yet in the end our connection has endured, my friend.  I’ll be seeing you around, Judas.”

Roderick then disappeared. By the time the couple arrived, it might’ve looked like a hotel patron had a little bit too much to drink and was presently conversing with an invisible friend amid vacant cars. But, at least they didn’t have a damned clue who I was.

Chapter 6

“Tell me again why we must stay inside our suite tonight?”

Alistair stood at the door, peering through the peephole. We had ordered steak and lobster a half-hour before—my initial bribe to get him to buy into Roderick’s game plan—and my boy was on the patrol for our food. So much like his mother in that regard, hunger tends to remove him from humanity and relegate him to the planet’s primal beasts. I’ve often wondered if Alfred Packer suffered from a similar affliction when he ate his five buddies near Gunnison, Colorado after a terrible snowstorm in 1874.

“To make sure you and I are still on the same plane of existence when tomorrow arrives,” I told him. “We’ll be confined like this until I hear from Roderick again. Once I get the go ahead to leave, I’ll make reservations to go home, and we can get the hell out of here.”

“This trip has been an enormous waste of time!” he bemoaned, his slight brogue briefly reminding me of Roderick’s parting words earlier. “But at least our dinner is here.”

He opened the door just as our room service waiter arrived with a cart bearing our meal, along with two chilled bottles of Merlot. Cold wine is also my son’s preference, and one pushing my tolerance after centuries of drinking nearly everything at room temperature.

“I’ll make it up to you with a trip in July, to either Alaska or the Virgin Islands—your choice, Ali.”

“I think a quiet weekend with my girl sounds like a better deal,” he said, snagging a yeast roll while helping the waiter move the plates to our table. “No offense, but maybe we should take an extended break from these coin vacations.”

I wanted to agree with him—especially since our journeys had recently become far more dangerous than ever before. But, I doubt I’ll be able to overcome the nagging thought that something horrible would happen if I veered from the diligent pursuit of my blood coins. I tipped the waiter and closed the door, allowing myself a careful glance down either side of the hall first. The coast was clear for now.

“Don’t go secret service on me, Pops,” teased Alistair. “As soon as I get a little good food in my stomach, I want to hear more about your conversation with Roderick.”

As alluded to earlier, Alistair had never met Roderick. For years, my son thought this name was something I pulled out of a hat. It wasn’t until I witnessed my son’s astonished look during a speakerphone conversation with Mr. Cooley, fifteen years ago, that I realized he thought my druid friend didn’t exist.

“Okay, I can concentrate better now.” Alistair had eaten like a ravenous dog unfed for days. “So, what else did you two talk about?”

“Viktor Kaslow and some misguided millionaire,” I said. “Apparently, this rich guy deals in black market nuclear weapons and still has enough tokens in the till to pay Kaslow a cool few million to help him negotiate for one particular mysterious weapon he covets. Oh, and killing me and possibly you has been thrown in as an extra incentive for our Russian friend.”

“Hmmm…similar to the extra millions the Shanahans will get if the ‘Skins ever get to a Super Bowl again, huh?” he said, chuckling. “I suppose Vegas would put Kaslow’s odds quite a bit higher for knocking us off.”

“I’d prefer to believe your football team has better chances,” I said, lifting my wine glass in salute. “May Christian Morrow be stopped and Viktor Kaslow choke on his crystals!” I laughed, hoping our mood stayed this cheerful.

“I’ll drink to that! But, who is Christian Morrow?”

“Just a bad guy who happens to be very rich.”

“The name sounds familiar,” he said, frowning as if searching his mind for a connection. “Well…hopefully we’ll kick his ass and get something worthwhile out of this misadventure after all.”

We clinked our glasses together.

“And, may the CIA
finally
leave us the hell alone!” I added, pausing to pour wine into both of our glasses. “Better yet, may they forget I’m Judas Iscariot.”

“What?!”

Oops.

In all seriousness, I intended to tell him straight away what I learned about the leak of my true identity that afternoon. But, I just couldn’t find the right moment to spring the news.

“You didn’t mean what I’m thinking you meant, Pops…or did you?”

“Unfortunately, it’s exactly as it sounds,” I said, grimacing. “Apparently, my former employers have known this information for quite some time. Roderick seems to think it happened roughly around the time you became paranoid about leaving the coins in the bank’s safe-deposit box.”

“That was right after we returned home with the coin from Portugal…I remember it quite well.” He nodded thoughtfully. “I actually started feeling weird about it two years earlier, when I thought someone had rifled through the box in our absence. I should’ve allowed you to build the damned vault back then.”

Yes, you should have, my dear boy. You didn’t want to be saddled with a bulky safe in your new condominium. But, who’s keeping score?

“Well, the important thing is to improve our wariness as we go forward, and hopefully I’ll soon learn the identity of who betrayed me,” I said. “I have a strong suspicion this person is also responsible for Kaslow’s sudden interest in me and my whereabouts.”

