Reign of Coins Read online

  I’ve tried to take comfort when she eyes me curiously and says things like, “William…you truly remind me of my late husband—your grandfather and namesake. Oh, how I wish you had known him!” Alistair almost made the blunder once of telling her that I really am her husband, but I interrupted him before he could. He soon realized it’s best to wait until her mind fully heals and she can handle hearing the truth about me.

  It could be years before Beatrice sees me as the William she dearly loved long ago. At least she’ll finally be able to leave the nursing home when we return to Washington. She’s moving in with us, into Alistair’s spacious penthouse condo. I’m actually more excited about that event than the coin we hope to collect during our Hong Kong visit.

  As I sat on my bed, smiling while I thought about this stuff, the phone rang. The hotel operator stated an old friend who’d already called three times that evening waited on the line.

  “Go ahead and send the call through,” I said, releasing a low sigh. She sounded grateful that I would finally agree to speak to Michael Lavoie. “Hello?”

  “Hello, William. Are you enjoying your little game of avoiding me?” Michael sounded annoyed.

  “No games here,” I said, unable to stifle a slight snicker in response to his little dig. “I don’t work for you guys, and I’m done enduring your coercion efforts—even the clever ones you’ve come up with lately. It’s long overdue. My dad and I will finally enjoy a vacation without CIA interference.”

  “Shhhh!!” he whispered harshly.

  “Oh, come on, Mike. I doubt anyone who gives a damn is listening in right now—definitely no one who means a damned thing to you or me.”

  Honestly, that might not be true when a ruthless Russian assassin brought back from the dead was on the loose. I laughed irreverently anyway.

  “We need your help—”

  “No you don’t!” I interrupted him. “Like I told you before, you need to quit blackmailing civilians to take care of your shit. You’ve got plenty of trained men and women to easily handle whatever it is you need done.”

  There, that should do it. Succinct, though delivered with less panache than Michael’s vanity would prefer.

  “We can’t get close enough to this one,” he said, releasing his own low sigh. There was pain in his voice. My longest standing supervisor with the CIA was up against a wall. “Time is of the essence, William. Something terrible will happen if this guy slips out of Hong Kong with whatever he came for.”

  “Whom are we talking about?”

  “Christian Morrow.”

  “Christian Morrow, the high-end antiques dealer—that Christian Morrow?”

  I had heard of him, and must admit to having a slight curiosity about the man who has successfully outbid me on several occasions for rare baroque timepieces. That’s something else I collect—clocks, sundials, watches, and other related items from centuries past. If not for my obsession with recovering my own coins, some of you might appreciate my attraction to devices that have helped mark the passing of nearly two millennia on this planet.

  I’ve never met the man, this Christian Morrow. A small army of representatives handles his business affairs across the globe. It’s the same way his father, Jeremiah Morrow, oversaw his unscrupulous dealings in the antiquities black market in the late 1970s.

  “Yes, only he has recently branched out into…other areas,” said Michael, obviously uncomfortable about revealing pertinent details over the phone. I laughed again, this time at the irony of him telling me who it was they were interested in, since that information was just as proprietary as the nefarious business into which the younger Morrow had immersed himself. “Sam is out there in Hong Kong right now. Let me arrange a meeting between you both. Once you get the full details, you’ll see this diversion will be far easier than anything we’ve asked the past few years.”

  “I’ll have to think about it and get back to you, Mike,” I told him, irritated he’d already sent Agent Sam Daniels to further twist my arm. “I promised Dad there’d be no involvement from you guys, and lo and behold, that oath is about to go along the same path as the Spoon-billed Sandpiper.”

  “The what?”

  “Never mind.” I suddenly wished I had joined my son on his bikini tour atop the hotel’s roof. “You should get out more, Mike…see a few places, maybe enjoy life.”

