Victory of Coins (The Judas Chronicles, #7) Read online

  My pulse began to race, as I suddenly believed we had come to the right place, that the coin was located somewhere in Athens. I read on, barely able to contain my growing excitement that drew my companions’ eager eyes to the pages as they flew by. Yet, except for two more references to Dr. Baros’ knowledge of the Damascus Coin, there was nothing else. Nothing substantial, anyway.

  “Maybe we should try to find this Dr. Baros,” said Rachel. “Perhaps he still knows where to find the coin you seek.”

  “Baros?” Dimitris emerged from the dining room with the silent Alexis behind him. “Did you say he is mentioned in Dr. Drummond’s journal?”

  I guess they hadn’t read it yet.... But something told me our Embassy escorts might be curious to do so now.

  “Yes,” said Rachel. “Do you know of this man?”

  “I am afraid Dr. Baros is dead,” said Dimitris. “He died from a fall from his balcony in July. It was in the news for most of that month, since foul play was believed to be involved.”

  Did Kaslow kill him, too? I wondered.

  “I will make note of the reference when we hand this over to the police,” he advised, glancing at his watch. “We should go now. I hope this has been helpful to you, Mr. Barrow.”

  “It has... thank you,” I said, wondering why he decided to use my last name and hoping my blank look successfully hid the sudden barrage of questions flooding my mind.

  Dimitris and Alexis excused themselves from our presence to make sure the villa was locked up. Roderick and Rachel were discussing how to find out more about this Dr. Baros, when the sound of something lightweight landing on the floor in the nearby living room drew my attention. I doubt that either of our mortal companions could hear it, but Roderick and Rachel certainly did, abruptly ending their conversation.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  Without answering I stepped into the room, recognizing the room’s furnishings from the photographs. A slight chill trickled down my spine as I discovered a beige envelope resting below the mirror that had produced the translucent face we had studied on Rachel’s laptop. I moved over to pick it up, turning the envelope over in my hands.

  I don’t often gasp, but seeing my name written across the front in Viktor Kaslow’s script elicited a slight one from me. I cautiously scanned the room while turning the envelope over in my hands, and prepared to tear it open. An unusual wax seal had been used to secure the seams—likely adding enough weight to draw our attention to its presence when it seemingly fell out of nowhere.

  “Don’t open it yet,” whispered Rachel from behind me. “Let me it slip it into my satchel and we can look at it in private when we get to the hotel.”

  Her advice made sense, and the envelope disappeared inside her bag just as our escorts returned.

  “We’re ready to go now,” said Dimitris, eyeing us curiously as we stood inside the living room. “Is everything all right?”

  “I thought I heard something in here, but I guess it was nothing,” I said. Offering a partial truth often came in handy to avoid suspicion. “We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

  Alexis motioned for the three of us to lead the way out. I caught him scanning the living room as if looking for clues concerning the real reason we had left the kitchen, and I was again grateful for Rachel’s admonition.

  The ride to our hotel seemed noticeably longer than the ride from the airport to the villa had been, despite being half the distance. My anticipation of viewing Kaslow’s latest discourse fed my impatience. Was it another opportunity for him to gloat, or would he finally provide a clear and useful clue?

  “Okay, Judas... I believe we’re finally safe enough to open the letter,” said Roderick, from the shared living area of our luxury three-room suite we had rented for the night. “Unless you prefer that one of us would have the honor instead.”

  “No, I can handle this.”

  I tore open the letter, being careful to not damage the seal in case it became the only tangible clue we received from Kaslow’s latest correspondence. I never considered that the envelope might include a bomb of some sort, until after I had discarded it and unfolded the letter. The envelope and parchment were clean.

  Dearest William,

  Please accept my apology for having to cut short our conversation earlier today. By now you know I had a very busy morning planned, with important places to visit and a few people to assist in reaching the afterlife. All in a good day’s work, as they say....

