Victory of Coins (The Judas Chronicles, #7) (13 page)

“Someone I know?”

“Hmmm... perhaps.” He smiled. “An old chum of yours that you’ll be surprised to see.”

“You know I hate games like this.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of your disdain for anything other than the straightforward truth of a matter,” he said, extending his chair into a lounge version and leaning back. He had been wearing a fedora for much of the past few days and pulled the brim down over his eyes. “But sometimes it’s better to be surprised, and not have too much time to think about it all.”

“I don’t like the way that sounds,” I said. “What’s the guy’s name?”

“I’m going to relax now and catch up on my rest, Judas,” he replied, for the moment ignoring my question. “Let’s just say the agent in question is highly skilled, and has a wealth of experience in dealing with the various cultures in this region of the world, as well as their storied histories. This person is multi-lingual, and has mastered more dialects than the two of us have managed to struggle with during the past few centuries. Lastly, this agent has dealt with Viktor Kaslow before... and effectively.”

Roderick ignored the rest of my entreaties to learn this mystery person’s identity. And although I am reasonably certain he didn’t sleep, he remained silent until we landed at the airport in Cairo. Meanwhile, I checked on Cedric every twenty minutes or so, and his color seemed better by the time we reached Egypt’s airspace, and continued to get better until it was time to deplane.

“Shhh.... Rest, my friend. We will get everything taken care of very soon,” Roderick assured Cedric, when he attempted to sit up in the gurney. “You’ll be as good as new in no time.”

We prepared to carry him off the plane, as an ambulance waited for us on the tarmac. Nearly a dozen paramedics swarmed up the stairs leading to the small jet’s exit. Roderick and I stayed out of the team’s way while speaking with the Customs’ representatives; and in just a few minutes the medical staff had gathered Cedric and loaded him into the back of the ambulance. We rode to the hospital with him.

“That was almost more impressive than what the Secret Service would do for our chief executive,” I said, pleased by the upgrade over the experience in Ethiopia.

“Actually, that exercise back there was better than many instances I’ve personally witnessed at the White House,” said Roderick, leaning in closer to Cedric in order to keep the crystals near his damaged liver. “Granted, response teams are better nearly everywhere these days—especially those working for a state-of-the-art hospital like the one we’re headed to. It’s good to know they take things seriously, eh?”

It was indeed good to know. And, it didn’t take long to reach the hospital, where the paramedics immediately rolled Cedric in to surgery with Dr. Khalil and his personal staff. Roderick and I remained in the ER waiting area until Dr. Khalil emerged. He directed his attention entirely to Roderick, which was fine by me, and we were both relieved to hear our ornery companion would likely be fine—provided he remained under the hospital’s care for the next few days.

“I can’t help believing that the crystals had some effect on the outcome,” said Roderick, as we talked in a posh coffee shop on the main floor. I was truly amazed at how ‘westernized’ this hospital was, compared to what I had visited in Cairo forty years ago. “I know you caught most of what Dr. Khalil told me, but you might’ve missed what he said about the lacerations being less extensive than what he expected to find, based upon the x-ray images scanned to him from Azum.”

“Really? That’s good to know, since the crystals seemed to have lost some of the glow I remember from when Alistair and Beatrice would handle them....”

A surge of pain seized my heart for a moment, and I took a deep breath.

“In time, it will get easier for you,” said Roderick. “I realize such words are empty at this time.... But someday you will understand the truth of what I mean.”

“You act like I haven’t been on this planet for very long, Rod,” I said, determined to not sound indignant, though it was certainly how I felt. However, watching how he had carried himself for centuries following the death of his soul mate and cherished offspring made me lean toward mercy in my response. “Maybe you’re right... we shall see. But for now can we talk about something else?”

“Well... how about we go meet your old acquaintance?” He paused to study his watch, checking the time against the clock hanging from a wall near the cashier’s desk. “Dr. Khalil advised that Cedric should be in his room within the hour, and that advisement was forty-five minutes ago. It will be on the fifth floor, and Cedric will be pleased to learn his room is one of the few private ones still available at this hour.”

