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

  “And if it is farther south than we are presently considering, flying wouldn’t be an option anyway,” said Roderick. “You would need special permission from the US Embassy.”

  “What? We already have permission to be here in Turkey,” said Cedric. “Unless you’re talking about.... Ah, hell, you don’t think the damned thing is someplace in Syria, do you? Surely not!”

  But I couldn’t tell exactly how far away the signal was coming from. All I knew for sure was that the pulse was getting stronger the farther south we drove, despite disappearing for periods of time.

  Rather than speculate any longer on whether the coin was below Turkey, we journeyed to Kayseri, arriving just before noon. The signal continued the bizarre pattern of disappearing and coming back with a vengeance, and the ebb and flow became something I expected. All of us were eager to see if we could find a place where the signal would settle down, and we pushed on to Gaziantep before stopping for lunch.

  By then, it was almost one o’clock in the afternoon. We weren’t far from the Turkish border, and our discussion turned from where to look in Turkey to how would we invade Syria without putting ourselves in extreme danger. The chances of running into hostile Islamic extremists were high—especially since it seemed increasingly likely we might end up deep inside Syria before finding this ornery coin.

  * * * * *

  The irony is not lost on me that the coin could well be in the city it was named for: Damascus. After all, our coordinates have steadily moved toward the ‘direct line’ I am used to sensing when looking for one of my cursed shekels. The painful surges to my left side have become more fervent, and the gaps in the ‘pulse’ sensation have steadily decreased in size to where I am getting hit every ten to fifteen minutes. I have no doubt that one of the most storied of my blood coins is calling to me.... But I might have to wait until tomorrow, Sunday, to retrieve it.

  Normally, I wait to update my journal until after the fact. But I feel compelled to leave an update now while we remain in Gaziantep. Rachel has contacted Michael Lavoie in Washington, to alert him to our plans to enter Syria sometime this evening. We are hoping he can get clearance for us to enter the country so that we are not arrested. Our immediate plan, once we get the security clearance we hope for, is to visit the city of Aleppo, where Rachel has contacts at the college there. We hope to spend the night there and if the signal—along with Roderick’s, Rachel’s, and my intuitions—continues to point to Damascus as the likely location for my last blood coin, we will head there in the morning.

  Maybe revisiting the very streets I walked upon with Jesus and my formerly cherished brethren will be the key. Perhaps the coin had long ago returned to the city it was named for, and has been waiting ever since for me to come collect it once the others were safely in tow.

  ***Note to myself. Remember to clean up and finish this latest entry (or scrap it altogether) following the next twenty-four hours’ events. Perhaps it will make sense to include the dream I had of Beatrice, when I briefly fell asleep at Ataturk airport. It lasted all of ten minutes but seemed as if hours had passed... I mourned waking up from it! I might discuss the dream with Rod first before deciding whether or not to include it here... we shall see.

  In the meantime, may The Almighty see fit to grant me success in this final quest for the last of my blood coins. May it be His will and mercy that the search finally ends.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Greetings.

  My name is Roderick Cooley, and after much debate, I have decided to finish my dear friend’s final journal. Judas Iscariot, aka Emmanuel Ortiz, aka William Barrow is no longer with us.

  Rachel Bashemath and Cedric Tomlinson are witnesses to what I am about to relate. Since neither of them feels qualified to handle this exchange, it has been left up to me to finish what the most cherished companion I have ever known had nearly completed. Please forgive me if I am unable to match his prowess and style that have gained him some affection among the reading public. I will do my best.

  Beginning where Judas left off....

  It appeared that we would be stuck in Gaziantep for several days, as our initial attempts to gain entrance into Syria were denied. Soon after sunset, however, Michael Lavoie paid back an old favor to Rachel, and the four of us were allowed to travel as far as Aleppo that night.