  “Not everyone can carry on like a kid, with nary a responsibility tethering their hands to a desk,” he replied, coolly. “And, after all that our great nation has done for your ungrateful ass, William! Your country needs you, and we deserve your utmost respect after a long lifetime of catering to your needs and acting like we don’t know!”

  Huh?

  I almost said ‘don’t know what?’ but caught myself. Despite the far-reaching implications of his words, he could merely be referring to my earlier days officially working for the agency before I retired in 1996. Not many folks in the agency these days are aware of that fact, and merely look upon me as a civilian novelty. But, it was quite a leap to believe Michael knew about my carefully guarded secret identity—even though he’d often openly wondered at my ‘compelling youthfulness’. It was better to not think about it, since it could only mean trouble—either borrowed or real.

  “On the contrary, my ass has been quite grateful for what my country has done for me and my dad. And, I’d say we’ve more than made up for any shortfalls you guys keep coming up with.” My hand holding the receiver shook with rage. “So, I’m not going to listen to this shit. Good luck with finding someone more suitable to your mission!”

  I only waited a moment for his reply, and hung up when all he gave me was silence on the other end. I hate being rude, but loathe being manipulated much more. Even so, I knew Michael wouldn’t give up easily. Alistair and I would hear from him again…soon.

  Very soon, as it turned out.

  Chapter 4

  “Mom told me to tell you hello and to stay out of trouble.”

  My heart skipped a beat as Alistair said this, shortly after we hailed a taxi in front of the Royal Garden. Just after seven-thirty that Tuesday morning, the humidity was thick, despite a clear sky. By noon, the weather would be sweltering.

  “How did she sound?”

  “Like my mother.” He grimaced slightly before stepping inside the cab.

  Dressed casually in blue jeans, short-sleeve dress shirts and loafers, we hardly looked like serious coin enthusiasts ready to take on one of the more extravagant exhibits and auctions either of us had seen in years. But with only one coin as our target and the promise of a hot, sticky day, it seemed pointless to stand around in business suits waiting to confirm the collection owned by Cheung Yung-ching actually contained my tainted silver shekel.

  “Nothing’s changed since four days ago,” continued Alistair, once our driver set out across Victoria Harbour. “She still thinks you’re my kid.”

  “Well, what else did you two talk about?”

  “She wants to change the décor in the living room and her bedroom,” he said, wearing an amused expression. “Mom says the artifacts on my walls are far too masculine and garish for her tastes.”

  “So, she actually looked at the pictures you left her?” I worried she might ignore them or absently toss the damned things in the wastebasket next to her nightstand. Could this mean the cloud of disjointed thoughts was finally lifting? “Sounds like she’s at least considering the general layout of your place…and your questionable taste.”

  “It’s definitely a start, Pops.” He paused to look through his window at the bustling harbor. “I told her we should be back home by Sunday. At least that’s what the itinerary indicates.”

  “If we purchase the coin today, I’ll get us on the first plane to Tokyo tomorrow,” I assured him, drawing a curious look in the rearview mirror from our driver. I had noticed this middle-aged man struggled with English, and some of the words he spoke to a bellhop at the hotel sounded like an older version of Cantonese. “Could you handle anoth
er jet-lagged trip this soon?”

  “I’d like to see a few sights first,” he admitted, “but I could be ready to leave here by Thursday.”

  “Whatever you want to do works for me.”

  Our taxi soon pulled up to the main entrance to the convention center. A large crowd of serious coin enthusiasts had already gathered. The first day was an exclusive event intended for a select group with tickets purchased in advance. General admission wasn’t scheduled to happen until the following day, and the local news called for a crowded affair for both Wednesday and Thursday.

  “Is the pull getting stronger?” my boy whispered, after we and about forty other collectors were ushered inside the building. A beautiful young woman and a forty-ish pudgy man led the way to a secured section. Both were Chinese, although the female’s facial features hinted at some other heritage, as well. “I’d imagine you can see its faint bluish glow by now.”

