Destiny of Coins (3 page)

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 and 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.

I realized then I had made yet another terrible mistake.

I should’ve never told either of them anything, and I should’ve spent more time thinking of an alibi as to what took me so long at the liquor store that afternoon. Instead of uttering a word about Roderick’s visit, I should’ve waited until I was alone with Beatrice…and then only told her. It would’ve been better for everyone involved in the long run.

I was ready to kick myself for not resorting to the trait I once was best known for in the early centuries as I walked the earth utterly alone.

I should’ve lied.

Chapter 3

“Do you remember the first time you left?”

Beatrice turned to face me, and the passionate glow in her beautiful eyes from just moments earlier was now tinged with worry.

She and I were lying together on a Bengal tiger rug from long ago—actually two centuries before the big gorgeous kitties were endangered. And, just for the record, I bought the rug from a street merchant in New Delhi. One I’ll admit had little respect for the trading practices of the local Indian government or the British Crown at the time. Also, for the record, I have never killed any of God’s precious creatures for sport—only for food or in self-defense.

I had forgotten about the rug, but Beatrice reminded me that she had dug it out of an old steamer chest of mine during our courtship in Glasgow. I’m not even sure why I purchased the item…but I believe it had something to do with the merchant’s tale of having sixteen children to feed, despite his boyish appearance. The fact he seemed a tad malnourished was the deciding factor that swayed me.

Anyway, we used to have some very intensely enjoyable experiences upon this exotic piece. But not every fond memory was sexual in nature. Some of our deepest heart to heart conversations took place on it in those early years, just before Alistair’s arrival into our lives. Instead of giving it to Glasgow’s Salvation Army with my clothes before she and Alistair journeyed to America in 1967, she kept it.

“Like every other foolish moment of my existence, I more than remember that experience,” I said, inching my body closer to hers. We were clad only in bathrobes as part of our gradual return to full intimacy. I had just placed a large hickory log on the hearth in our bedroom, and before I returned to the rug, the flames from the waning embers had nearly engulfed the wood, sending waves of warmth to where we snuggled together. “It was the first time duty had called during our marriage, and I wasn’t sure how to break the news to you, my love…. The Russians bugged homes and offices throughout Britain—even before the Berlin Wall was completed. I couldn’t tell you anything other than the fact you would likely see me in about a week.”

I truly hated this particular memory. I got the call from my contact in London, via Washington, not long after Beatrice had lost her brother and father in a terrible boating accident on Loch Lomond. Her mother had passed away shortly before the war’s onset, and my leaving her with only vague assurances I’d be back soon brought little comfort to either of us. It broke my heart to leave her in tears…but to state anything else of that particular mission beyond the newly formed Iron Curtain was far too dangerous. My status as a protected American spy living in Scotland was already on shaky ground, after a security compromise within our ranks revealed the identities of nearly a thousand agents to the MGB. All of us were spread across the globe at the time, and one of the few political assassinations I was called on to complete involved an early leader of what eventually became the KGB. Ivan Patrisky was his name.