  Rest assured, you are now seriously behind in our race, and answers to questions you have slothfully regarded are likely lost forever. Still, I can’t bear to see a doomed immortal cry.... So, I propose to throw in a bonus round, for you to come join me for a little face-to-face contest. The winner will enjoy unquestioned ownership of a certain silver shekel—yes, that one!

  You have twenty-four hours to find me from the time you read this—and surely by now you are aware that like Santa Claus I can tell when you’ve been naughty or nice. Think about all of the clues you’ve been given—including Dr. Cirillo’s ring, and then use your intuitions to find my present lair. The clock is ticking, Willie Boy!

  I’ll keep a light on for you and your companions.

  All the best,

  Viktor

  “I have no clue where to look next,” I said, feeling defeated. I pictured Kaslow holding and admiring the Damascus Coin while he penned his latest gibe.

  “I’m not sure either,” said Roderick, compassionately. “My mind is blank. But perhaps sleeping on it will provide an answer by morning.”

  “Or, maybe I can simply tell you where he is,” said Rachel, almost absently, drawing surprised looks from both of us. She was studying the letter’s wax seal. “Yes, Judas... I believe this is our clue.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, guardedly.

  “I recognize the crest on the stamp,” she said, nodding thoughtfully. “The family it belonged to is long gone, having perished in the fifteenth century when their beautiful city was sacked by the Ottomans. But the castle where they once called home is well known to me... it lies just beyond the last place I also called home before accepting Roderick’s invitation to America.”

  Istanbul.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As many of the world’s citizens will attest, Istanbul is an incredible place. A beautiful metropolis that is also one of the world’s largest cities, when talking about how many people actually reside within its official borders. The Ottoman Empire forged a lasting impression that is evident throughout the city. Surprisingly, religious tolerance was remarkable during the empire’s zenith years, where Judaism and Christianity were allowed as much autonomous freedom as their Muslim brethren—unheard of in other regions of the world.

  But the Ottomans’ reign certainly didn’t start out philanthropic. Christians were slaughtered by the thousands when Mehmed II seized control of the Byzantine capital in 1453, which under its previous name of Constantinople was once the center of the ancient Christian world. The sultan allowed his men to rape, pillage, and murder for three days before he ordered the violence to stop. Most of the surviving citizens—numbering nearly thirty thousand—were then sold into slavery.

  “But it could’ve been worse if it had happened when Constantinople was the celebrated seat of the Byzantium Empire. The population was much larger, approaching a half million people at one time,” said Rachel, settling back in her leather seat on our latest small jet. She paused to sip a cocktail before continuing.

  Roderick and I sat across from her, and though I couldn’t speak for him, I was quite content to listen to the history lesson in summary—despite having witnessed much of what she spoke of. In truth, I was grateful that she allowed us to leave Athens at once, upon learning that Kaslow was in Istanbul. She could’ve been discussing fashion accessories for Barbie dolls for all I cared at the moment.

  “Almost a thousand years of prosperity had already been assailed by plague and the plundering French during the Crusad
es. What would be considered priceless works of art at the time were destroyed.... Perhaps there would be nothing today of this place had Mehmed not fallen in love with the architectural marvels that still stand today,” she said, releasing a low sigh when Roderick began to nod off. “Would you like for me to cut to the chase about the castle no one remembers?”

  “Where Kaslow awaits our arrival?” I asked, forcing a warm smile as if listening to an esteemed, elderly aunt prattle on about an old family recipe for sage dressing at Christmas.

  “Yes,” she said, eyeing me as if my contrived politeness had just been discovered. I nudged Roderick to wake him up. “Perhaps I should say nothing more, and let the two of you pepper me with questions upon our arrival. Surely you’ll be dying to know the castle’s layout by then,” she said, her revelry in sharing the history of her beloved former homeland doused by the two of us. “Maybe it would be fun to watch you both try to outfox Kaslow without anyone—namely me—to give you a heads up on where he might attack from.”

