Destiny of Coins (6 page)

“Maybe we should come back,” suggested Amy.

“We probably should’ve flown out here yesterday, instead of waiting until today,” said Roderick, evenly. “But the slim opportunity to confirm what we came for will only prove more difficult if we leave now.”

Without waiting for a response, he moved down the center aisle in the nave toward the altar, lifting his eyes to the giant crucifix before him. Nice. That should give him time to survey every obstacle he’d encounter on the way to the north transept. The kids started to follow him, and I pulled their attention to slide with me into a nearby pew to wait for his return.

“I’m not a child anymore, Pops!” said Alistair defiantly. “I can fit in just fine with these tourist types.”

I fought the urge to laugh.

Not while looking like the infamous Sean Connery’s young double, my dear boy…. Especially not here, where the original ‘James Bond’ films are immensely popular—despite the uproar over the latest film in the series.

“Actually, you
are
a youngster again.” I motioned again for him to slide in between Amy and me. “You’re younger than me physically once more. Beyond that, two cops are watching us from the gallery. Raise your eyes and not your head to nine o’clock…you will see them.”

Alistair muttered ‘oh fuck’ under his breath, echoed by Amy, whose photochromic sunglasses gave her more freedom to linger on the cops, likely detectives. After many years doing this sort of thing, I can usually tell when to be wary and when to relax. In this case, it was the intensity as they studied us. Even Roderick’s gaze was briefly drawn to them when they looked away from us and over at him.

“They are definitely interested in our presence…could be this country’s equivalent to our CIA,” I whispered to my son.

Alistair nodded and picked up a hymnal to thumb through. Not the most inconspicuous thing to do in order to look uninteresting. Amy, however, caught my signal to pretend to be praying. I was especially pleased she took the ruse a step further by kneeling on the unforgiving floor.

“So, how long do we have to put up with this…bologna?” asked Alistair.

Not bad…now you’re getting it, kiddo.

“Just a few minutes longer,” I responded quietly. Roderick was making his way nonchalantly along the crossing toward the cathedral’s northern transept. “He’ll be able to tell if the hidden vault’s seal has been tampered with in a moment. Remember, all he needs to do is check that aspect and we’ll be ready to leave.”

Roderick stopped a few feet from the wall, where one of the armed guards stood. The guard eyed him sullenly when my eternal pal said something to him, and I worried when Roderick continued his attempt to engage the man. Suddenly, the guard’s somber demeanor lit up, and he laughed.

Must’ve been a joke told in the area’s native Spanish flavored by the Aymara roots to which many residents can trace their lineage. I doubt the guard even noticed the pen Roderick had deftly removed from his pocket and allowed to fall to the floor. But, as soon as it hit the tiles the guard reached for it.

Roderick stopped him, and as he grabbed it off the floor with his left hand, he grazed his right hand across the seams between two large stones in the wall below the transept.

“You’ve still got it, my friend,” I whispered, admiringly.

Both Alistair and Amy looked over at me, surely wondering what in the hell I meant. Meanwhile, Roderick finished his conversation with the guard. The two shared another mirthful moment before Roderick nodded goodbye, retracing his steps along the crossing and down the aisle toward us. His face was blank, giving no indication as to what he had found.

“Well, what did you discover?” I asked, after he motioned for us to scoot over so he could join us on the pew.

“Someone’s been here…and if it is Kaslow, I have a new level of appreciation for his cunningness,” he advised, subtly tilting his head toward our nine o’clock voyeurs still watching us.

“So the map isn’t here? How can you be sure?”

“I’m not sure,” he replied, lowering his voice as he leaned toward me. “But my fingers detected a slight crease in the mortar that once was perfectly smooth. I picked up mental images of Kaslow forcing an elderly Hispanic man to show him the right stones to remove to get to the vault inside the wall. That event felt very recent, and no doubt the man was Ramon Espinoza. I had foolishly trusted Bishop Robiedo to keep his oath to protect this hiding place at all costs. Perhaps he decided he was no longer obligated to keep the vow once he became archbishop of La Paz the year after I returned to Virginia, in 1704. Regardless, the hiding place hasn’t been a closely guarded secret, as I foolishly assumed it was these many years past.”

