Destiny of Coins Read online

  I was spying to make sure the Lord was where I had advised Caiaphas He would be, and I grew impatient as the messenger, Caiaphas’s guards, and the Roman troops were late in their arrival. Jesus had finished His meditation and was returning to the main house when the messenger ran over to me. I could see the Romans circle the courtyard, blocking my Lord’s return to safety. Meanwhile, the messenger, in his haste to pay the fee agreed upon, shoved the leather bag filled with thirty silver shekels at me. The bag fell open. One coin escaped, and as it hit the stone walkway and bounced away, Jesus stopped and turned toward the sound.

  “Judas?”

  I had lowered myself against the wall, and I seriously doubt He could see me. But He knew I was there, hiding like a coward. Meanwhile, the other disciples came running out. The coin had rolled out of reach of me safely collecting it. Fearing being discovered, I shrank back from the courtyard and disappeared into Simon’s vineyard with the bag, now one coin short. The commotion that followed brought even more remorse. The Romans were beating Jesus. Beating Him as they dragged Him away in chains! He would not get the unbiased trial Caiaphas had assured me would happen. I realized I had made a terrible mistake….

  “Judas? Snap out of it, man.” Roderick nudged me.

  “Huh? Look, I’m sorry…. Just a bad memory.”

  “Of what?”

  “It’s not important,” I tried to assure him. “You were saying something about a map and a church. Right?”

  I couldn’t fully concentrate while memories of the very worst night of my entire existence played out for what must be the ten thousandth time. Thankfully, it was only the second time in the past two centuries. But I had hoped to avoid the experience until the other twenty-nine coins had been recovered.

  I never dreamed it would come early.

  Chapter 2

  I took Roderick up on his offer to skip dinner with the family, since it seemed best to spring the news on my wife, son, and my potential daughter-in-law without the distraction of his presence. Of the three, only Beatrice had not encountered him in a face-to-face setting. Amy had met him last year, in September. Everyone but Beatrice attended a formal fundraiser involving Amy’s brother, the famed archaeologist Dr. Jeremy Golden Eagle. Only when we parted ways later that night did she hear the strangeness in Roderick’s voice. Amy whipped her head around to watch him leave our presence and walk to his car on the other side of the Westin’s parking lot. That night, he had worn lighter tinted eyewear and his makeup job was superb. As far as I could tell, no one noticed anything odd about him, until his parting goodbye.

  “Did you get lost?”

  Alistair greeted me with an elfin smile as he said this, right after I stepped through the doorway to our condo. He was already dressed for dinner, and unlike the beatnik wardrobe he had fought to save as Amy and I tried to discard all of it last summer, he was wearing one of my favorite Armani suits. Perhaps it was a little much, despite the venue we had chosen that night. But he looked absolutely…dashing. At least that’s the word which came to mind first.

  I’ve mentioned before how my boy strongly resembles Sean Connery, the famed Scottish actor, in both appearance and mannerisms. Not to mention, the strong brogue he brought with him to the United States when he and his mother immigrated here in the 1960s. But where until lately it had been a resemblance to the actor in his twilight years, Alistair is now a near-dead ringer for him in his early Bond films.

  Even though my boy is aware of and quite pleased by the virile handsomeness he has regained, I suppose it’s a good thing he doesn’t take after the carousing nature I once nurtured shamelessly for centuries. Otherwise, Amy would have something besides the age and life experience disparity to contend with.

  Yet, Alistair has never been that much like me, other than certain physical and personality quirks we share. He’s much more like his mother, which is something that especially endears him to my heart. Only the sarcasm is similar, which is where we sometimes get on each other’s nerves.

  “It would’ve made the afternoon much better if I had, I’m afraid.” I handed the Guinness to him and hung my coat on the hall tree. “Where are the girls?