  “Certainly, you wouldn’t do that,” said Roderick, wiping his eyes. I knew he hadn’t slept much during the past few days, but apparently he had experienced some sleepless nights before our jaunt through Italy, Africa, Greece, and now what was once referred to as Asia Minor began.

  “Probably not,” she agreed, smiling coyly. “You should be grateful I enjoy your company, and have high hopes we survive our encounter with the demon lord in his chosen lair.”

  “You sense it, too, don’t you?” Roderick sat up in his seat, inhaling deeply, as if this act would restore the necessary energy to stay alert. “If not for the prize at stake, I would readily decline Kaslow’s invitation.”

  “As would I,” she agreed, then turning her attention solely to me. “If nothing else can ever change your perspective of me as just an acquaintance that was once an enemy, I hope that when this is over you will see me as the devoted friend I have always longed to be.”

  I honestly didn’t know how to respond to such a statement, made worse when Roderick shot a pleading glance for me to offer her an olive branch, as had been done for me on Rachel’s behalf.

  “You really think this could turn out badly for us?”

  It was all I could muster, and I determined to stay focused exclusively on the task at hand. For me, trust would have to be earned—especially since she still felt like a newcomer to the war between Kaslow and us.

  “And you don’t?” Roderick asked, teasingly.

  “Well... if I listen to my desperate heart, it’s telling me to take a chance and pray that a man with no conscience who is now a demon lord, as you say, could play by a set of fair rules for once,” I replied, hoping the wryness wasn’t perceived as pomposity. “Yet, if I listen to the voice of reason—coupled with the semi-private allusions in your conversation—I would say we are the biggest fools the world has ever known.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” said Rachel, smiling admiringly as she raised her glass. I met it with my second Scotch on the rocks, and Roderick did the same with the melted remnants of his.

  “We should know the outcome to your quandary by dawn,” Roderick quipped, raising his useless drink in salute once more. “According to the latest flight information I’ve received from our pilot, we should reach the Ataturk International Airport a few minutes earlier than our eleven-fifteen scheduled arrival time, and then it’s a matter of going through security, picking up a car, and then finding the damned place in the woodlands north of the city. Correct?”

  “Unless the old roads are closed, we could be there by one in the morning, maybe sooner,” Rachel advised. “It’s not far from Ataturk, but in an undeveloped area that has largely been forgotten.”

  “What’s the place called?” I asked.

  “The name I’m most familiar with has long since been changed, but back before the Ottoman occupation it was called ‘Fanari Castle’, she said. “It sits on a low ridge and was once an amazing edifice.... A fortress that protected the Fanari family from attacks for almost five hundred years—even when the city as Constantinople was sacked during the Crusades. But it could not survive the Ottoman onslaught in 1453.”

  “I seem to remember something about this, or perhaps it was another fortress in the area,” said Roderick. “What happened to the place after Mehmed arrived?”

  “The family foolishly tried to fight instead of offering bribes of gold and silver as their neighbors had done,” she said. “The men were killed upon capture and the women were taken as concubines and slaves... slavery was the fate of all their children....”

  Rachel’s voice trailed off as if she could see the tragedy playing out freshly as a cruel memory—something we all had experienced more often than any of us would care to admit. The ravages of war are at their worst when the spoils of battle are divided, and fellow human beings are subjugated to the lowest depravity.

  “All the more reason to make sure another tyrant—far worse than all of the others—never gains that level of earthly power,” I said, drawing Roderick’s and Rachel’s attention to me. “Viktor Kaslow has often terrified me, and no doubt you both have felt the same from time to time.... If he is just playing with us, and it turns out that the contest for the Damascus Coin isn’t a fair event, then I shudder for the world. Whatever happens, we can’t let him win... we just can’t.”