It was just after one o’clock that Friday morning—1:08 a.m. to be exact.

“Is this guy going to meet us someplace nearby?”

“The plan was for our latest cohort to meet us at Cedric’s assigned room. Number 508,” Roderick replied. “You two can either chat in the hall or inside Cedric’s room, since he is quite fond of this particular agent.”

“What are we waiting for?” I suddenly felt left out, as everyone seemed to be current buddies with this mystery agent, and I scanned my memory for all of the CIA and even the few FBI folks I had hobnobbed with over the years. Trouble was, most of the ones I considered friends were either dead, retired from the job, or both.

“Just the check.”

“I’ve got this,” I said, and flagged down our waitress. I barely gave Roderick enough time to catch up to me at the elevator, after I paid for our coffee and croissants.

“Eager to catch up on old times, I see,” he teased.

“Not really,” I said. “Just wanting to know who our mystery man is, since you seem uninterested in giving me a name.”

“Who said it’s a ‘he’?”

“Huh?” Now I was really confused, and I honestly couldn’t picture a female cohort, running through my entire career working for the United States Government in my head. Keep in mind we’re talking about a period of time that spanned over one hundred years.

“Give up?”

“Why don’t you simply tell me, Rod?”

“It’s much more fun this way.” He laughed, as we stepped onto the fifth floor. According to the room numbers, 508 should be just a few doors to our left. “It’s... well, hell, I expected her to be here already.”

He sounded fairly disappointed. Meanwhile, I was still racking my brain as to who it could be. Roderick stepped over to the nurses’ station and inquired when Cedric would be arriving in the room. The head nurse advised it would be sometime in the next ten to twenty minutes, as she had personally made sure everything was set in his room. I prepared to take a seat in a small waiting area near the station, when the nurse advised we could go on in and wait for Cedric, since she had already been informed of Roderick’s ‘preferred’ status as Cedric’s guest. I got to tag along, so it seemed.

As we stepped into Cedric’s room, a statuesque woman in her mid-thirties turned away from the room’s only window to greet us. My heart literally froze in my chest... and it wasn’t a good thing.

Rachel? What in the hell?!

“It’s good to see you, too, Judas,” she said demurely, surely reacting to the stunned expression on my face.

She stepped toward me with her right hand slightly raised, as if prepared to formally greet me like a man. So fitting, and just as I remembered her—this female who never quite fit the bill of ‘lady-like’ in my opinion. Granted, it had been nearly three hundred years since we last spoke, and I realized now it was Roderick who had reintroduced us at that time as well.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, unable to reel in the unfriendliness and ignoring her hand. I shot Roderick an annoyed glance.

“Michael sent me,” she replied, her tone more businesslike than a moment ago. Perhaps she looked forward to our reunion even less than I did. “I’m not much more thrilled to be here than you are to see me again. However, you need my help in dealing with Viktor Kaslow. Since he presents a terrible danger to the world at large, I have come to your aid.”

Looking for something to give me the upper hand, I focused on the fine lines around her eyes and a touch of gray above her forehead, as if a splatter of bleach had recently landed there. Unlike the majority of immortals I have crossed paths with during my time on Earth, Rachel’s age fluctuates—usually between twenty and forty years old. Any extreme exertion on her part makes her older. And, yet, an unusual affliction she suffers from counters that effect by causing her to grow young again.

The youthfulness comes from her status as a stigmatic, and I daresay that she is one of the few stigmatics bleeding from the exact wounds I witnessed when Jesus Christ was crucified. Although she begs to differ on this, since she says she met me when I was with Jesus as a Disciple, she and I officially met when she was pretending to be the daughter of a crooked merchant who held two of my coins, not long after Spain led the expansion into the New World. The man benefited from the prosperity of the Dutch seafarers.... But that’s a long story, and one I care not to revisit at this time.