  “The pull hasn’t changed yet,” I replied, nonchalantly. The coin’s call had softened since we stepped inside the building. Not a good sign, but I wanted to be sure something was truly amiss before passing this information on to Alistair. “I might not be able to see it until we’re right up on the damned thing.”

  “Here we are!” announced the woman, soon after we stepped into a cherry paneled room filled with expensive display cases. My heart began to race while my mind filled with childlike anticipation. “Feel free to look around for as long as you like. Our Event Director, Lao Wee Kiat James, will gladly assist you with general inventory questions, and I will answer the more specific questions you might have.”

  Everyone fanned out, with most in attendance moving to the display cases containing the ancient Mongolian artifacts available only for this event. Others approached the precious coins that came to Hong Kong from three continents. I was the only one interested in the silver shekels from the Cheung collection. Even before I approached the case, I knew it didn’t contain the one I earnestly sought.

  “The right one isn’t here, is it?” Alistair joined me after viewing early coin examples from the Mongolian Empire.

  “No it isn’t,” I confirmed, sighing deeply. “It’s around here someplace…probably buried beneath one of the buildings out here, or in one of the crypts within the nearest cemetery.”

  “Oh, shit!”

  “Oh, shit, indeed.”

  “So, what do we do?”

  “I don’t know yet…probably go back home without it.”

  “Maybe we should walk around outside along the waterway,” Alistair suggested. “Maybe it’ll help re-hone the signal and lead you right to it, like in Iran last year.”

  “Perhaps.” I didn’t think it would help anything. The coin’s pull felt strongest on the plane, just before we landed. Noticeably weaker since then, it could be lying on the South China Sea’s floor. “The best thing to do, is get your sightseeing out of the way today, son, so we can leave tomorrow.”

  “You’re going to give up that easily?” He looked at me incredulously.

  “I’m too damned tired and annoyed to look any further for it. Barring a major miracle, I think it’ll be years before I pursue this one again.”

  He nodded thoughtfully, and prepared to lead the way out of the building. We almost ran over the pretty lady who noticed our perturbed facial expressions and came to our aid.

  “May I help you find something?”

  Her voice was lovelier than I imagined it being when she barked her advisement to the group earlier. Impeccably attired in a dark pinstripe pantsuit with a red silk blouse, she carried herself very well despite her youth. It was as if looking into the face of an ancient soul. But what captured my son’s and my attention was her nametag. Cheung Sulyn.

  “By any chance, are you related to the owner of this fine collection?” I asked.

  “He is my grandfather,” she said proudly. “It is a rare thing for him to offer a look at his coin collection. Unlike most of the coins on display this week, none of his are for sale.”

  Ms. Cheung certainly misread my intent. Despite the presence of two U.S. gold eagles in his eclectic compilation, I was interested in only one coin…one he obviously didn’t possess.

  “It’s quite a collection, Ms. Cheung,” said Alistair, stepping over to the eagles. He offered an approving nod while stroking his chin. “You must be very proud. I know I would be.”

  As had often been the case in recent months, my son’s charms were easily more disarming than my own. I intended to let him chitchat for a few minutes, but suddenly felt a chill travel up and down my spine. A familiar face peered out from the shadows across the room. Its owner had been watching us, gazing intently. I took a few steps toward this person, and whoever it was disappeared into deeper dimness.

  For those unaware, my ears are quite sensitive. I often liken my auditory abilities to that of a domesticated canine. I doubt anyone else noticed the door click—not even the Event Director, Mr. Lao, who stood less than twenty feet away from our voyeur. But from the subtle footsteps across the floor and how the door was closed, I knew immediately this was someone with decades of experience in discreet surveillance. Skills of a rare master.

  It wasn’t anyone from the agency I once supported, but it wasn’t the villain Viktor Kaslow either—although it was someone with more in common with Mr. Kaslow than my CIA cronies. An immortal, and one I hadn’t seen in person in nearly a century, despite occasional phone calls.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” I whispered, shaking my head.