  “Well, Judas... it looks like we will be well on our way to either achieving that goal or failing to reach it in about twenty minutes,” said Roderick, after glancing at his wristwatch. “The plane should begin the landing process in the next few minutes.... Let’s begin outlining our plan of attack.”

  Without anything available online about the mysterious Fanari fortress, we were forced to draw it out on paper. Fortunately, Roderick was able to create a usable map from the vivid details Rachel remembered concerning the castle. The biggest questions centered upon what it would look like after being abandoned to ruins shortly before the sixteenth century began.

  “I had heard long ago that animals foraged and made their nests throughout the stone carcass of the once glorious Castle Fanari,” said Rachel. “I had also heard that many of the rooms were later found to be intact—and that was shortly before I moved from Istanbul to Washington in 1911.”

  “So, the videotaped rooms that Roderick and I saw in the messages from Kaslow could well exist inside the castle, right?” I sought to confirm.

  “It does seem possible,” Roderick agreed.

  “Yes, I’ve always believed that the messages to you both and to Cedric originated from somewhere within the ancient Byzantine kingdom,” she said, drawing a circle on the map, around the general area where the castle should still be standing. “It seems logical that it would be this place.”

  We drew up the list of supplies we would need, worried we might have to forgo some items unless we decided to wait until Saturday night to make our approach. In the end, we created two scenarios to work with, and only the second one entailed waiting for daylight. The initial plan was for us to simply head out to the site in the early morning darkness, without any climbing supplies or anything else to help us scale the castle walls.

  There was a huge risk involved, but we wouldn’t have to wait to find out if the castle was there, and if so, was Kaslow the latest tenant? If we found we couldn’t gain access to the place without ropes and other climbing supplies, then we would return to the city and procure everything we could possibly need for a successful entrance, and return Saturday afternoon. At least we’d know if we had the right place or not.

  Not long after we landed, and waited for the tedious Customs drill to take place, Roderick noticed a familiar face among the four men approaching the plane.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” he whispered, his tired grin widening to a surprised smile. “I see three Turks on the tarmac and one other guy....”

  “What other guy?” I jockeyed for position to peer out the same window that Rachel beat me to. She squealed with joy.

  It was indeed
three men of Turkish descent... along with one ornery African-American.

  Cedric?

  “You’ve got to be shitting me—I thought his recovery was supposed to take at least a week—and that was being extremely optimistic,” I said, finding myself just as excited as the others. Although, my exuberance was tempered by the reality this was a dangerously ill man who shouldn’t be out of his hospital bed yet, much less trailing the Customs triumvirate’s approach to the plane.

  Cedric raised a hand to wave to us. Dressed in similar attire to what he wore when we had last seen him, it could’ve been the ghost of my cherished pal. If not for Roderick and Rachel’s reactions—who deal with the spirit world on a continual basis—I might’ve believed he had succumbed to his wounds in the Cairo hospital.

  “None of that matters now, obviously,” Roderick said to me, before stepping to the plane’s exit as the group ascended portable stairs to the plane. “The crystals must have worked a miracle.”

  I was stunned, and stood back from the others as I waited for this to be revealed as some crazy mirage. But after Cedric followed the Customs team onto the plane, I felt foolish for not believing it was really him.

  “Willie Boy—haven’t you missed me, too?” he said, after sharing a joyful moment with Roderick and especially Rachel. He motioned for me to come to him, but I waited for the Turkish security trio to finish processing our clearance. Once they exited the plane, Cedric opened his arms like a proud papa who hadn’t seen his kid in a number of years. “I’m ready to Rock the Casbah, my man!”

  Always a clown, perhaps his presence was exactly what we needed right then... what I needed, truth be told. I stepped over and joined him in the hug that long lost friends deliver to each other—even though it had been merely a day since we had last been together. It told me that I had not expected his recovery, and in fact had feared losing him as I had lost my boy, Alistair. Yes, his injury and my son’s were not the same, but they were delivered in similar cowardly manner with a murderer’s displaced intent for revenge.