  “I don’t recall a coin’s pull being this intense before, Rod,” Judas confided, once we had settled into a vacant dormitory suite at Aleppo College, one of the safer places to stay in the city. Rachel and Cedric occupied the beds in one room, and Judas and I took the beds in the other room. A small bathroom connected the rooms. “I pray it lasts long enough to find the damned thing this time.”

  “Aye, my brother—I pray it does, too,” I agreed.

  I had rarely seen him this anxious in regard to one of the blood coins, as often he would be like a child at Christmas, anticipating with delight what Santa Claus might bring him. This time he was like a lad expecting a stocking full of coal and a switch to the backside to boot!

  “What if we get there and we find nothing?” he continued to worry, after we retired to our beds to wait out the night until the dawn’s advent would relieve him of the pretense of sleeping. I might manage a few hours, since I hadn’t slept much in the past week, and under less duress, Judas might catnap for an hour or so. “Or, worse... suppose the signal stops before we journey south to Hama?”

  “Rest easy, Judas. I don’t foresee the signal getting weaker,” I sought to assure him. “If anything, it will get stronger, especially now that the straight transmittal line has been confirmed. If you had been directed to someplace, say, like Palmyra, I would share your doubts. But the trajectory likely emanates from—“

  “Damascus,” he finished for me.

  “Yes, so it seems.”

  He grew quiet for much of the next hour, and feeling his peacefulness across the room allowed me to drift off...

  “Rod?”

  “Yes, Judas,” I said, painfully jolted from what looked to be a promising dream featuring my childhood home in what is now Ireland.

  “Sorry to wake you... I will be quick.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “I dreamt of Beatrice... last night, while we were waiting on the plane for the Customs team in Istanbul,” he said. “She was sitting in a boat on some gloriously beautiful lake. Her smile was so loving and peaceful, and she motioned for me to come to her.... Am I boring you?”

  “Not yet,” I told him, to which we both shared a quiet laugh.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, please go on.”

  “I joined her in the boat, though I’m not sure how I got there,” he said. “She told me how she missed me, and that it won’t be long.... She wouldn’t explain what she meant, and since I didn’t want the experience to suddenly end—like such things are wont to do when logic begins to rule the dream scene sequence, I let the matter go.... I had never been happier in her presence, despite the fact it was just a dream.”

  “And you fear it might not repeat for ages to come?”

  “Yes... that’s how it’s been for both of us, as you know.”

  No need to be reminded, since the last time I had experienced that sweet nocturnal communion with my beloved wife, Claudia, was when the Ottoman Empire still held sway throughout this region of the world.

  “Do you think it has anything to do with my last coin?”

  “Maybe.” True, it could mean something, since a growing dread in the pit of my stomach told me the events of the next day or so would have a profound affect on all of us. Judas has often mentioned my guides, as he likes to call them. ‘Spiritual mentors’ was the term I grew up with, as an understudy to a druid priest. These advisors have repeatedly warned me about a major change coming to my world, and I had feared it dealt with Viktor Kaslow. Yet the feeling has remained after his demise, and intensified tenfold since crossing the Syrian border. “Let’s see where the coin’s call leads us.”

  Perhaps
he realized I could use a few hours’ rest. Regardless, Judas remained silent until the sun’s rays peered into our room through the lone window’s curtains. From the moment we arose until we had finished breakfast and were back on the road, he spoke little of our mission—only occasionally advising of the coin’s pull. He never again broached the subject of our midnight conversation.

  “Well... so far so good. Our heads are still attached to our shoulders, and I’ve counted only a handful of potential ISIS scouts along the road,” Cedric advised. He shared the back seat in the GMC with me that we had hijacked from Turkey. We were never granted the legal right to drive it into Syria, despite the border patrol looking over the paperwork in the glove box. “You feelin’ the pulse still, William?”

  “It’s stronger than ever,” Judas replied. He had commandeered the front seat that Sunday morning, stating he wanted to have the clearest view of the road ahead—just in case the direction of the pull changed. Rachel continued to serve as our driver, and he promised to let her know of any sudden shifts in the direction the steady pulse emanated from. “I don’t think either Hama or Homs are involved. I’m more certain than ever that the call is coming from inside Damascus.”