  “What’s up, Pops?” Alistair followed my gaze toward the shadowed section of the room. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I’m not feeling so good. Can we go now…please?”

  Alistair politely excused himself from Ms. Cheung’s presence, and I felt bad for him since I didn’t leave him the opportunity to properly introduce himself to her. Perhaps for the best, since I intended to get us out of Hong Kong immediately. And, I no longer wanted to wait until the next day. I intended to leave that night.

  Chapter 5

  Alistair foiled my intentions of getting the hell out of Dodge as quickly as possible, insisting instead on the sightseeing he had his heart set on. Fortunately, a few intense minutes of negotiation in the back of our latest taxi allowed me to whittle his list of six destinations down to two: the science museum and the Nan Lian Garden.

  The museum was decent, though no more impressive than similar museums in India and Japan. Nan Lian Garden, however, is considered a top ten attraction in Hong Kong with good reason. I found myself captivated by its quiet beauty and the feeling of peace that seemed to envelope us both as we moved along the colorful walkways that afternoon. It brought me back to the ancient bonsai gardens I once visited long ago in both China and Japan, and the shaded escape from the summer heat and the gentle waterways made me almost forget the looming threat of Viktor Kaslow and the sudden appearance of my old friend.

  We returned to the hotel by three o’clock, and while Alistair showered I took the opportunity to look into booking a flight back to Tokyo that evening. While on hold with an agent for Delta Airlines, my cell phone suddenly rang. I briefly debated whether to answer the incoming call or not, but realized there was no way to hide from Roderick Cooley. He had found me already. Despite the dread I felt from his first intrusion into my life since we last spoke face-to-face in July 1908, I was honestly curious as to why he sought direct contact with me at a coin convention in Hong Kong. Especially, after it had been nearly nine years since our last phone chat.

  “So, what brings you to Hong Kong?” I said, after I disconnected the call to the airline.

  “What? No ‘How was your trip?’ or ‘What have you been up to for the past decade?’” Roderick chuckled warmly, and I felt some comfort at hearing his jovial Celtic accent. “It’s been far too long since we’ve held communion, William.”

  I almost hated the way he said my name, since it sounded cheap and trivial. Yet, I doubted it was done on purpose. He was
the one who came up with my name in the first place, when my previous moniker of Emmanuel didn’t sound American enough. I remember, quite well, that it was I who thought the name William Barrow was far too insipid to be taken seriously as a member of the newly formed BOI. Roderick had recruited me to the agency on behalf of President Theodore Roosevelt, and sold me on the opportunity to investigate terrible crimes taking place on Indian reservations. I thought I could make a difference on behalf of my Native American friends—some of which knew my true identity by virtue of their tribal shamans.

  “Yes, it has been too long, my friend,” I said. “But, you still haven’t answered my question.”

  “You mean, why am I here?”

  “Yes.”

  The water turned off in the bathroom, and in just a minute Alistair would emerge.

  “I’m sure you can figure it out, William,” he said, and his voice carried the telltale burn of longstanding irritation. It could be on account of me…or it could be his waning fondness for the bureaucratic charade that dictated how things are run in Washington. “Perhaps a better question would be, where the hell am I right now?”

  He was someplace inside the Royal Garden complex.

  “I take it this is not merely a social call, then?” My turn to add fire to the conversation. “And, here I thought I might finally get to introduce you to Alistair.”

  “Someday. Perhaps very soon,” he replied, chuckling again. “But, not today. It’s best your kid be kept out of our business for a while longer.”

  “I thought you’d say that,” I suddenly wanted to end the conversation. Alistair would be stepping into the living area at any moment, clothed in his bath towel. “Where do you want to meet?”

  “I’m presently standing in the east corner of the parking garage adjacent to your hotel, third level,” Roderick advised. “I will wait for you here…unless you take longer than twenty minutes.”