“All right…and here’s my counter proposal in light of what you’ve shared tonight.” He leaned back in his chair after lighting his pipe. “If we hear from Roderick tonight or early tomorrow morning, we go with whatever he tells you, Pops. However, if we don’t hear from him in a timely manner, then I say we shouldn’t sit around waiting for him to call us. Either you call him at that point, or you can join me on a trip around the islands tomorrow afternoon.”

“We’re done with the sightseeing,” I advised, adding a touch of surliness like a good father should. “There will be no trips anywhere tomorrow, unless it’s to the airport. Do you follow me?”

“And, if Viktor Kaslow or this Morrow guy never show up at our door, that’ll give us one more reason to call this vacation a frigging disaster from hell!” He got up from the table and moved over to the sliding door to our balcony. He opened the door slightly, and immediately the stream of smoke following him seemed to hurry toward freedom outside. “I’m serious, Pops, snorkeling and an evening tour of the city is what you can look forward to doing—along with waiting to fly back to the States until Saturday.”

“Are you insane?!”

“No more than you!” He came back to me, holding his pipe in the lecture pose that had long been his habit. “I think you’re being a little too paranoid—especially about some rich businessman hiring Viktor Kaslow to knock us off. How preposterous!”

“I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you, Ali,” I said, picturing Viktor’s fine cutlery I got a close up of in Iran.

“Nothing will.” He smiled confidently as he patted my shoulder. “And, again, if Roderick calls early enough, I’ll do whatever he says. But, if things turn out like I think they will, we switch to
my
game plan. Fair enough?”

Not really.

I shot my son an endearing look to affirm his take on this conversation, since it seemed pointless to argue further. He seemed quite pleased with himself and the prospect of enjoying some vacation fun in Hong Kong, after all. In the end, however, none of that carried much weight with me. I will always do everything in my power to make sure my progeny remains safe…with or without his cooperation.

Chapter 7

As I’m sure most of you can appreciate, I enjoyed a restless night, with almost no sleep. Not that lack of sleep is normally an issue. Often I can go days on end without an extended rest period. But, whenever alcohol is involved, I actually get tired enough to close my eyes for a ‘power nap’. Sometimes, great inspiration comes to me that way.

Not that night. At least not right away….

All possible mishaps related to my blown cover flitted before my mind’s eye as I lay in my bed, listening to Alistair’s light snores from his bedroom in our suite. It may sound strange, but I’ve always drawn comfort from his snoring, as I also did long ago from Beatrice. It’s as if part of me is ever fearful they could die at any moment, and a terror far greater than a violent death in my presence would be to find either one cold and lifeless in their beds the next morning.

I tried to think about positive things, like the fact Alistair and I could now spend more leisure time together. Not long after he left his post at Georgetown, I decided to leave the Smithsonian. Granted, my coin research efforts would be impacted by the lack of field notes and artifacts to which only an archivist (or someone higher in the Institute) would have access. But, knowing my days of prowling in the bowels of the famed museum were numbered, this past February I began diligently transferring files from the archives to a small zip drive I carried with me. Once I figured out how to skirt around the Institute’s security clearances, I carefully focused my efforts on gathering all pertinent information regarding the last thirteen potential hot spots for where my final eight coins likely lay hidden.

Of course, since we were presently in one of these places, my mood quickly spiraled down into despair. Looking for the coin that had spent centuries in the Cheung family’s possession was like searching for a needle in a haystack. I had no idea where to look next.

Making matters worse was the intrusion into my personal mental space of Kaslow’s smug grin. My mind drifted back to Caracas again…. I pictured him clearly as he watched me from less than fifty feet away. I had just finished planting duplicate documents for the ones I lifted from a Belarus diplomat’s apartment in the city’s outskirts, and had stepped outside the building. While it isn’t unusual for those working covertly for their governments to sometimes catch a glimpse of one another in the field, it is very unusual to engage someone directly. Not unless it’s with the intent to capture, interrogate, and dispose of such a person.

Even from a safe distance, I could see a contemptuous leer upon Kaslow’s face. Not only was he letting me know he understood what I had been up to inside the apartment, but he intended to obliterate my efforts. That recognition saved my existence as William Barrow, since I didn’t immediately see the rocket launcher he carried. But I sensed it. Sensed it lucidly in my mind’s eye, and quickly determined where I needed to dive for cover.

In my Royal Garden bed, I watched myself turn my head in horror toward an explosion behind me, as all five units in the 1920s building were destroyed. Several innocent people died, and I heard the screams of a woman and her child…and could do nothing for them. Innocent people always die when Viktor Kaslow is around. By the time I looked again to where he’d stood, the spot was empty, and the sound of a motorcycle speeding away was the only evidence he left behind.

Unfortunately for me, my mind will forever carry this image amid the late morning sunshine and raindrops from an earlier downpour dripping from the leaves of cecropia trees and a large palm near the building’s burning remains. That, and of course, Kaslow’s youthful mug leering at me.