  “Do you have a more specific idea than simply it’s somewhere inside Damascus?” asked Cedric. By then, we had already passed Idleb and were approaching Hama. From there it would be roughly three hours to reach the outskirts of Damascus.

  “As I mentioned before, I think it could be the older part of the city,” said Judas. “To save time and not linger too long in the more dangerous hot spots, I suggest we continue on through without stopping unnecessarily. We have enough fuel, and if I’m wrong about all of this, we can lament about it over lunch and some strong wine in the newer part of town.”

  “The safer part of town, you mean,” said Rachel.

  “Why, of course,” he confirmed. “It will be my treat for dragging everyone’s asses down here.” He laughed sadly, and I could tell this alternate possibility terrified him. I feared for his mental state if this turned into some elaborate false alarm.

  “But you could very well be right this time,” I said, not immediately realizing I carried the solemnity of a funeral director in my tone.

  “It depends,” he said, and wouldn’t expound on what he meant.

  I worried that his spirit understood much more about what lay ahead than any of us accompanying him could discern—unseen guides for Rachel and myself included. The mood remained solemn, and I expected it to continue as we drove through Hama, Homs, and a host of small towns on the main thoroughfare to the oldest major city in the entire region. Fortunately, Cedric surprised everyone by poking fun at Rachel and Judas, sharing some of their amusing blunders as CIA agents. Since the pair had never worked together, they found the foibles involving each other quite humorous, and it turned into a great way to pass the time—especially when they effectively turned the tables on Cedric, who had served as their field boss at various times during the past thirty years.

  Finally we reached Damascus.

  As if the coin named for it understood we were now in close proximity, it finally lessened the strain of its pull on Judas. An aspect quite familiar, in truth it made me feel much better about the prospects of collecting coin number thirty that very day. My biggest concern for him now was finding the sections of the city where Jesus and Judas’ brethren had walked, since much had been destroyed and rebuilt over the years. Neither he nor I had ventured inside this city since shortly after the Crusades... much had changed in the past nine hundred years.

  “I think I can find it,” said Rachel. “I have toured this part of the world at least once each century since my... well you know.”

  “I’ll tell you if the coin’s call lessens or grows stronger,” Judas advised. “Frankly, it’s more important to find the coin than to simply revisit our old haunts.”

  I believe he sensed what the rest of us were picking up on, since the older part of town meant a place of greater lawlessness. Certainly, this was to be expected. However, as Rachel with Judas acting as her compass navigated away from the ‘safer’ areas of Damascus, we soon found ourselves in the middle of a slum.

  “Great. Just fucking great!”

  Cedric shook his head in disbelief, as what had always looked like a foolhardy mission had just taken on the tag of deadly as well. Like fire ants coming out to survey and circle a wounded grasshopper, youths dressed in tattered robes with bullet straps around their waists and over their shoulders approached the Jeep. Several of them carried automatic weapons in their hands.

  “Keep driving!” Judas urged. “It’s not far!”

  “Are you fucking insane?” Rachel glared at him in similar disbelief to Cedric’s.

  “You know it’s here.... and I can’t explain how I also know we’ll be okay, but we will—”

  The first volley of bullets tore through the GMC’s roof. From then on it was Rachel’s instincts and Judas pointing emphatically in directions based on an invisible map inside his head. The vehicle raced through the streets, nearly losing control after several hairpin turns. More bullets pelted the back of the Yukon and I believe we all worried about being blown up if a shot pierced the fuel tank.

  Rachel and Judas continued their joined efforts to gain a lead over the gang of youths pursuing us earnestly on foot, and at his urging she pulled into an alley. He directed her to immediately pull into another alley from that one, to our right, and then she slammed on the brakes.

  I’d be lying if I didn’t confess to being greatly alarmed by our predicament.