  “Amy’s helping mom decide on what shoes to wear tonight, so they should join us in a moment. You’ll need to not primp as long, or it will be your fault we’re late to dinner,” he said, the twinkle in his eyes defying his perturbed scowl. “So, what’s with the beer? I thought you went to Allegiance to buy another bottle of Scotch?”

  “I decided on something different this time,” I said, watching him deliberate on whether to take the six-pack to the kitchen or to the bar in the living room. I heard Beatrice and Amy laughing down the hallway in our bedroom. They would be here momentarily, meaning I truly had only a few minutes to pick my apparel. The choice would likely be something easy and unassuming. Something passable. “It was quite an internal debate.”

  “Pops, when are you going to realize I can smell your bullshit?”

  “What bullshit?”

  “I heard the code when you were talking on the phone,” he said, deciding on the refrigerator for the Guinness. “That was what…a couple of hours ago? You left right away, so it means you had at least an hour to visit with whomever it was you met. I can count on one hand the ‘friends’ who use a code.”

  He chuckled and shook his head, regarding me with some amusement. I had hoped to wait until after dinner to spring the news on everyone. Maybe there was still a chance to avoid broaching the fact dire circumstances had found us once again.

  “Roderick came to see me today.”

  “All the way from Abingdon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it must be something really important. Doesn’t he hate taking a taxi around the city? Must’ve driven to see you, right? Which also means he’s trying to keep most of your old buddies out of the loop. Am I on point so far?”

  Remarkably so, my dear boy. Perhaps you have a lot more of me inside you than I’m quick to give credit for.

  “Yes, you are spot on…but can we wait to discuss the details until later?”

  “Why not just give me the general gist?” he persisted.

  Our ladies were moving down the hall to meet us.

  “Because I’d hate to ruin anyone’s time tonight.”

  Before he could say anything else to coerce from me the smallest hint of my conversation with Roderick, I stepped past where he stood, pausing only to straighten his tie for him. Sometimes primping builds useful social skills. And at least my vanity is nothing like that of my former CIA boss, Michael Lavoie.

  “Ruin whose time tonight?” asked Beatrice, as she and Amy emerged from the hallway.

  One trait I often forget is that her ears are damned near as sensitive as mine. During the Glasgow years, when Alistair was a small child, she’d be able to recite word for word the angry tirades I’d whisper to myself after a rare spat with her. Such whispering had become a centuries old habit of mine by then. She could easily discern these quiet rants from two rooms away.

  “Not to worry, dearest. Just a small matter I must clear up,” I assured her, lightly pecking her left cheek.

  I mentioned earlier that Beatrice’s age regression has taken her back to what she was like in her early sixties. Actually, she’s on the cusp of dipping into her late fifties—her physical age when I re-entered her world as a distant voyeur in the early 1980s. She and Alistair resided in South Carolina in those days, as my son finished the last two years of his doctoral work at Clemson.

  What I didn’t talk about earlier was how beautiful my dear wife is now—and we’re talking in physical terms, where most often I’ve referred to the beauty that defines her soul. The age reversal has not only repaired her bones, sagging skin, and failing organs, but her muscular tone and her entire vascular system had been restored, bringing full life to her voluptuous figure. Her soft green eyes are vibrant once more. Even the gray in her once-thinning hair is steadily diminishing as it gives way to the healthy an
d lustrous strawberry blonde color of her youth.

  Although we’re two ‘physical’ decades away from where she’ll be comfortable holding hands with me in public, and deeper intimacies in private, I am keenly honored to be seen with this gorgeous middle-aged woman. And to think what the next few years will likely bring…. I can scarcely contain the joy and love flowing from my heart in her presence.

  I feel like the most fortunate man in the world…until I’m reminded why I still walk among the living.

  “Dad says Roderick drove out here to see him this afternoon,” Alistair announced, drawing an immediate look of suspicion from Amy. Leave it to my son to fall for a woman with powerful intuitions inherited from a long Black Foot line of women known for their mystical insights. “And, he hasn’t said so, but usually when Roderick, Cedric or Michael show up, Dad ends up disappearing for a week.”