The hollowness was worse than when he spoke of the loss of his Essene friend the other night. Perhaps this Robiedo character had something to do with the assassination, and Roderick was just now considering the same thing. It seems we immortals can go centuries without making a single blunder in judgment, and then grow careless with our trust. Such lessons carry incredible angst and sorrow, since as in this case it is far too late to do anything, and by then the fallout will have affected generations of innocent people. Beyond the murder of Yael Mordecai, there was now the death of Ramon Espinoza, whom Roderick had personally vouched for yesterday afternoon as a good man.

“Let me ask you again, my dear friend…in your heart of hearts do you think Viktor Kaslow has the map once safely hidden in this church?”

“Yes, Judas…I do.”

“Then we should go,” I said, preparing to stand up.

“Not so fast…there are others in this building who are prepared to make that proposition impossible, or difficult at best. Unless….”

“Unless, what?!” I hissed, not liking the sound of more bullshit to deal with when we had just begun our quest to keep Kaslow from getting his hands on my coin.

“Unless you become a good Catholic for the next fifteen minutes, or so.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m in a playful mood?”

“But I haven’t participated in
any
religious ceremony in sixteen hundred years!”

“Cut the shit Pops—just do what he says!”

Now my kid was the one hissing…at me. But to his credit, he was on his knees next to Amy, who seemed to have some prior expertise in that department. Yes, a jest in poor taste.

“Just follow what I do, my brother, and we might pull this off,” said Roderick, sounding hopeful.

“I can’t believe I’m about to participate in the religion of so many who say they believe in Christ, and yet as soon as they leave their sacred sanctuaries go back to being irreverent of the Almighty and assholes to one another,” I lamented, while sliding off the pew to join everyone else in a kneeling position. “I feel like I’m even more of a fraud to Him by doing this!”

“On the contrary, I find this quite fitting for you,” teased Roderick. The intense sorrow overwhelming him just moments ago seemed to evaporate. “I know of no other person who obsesses over Jesus Christ like you do, old friend. Focus prayerfully on those thoughts, and I’ll nudge you when it’s finally safe to leave.”

And that’s exactly what we did. I meditate on a regular basis—something that’s been part of my life since before I met Jesus and felt compelled to follow Him across Judea. By the time Roderick and Alistair prodded me to stand up, the men upstairs had left. We turned to leave the Cathedral, and I began to believe we’d get out of there without further incident. Perhaps if my previous history of hunting for my cursed silver shekels had remained a mystery to the American government, we might’ve done just that.

As soon as we stepped through the cathedral doors, a familiar face greeted us. It was his voice that met us first.

“Well, imagine this…the very four individuals on this planet who can shed invaluable light on why Viktor Kaslow has decided to bring his murdering ass to the lovely city of La Paz happen to be gathered in one convenient spot!” exalted Cedric Tomlinson. My former CIA boss and sometimes friend, depending on whether or not he was working my last nerve. He climbed the steps to meet us. “This is a
glorious
day, indeed!”

“Fancy meeting you here, Cedric.” Roderick sported the same sarcastic tone I would’ve employed. “You’re just in time to make sure we don’t encounter any civil unpleasantness in light of the fact Ramon Espinoza is dead and the prime suspect for his murder is galloping into the Andes at this very moment.”

“Oh, I’m sorry…so I suppose you want me to shut the fuck up, step aside, and let you carry on your merry way to go after him. Right?”

Among the most handsome, athletic African Americans I’ve known the past few hundred years, Cedric looked exhausted. The normal mirthful twinkle in his eyes absent, they were dull and bloodshot. Even the slight wrinkles in his smooth ebony skin were more pronounced, obscuring prominent cheekbones.