I eventually learned that Rachel was an immortal slightly older than me, during our first misadventure together. Her status as a ‘holy bleeder’ has always puzzled me, since I had never encountered a stigmatic who could produce the Lord’s sacred wounds seemingly out of the blue. Rachel claims she was cursed for not believing in the divinity of Jesus Christ when she had the chance to do so as a mortal who had met Him—a maddening assertion that she has yet to elaborate on. Even so, I can unfortunately attest to the truth of the wounds as being the genuine articles. Given her two millennia age, Rachel could certainly be considered ‘the’ stigmatic that all other stigmata sufferers should be compared to for their authenticity.

So, then, what are the reasons behind my personal disdain toward her as a woman? Maybe it stems from her long-term trade as a harlot and user of good men to make her way in the world. Any hot-blooded male would surely agree that Rachel possesses the comeliness to earn a double-take: a voluptuous figure along with the moves of a crafty feline, and her unusually brilliant hazel eyes have been known to morph into other colors equally captivating. Add in her supple lips and delicate facial features, and long dark hair that reminds me of the lustrous locks of Amy Golden Eagle.... Well, based only on her physical assets and salacious charms, I daresay most men and even women wouldn’t share my ill will toward her. At least not initially....

“And you can help us how?” I asked.

She regarded me with a look that was mostly compassionate. And, unfortunately, I could almost feel her probe my thoughts. Although the intrusion wasn’t as prominent as with Roderick’s psychic gifts, I recalled that Rachel could read cognitive images and divine the future from mental pictures stored in a person’s subconscious. Admittedly, she has made uncannily accurate predictions in the past.

“It might surprise you that I have worked for both Interpol and the United States Government for nearly as long as you’ve been with the various incarnations of the BOI,” she said, pausing to tug lightly on the sleeves of her dark pantsuit. “And, not to pick a fight, but I was well aware of you and the other immortals enlisted by Theodore Roosevelt in the first US agency, and I have shared assignments with others who were added down through the years. Rod tells me you have only recently learned about other immortals being involved in America’s affairs.”

She smiled smugly, and I desperately fought the urge to clock her in the chops. I’m not violent towards women—at least not those who aren’t pointing a gun or sharp object in my direction. But Rachel has always stirred an angry nerve by her presence alone... like a despised sibling.

So how was this supposed to work between us? How, when I felt certain she detested me as much as I disliked her?

“The thing that several members of our immortal circle have noticed over the years is that you two should get along much better than you do,” said Roderick, smiling playfully, as if we were obstinate children of his. “In fact, the prevailing opinion about your animosity is that it stems from being more similar than dissimilar. Hell, if I didn’t know any better, I would assume you are brother and sister of the same mother, but different fathers. You are that close in personality.”

Rachel chuckled nervously while I merely glared at them both... and yet, despite my reluctance to consider such an absurd observation, Roderick’s words hit home. In all likelihood, the Judas of old—when I walked the earth as Emmanuel Ortiz—would never have considered a possibility such as this. But the man I had become as William Barrow—the Judas mellowed by the love of such a kind and beautiful soul as Beatrice—could be reasoned with long enough to consider the possible truth in Roderick’s observation about Rachel and me.

“But to specifically answer your question as to how I can help you,” said Rachel, resuming where she left off. “I have an immense network of friends here in the Middle East. Friends, I should say, who have hated the KGB monster, Viktor Kaslow, for a very long time—long before the Iron Curtain fell and the agency went into hiding. And, don’t let his status as a demon ruler cloud your judgment, Judas. He still has weaknesses borne from his arrogance....”

The room’s door opened and Cedric was rolled in. He smiled weakly, and the three of us stood by as the hospital’s overnight staff set him in his bed, taking care of details while we made sure we didn’t get in the way. When the attendant nurses left, with the advisement that we should also soon leave, he studied us all while his smile inched toward impishness.

“So... William, I see you have gotten reacquainted with Rachel Bashemath,” he said, his voice hoarse from the breathing tube that had recently been shoved down his throat. “Roderick said we might see her soon... and here she is. Hello, Gorgeous.”

“Hey, Cedric,” she said, sauntering over to where he tried to raise his arms to give her a hug. “It’s good to see you.... Try not to overdo it. The nurse just got done telling you to take it easy and rest. We’ll share a great big hug once you’re up and about!”

“You promise?”