  “Are you trying to get us killed?!” she shrieked at him. “I doubt any of us could survive several hundred rounds per minute... Hey! ...Where the hell do you think you’re going now?!”

  Perhaps he suddenly realized how badly he had endangered us and thought for some absurd reason we would be okay waiting for his return to our present hideout, which for the moment sat deserted. Whatever the reason, he dashed out of the car, leaving the door open as he took off running. Sprinting down the alley we had just vacated, he headed deeper into the slums and away from the maddening crowd that would soon pursue him....

  Or, so I assumed.

  But no one came. Other than a few more rapid-fire blasts echoing in the distance, none of the hostile youths pursued him.

  Following my instincts—the protective ones that had always prompted me to keep an eye on Judas, as if he were my cherished older brother in the flesh—I jumped out of the vehicle and ran after him. Two car doors slamming shut behind me confirmed that Rachel and Cedric intended to also come along. But I didn’t look back, and other than a cursory glance toward where a mob should be gathered to my left, I picked up my pace. The alley behind me remained empty, as I turned right, following the direction I had last seen Judas running toward. He was a quarter mile ahead of me, and suddenly disappeared into another alleyway or street to our left.

  “Come on—follow me!” I urged the others. Not waiting for them to catch up, I sprinted to the spot where I had last caught a glimpse of him, and then scurried down a curved stone stairway.

  Not far from the base of the stairs was an outdoor bazaar, consisting of several small tables and a rack of dated clothing that looked like it came from the 1970s. At the moment, the street sat deserted, and the windows above the tall brick walls were shuttered closed. A portly and short bearded man with shoulder-length dark hair and dark sunglasses stood watching us. He wore a weathered Los Angeles Dodgers baseball cap from yesteryear, and together with his multi-colored robe and leather sandals it made him look like one of the Haight-Ashbury hippies mentioned earlier by Rachel, when describing her beloved sister’s carefree spirit.

  Judas stood before this man, pointing a trembling hand at a woven basket that for the moment was covered. Rachel gasped from behind me, obviously seeing the same thing I noticed.

  A luminescent blue light emanated from inside the basket. We hurried over to where Judas stood, across from the local
merchant who looked like a displaced hippie.

  The smell of cinnamon barely covering terrible body odor wafted to us from the merchant, and the three of us soon shared a sour look that contrasted sharply with the peaceful smile on Judas’ face as he turned to regard us.

  “This merchant speaks broken English and has offered to sell me what’s inside the basket for four hundred American dollars!” he said excitedly. “Can any of you spare sixty bucks? I have enough on me to cover the rest, and the guy doesn’t take credit cards.”

  “Ya think?” said Cedric, wryly, in regard to the vagabond who seemed to carry nothing of value other than what we hoped was inside the basket. The man cocked his head to study us, offering a near-toothless smile. “I’ve got twenty. This had better be worth it, man.”

  “We might be in a spot trying to get back to Aleppo, but I’ve got about thirty in my pocket,” said Rachel.

  I covered the rest. Rachel and I surely anticipated the same thing as Judas, who eyed the glowing basket like it contained the Holy Grail. Hopefully for him, it truly did.

  Judas held up the cash to the merchant, who snatched it out of his hand, counting it all and offering a bigger smile once confirmed it was enough. He encouraged Judas to step up to the table and view his purchase.

  I believe all three of us—Rachel, Cedric, and me—held our breath in anticipation of what was about to happen... the procurement of the final coin once paid for the most famous betrayal the world had ever known. If the gang of young Damascus thugs were to find us at that moment, none of us would’ve noticed... at least not while Judas cautiously lifted the lid from the basket, peering inside as if the coin he sought were a slippery critter that might escape its prison and scurry away. The blue glow intensified, and for a moment his smile was the sweetest I had ever witnessed from him outside of the adoring looks he would often cast to Alistair, and later Beatrice. But then his face fell....

  “What’s wrong?” I ran over to his side, and as he staggered away from the basket I threw off the lid to look inside.