“Something like that,” I replied, resigned to the idea we weren’t going anywhere soon. “So, what brings you to La Paz?”

“Same thing that brought y’all here—just looking for the legendary City of Gold that’s supposed to be submerged in Lake Titicaca,” he said dryly. “But first, you’re going to tell me why Kaslow is so damned angry he twisted the poor archbishop into a human pretzel before shoving him inside his briefcase…or what portion could fit into it. The rest is a bloody pulp our team and the Bolivians are trying to scoop out right now from the Mercedes’ trunk.”

It did sound like a Kaslow tantrum…something in line with a personality becoming increasingly diabolical. My loathing toward my immortal nemesis immediately intensified. But too much hatred could become debilitating, since that sort of thing often turns self-destructive with little effect on its intended victim. We might as well shoot spit wads at Kaslow the next time we go head to head with him.

“Well, regardless of your late afternoon plans, none of you are going anywhere until I get answers,” said Cedric, motioning to two teams of Bolivian detectives that approached from both sides of the archdiocese. “Once I’m satisfied with your answers, we can go get this crazy mo-fo.”

“We?” I laughed.

“Yes,
we
, William,” he said, matching my disrespect with his own. “For as long as all four of you crazy fuckers remain in Bolivia, I’ll be your personal chaperone.”

Chapter 6

Cedric Tomlinson’s presence changed the entire dynamic of our mission. Immediately. Mostly for the worse, although it could have been catastrophic had he completely toed the CIA company line. Much of what he planned to do in apprehending our Soviet adversary was rogue. Rogue enough to where I had little doubt Paul Silverstein would deliver a stiffer penalty to Cedric than the slaps across the wrist for past indiscretions.

“So, let me get this straight. You’re sure it’s a good idea to leave your sedan parked here at the archdiocese, while you share the backseat with Roderick and me,” I said, glancing toward the cathedral through the rear window of our rented BMW.

We had officially begun our road trek into the Andes, with hopes of reaching the Essene castle sooner than our projected five-hour arrival. None of us believed Kaslow would ever come back to the church. He had what he wanted, and would likely reach the castle long before we did. I prayed Roderick was correct about the Essenes’ keen sense of danger and their ability to cloak the castle.

“We may be gone much of the next week,” I continued, when Cedric didn’t respond. “What will you do when Michael comes looking for you, and the four fugitives you were supposed to detain are nowhere to be found?”

“Well…under normal circumstances, I might worry about that,” he said, adjusting his seatbelt. It was a little cramped with him sitting between Roderick and me. He paused to cast his own glance, warily, through the rear window. “But, since we’ve confirmed enough evidence that the remains found inside Ramon Espinoza’s car are in fact the archbishop’s, my official work here is done. Rick Johnson and Jose Hernandez arrived this morning to take over our end of the investigation, largely being handled by the La Paz people. So, until I report for my debriefing this Thursday, I’m technically a free man.”

He mustered a smile more along the lines of his usual cavalier disposition.

“Free to get lost in the Bolivian Andes while we take care of my personal business?

“You mean finding your next damned coin, William?”

“Well, they’re only damned if they fall into the wrong hands,” I said. He probably thought my smug smile was for him, when actually directed toward our two lovebirds sitting up front. Alistair was driving, and he and Amy held hands. I caught her giving him a loving smile—one I’ll admit warmed my heart with fatherly pride. I only wished they were safe at home in Washington. “Speaking of which, you haven’t asked us a damned thing about where we’re going. Since when did you become lax on the such details?”

“This isn’t an assignment,” he said, chuckling. “Oh, I’m sure I’d eventually get all the surveillance data on this little expedition of yours. But since I’ve got a few days to kill, it seemed prudent to find out the real reasons why Kaslow wants the coin held safely in a castle, by a group of Hebrews who have inhabited the place almost as long as you’ve walked the earth...Judas.”