  “If you’re going out of the country, you owe Alistair and me a promised ticket to tag along,” added Amy.

  Her emerald eyes flashed while peering at me through dark hair fallen forward as she fought with a hair barrette. A very pretty girl, it was difficult to determine how much anger resided within those eyes. Or, her determination to ensure I lived up to my promise. A promise, I might add, made prior to Beatrice joining us in Alistair’s spacious condominium. Long before Amy had moved in and became her close friend and companion. That arrangement complicated things.

  “It will hardly be worth it, since I might only be gone for a few days,” I said, putting on the soft sell. “Why don’t we save that promise for a better opportunity—one allowing us quality time to explore the sights?”

  “Pops, where in the hell are you going this time?”

  I worried about the impact this situation would have on my wife’s peace of mind. I hadn’t taken a trip like this since our reunion. The misadventure in Hong Kong was the last major excursion. Cedric and Michael had kept their promises to leave me in ‘retired’ status, as far as my CIA employment was concerned. This journey didn’t involve the agency directly yet, although if the carnage wrought by Viktor Kaslow rose any higher that status would likely change.

  “Roderick and I need to make a three-day trip to Bolivia to retrieve something we should’ve taken care of four hundred years ago,” I said, not knowing exactly what to reveal, but realizing a complete lie would likely backfire. “It’s something we need to take care of very quickly, Ali, and having anyone else along would cause unnecessary hurdles.”

  “There you go again, Pops, with more bullshit!”

  It wasn’t going to be as easy as I had hoped. Sometimes the best defense is a full retreat. I offered my wife and Amy a confident, loving smile while ignoring my boy’s remark. Then I moved down the hallway to Beatrice’s and my bedroom, half expecting my aggravated kid to pursue me. For the moment, everyone left me alone to do my ‘primping’ as I dressed for dinner.

  I chose another Armani outfit, but much more understated than my son’s ensemble. My main concern was finding something Beatrice would like, and judging from her admiring smile when I returned to where they all waited for me in the living room, I had succeeded in gaining my first true victory that Saturday.

  I could tell from Alistair’s expression and the way he pleadingly eyed my wife that she had given some admonishment during my brief absence. He looked away while biting his upper lip, obviously dying to pick up where we left off. I could tell Amy wanted desperately to say something. Her respect for Beatrice overruled her normal outspoken nature. As for me, my wife shot me a knowing look telling me to be ready for a heart to heart conversation later on that night.

  “Well, should we get going?”

  I grabbed our coats without waiting for a reply, slipping Beatrice’s over her shoulders as we headed for the door. The chivalrous gesture provided a bigger head start than expected, as Amy waited for Alistair to do the same for her. He smiled for his lovely girlfriend before shooting me another perturbed look. No choice but to wait on resuming his interrogation.

  * * *

  Dinner was surprisingly pleasant. Not one question or comment about Bolivia, Roderick, or broken trip promises. Beatrice is a master at carrying on as if she had nary a worry in the world, and has always had the gift of turning a group conversation into an event that makes people feel good about themselves. They say such a talent is the mark of true charisma. And, to think she’s not all the way back yet. I sat back and watched her operate with admiration.

  But the reprieve was brief.

  As soon as we returned to the Lexus, and Beatrice and I took our customary places in the back seat, Alistair didn’t wait any longer.

  “Okay, Pops…you won the waiting game,” he said, starting the engine. He turned to face me while he waited for the car to warm up, as our two-hour absence had brought about a fresh dose of the D.C. chill. “I know how your clandestine buddies like to operate, and you’ll be leaving first thing in the morning. No need to confirm this is true. I would like a better answer as to why it’s critical for you to make this trip now, after, as you stated earlier, you’re already four hundred years late.”

  Fair enough. More the way he stated his case, as opposed to the argument itself. He was much calmer now, and I saw the earnestness in his eyes. He was ready to listen with reason…and not emotion. The latter fire would be kindled soon enough, once he found out Viktor Kaslow somehow escaped the fires of hell both of us surmised he had been sucked into, along the northeastern coast of Hong Kong.

  “We have almost waited too long to pick it up,” I told him.

  Alistair looked away to put the car in gear, while Amy watched me from the passenger seat. Surely, the smile I offered to her was too tepid, and I soon confirmed this in the worried expression on Beatrice’s face. Better to come clean, since forcing this trio to drag the truth out of me would only heighten everyone’s unease and erase the level-headedness I needed from Alistair. He eyed me suspiciously through his rearview mirror.

  “Pick what up? …Are you talking about another coin?”

  His voice cracked at the insinuation I’d journey without him. We had made a pact long ago to collect my remaining coins together. However, he was a middle aged man who would likely be dead in twenty years, and all he wanted to accomplish was to see if he could help his dear old dad find the peace that eluded me for nearly twenty centuries.

  “It’s not like any other coin we’ve encountered, Ali,” I said, drawing another sharp look from Amy. “I wanted to save this one for last. I’ve known where it is for many centuries, and those who have it in their care are more trustworthy than even the industrial vault in your bedroom.”

  He laughed, wearing a smug look that’s another shared genetic trait.

  “Well if it’s so damned protected, why not leave it with whoever’s doing such a wonderful job watching it?”

  The charade game could potentially stretch deep into the night. As time to pack my bags soon, I realized we’d be better served by the cold, naked truth of the matter—despite the emotional wreck Beatrice would become while waiting to see if I survived. Regardless, I needed a resolution before we completed the twenty-minute drive back to the condo.

  “Because they can’t protect it from the immortal coming for it,” I said, forcing a confident smile for my wife while I reached for her hand. “They are no match for Viktor Kaslow.”

  “What in the hell?!”

  “That was my initial reaction, as well, son,” I told Alistair. “Viktor has procured a Franciscan monk’s diary that will almost lead him right to it. He’s already killed more than a dozen Vatican employees to get the diary, and apparently kidnapped the Bolivian archbishop in La Paz to ensure there are few obstacles between him and the Essenes holding it in their remote Andean castle.”

  There. Everything laid out cleanly as possible with roughly fifteen minutes to quell a rebuttal. A very indignant rebuttal, as it turned out.

  “So, this is what really happened at the Vatican last week, isn’t it?” said Amy. “
It wasn’t a terrorist who bombed that building. It was one man only…the most evil asshole the world has seen since the Third Reich!”

  “Well…there have been a few that have similar dispositions,” I countered, hoping for a moment of levity. I still needed for her and Alistair to agree with my edict to stay put. To remain in Washington where they’d be safe. “Last time I checked, those Tree of Life crystals are great for removing wrinkles, but not so much for immediately regenerating lost appendages and damaged vital organs.”

  Unfair, certainly. Comparing their semi-immortal state to the one I have endured for two thousand years was callous. It had to be. Other than Roderick and a handful of others, very few can stand against something like Viktor Kaslow and live to talk about it.

  Losing the coin would pale horribly to something terrible happening to either Alistair or Amy while in the process of trying to prevent Kaslow from obtaining it. I couldn’t bear for that to happen. Not to mention someone had to keep an eye on Beatrice. Despite making a marvelous recovery, she remained very vulnerable. It would be a year or two before she’d see the feistiness return that at one time made her an untouchable barmaid in the roughest Glasgow pub I ever visited during World War II.

  But no matter what I tried to present after stating my initial case, our two youngsters kept coming up with more scenarios that would require their presence in Bolivia. They soon gained momentum as a tag-teamed effort to wear me down. As it turned out, fifteen minutes wasn’t near enough time to resolve the issue, and as we pulled into our home’s secured parking lot, Alistair and Amy still argued their points.