Judas and the Vampires (6 page)

But, back to the present…Beatrice shifted in her bed, ever so slightly once I sat down. I’d like to believe she still senses when I’m near, as I’ve gotten this response before when I’ve sat down close to her while she sleeps. When conscious, even though her mind is fragmented, she smiles when she looks at me. If not for the usual ‘Alistair, who is this young man?’, I’d find it easy to believe she still recognizes me on some level….

“My love, Alistair and I will be gone for a couple of weeks,” I said softly, confident that she would hear me in her sleep, and watchful should she awake and think some pervert had snuck into her room. “Don’t go. Stay here and rest...we will be back before you know it.”

A subtle groan escaped her throat, one that for a moment belied her age. Was it the sound of her heart’s longing?

That’s how I chose to interpret it.

After watching her sleep for a while longer, I read her favorite passage from
Pride and Prejudice
. Beatrice wore a slight smile on her lips while I read to her, and when I got up to leave I reached over and took her hand in mine. I squeezed it gently.

“Hang on for me, please...wait to leave until I return.”

She looked so frail, though she had aged gracefully until the last few years. I searched her pale and withered face for a response, but other than a light flutter under her eyelids there wasn’t one. But her peaceful countenance was enough for me. After all, her fingers gently squeezed mine.

Chapter 6

I should’ve known.

When Michael Lavoie never contacted me before our scheduled departure from Dulles International Airport, I should’ve expected him to pull some shenanigans.

Yes, I admit part of this was my fault. I could’ve done a much better job of zipping my mouth and avoiding the urge to strut my cavalier side during Wednesday evening’s sedan conversation. But, he could’ve shown us—both Alistair and myself—some common manners and not diverted our travel plans. Granted, getting an upgrade from standard first class on Delta to luxury pods on a chartered Emirates flight must be taken into consideration before I go off on Mike the next time we see each other. Not to mention we’d reach our destination several hours earlier by flying to Dubai instead of Frankfurt. Then on to Tehran after the jet refueled.

“I was hoping to visit Romerberg Square again, but I guess we’ll now have to wait on that,” my son lamented once we got the news our flight reservations had been changed. We had just stepped into the line of travelers who bypassed standard check-in, when two of Mike’s operatives accosted us and led the way to where the private jet awaited us. “Can you picture me shopping inside some glassed cathedral mall?”

“Why, yes, Ali I can,” I teased him, knowing his disdain for modern excess, which the famed modern malls, restaurants, and monuments in Dubai pay the highest homage to. “Maybe we can upgrade to some designer suitcases while we’re there.”

“Humph!...Perhaps
you’d
enjoy that, since it’s looking less and less like an archeological venture and more like a cheesy espionage farce we’ve been recruited for!” His disgust drew brief over-the-shoulder glances from our two escorts dressed in dark business suits. The fact that Alistair and I were attired in khaki shorts and sandals made it obvious these two men hiding their identities behind tinted Raybans weren’t exactly buddies of ours. My son continued undeterred. “I have a mind to talk to Michael about this cluster-fuck myself when we return to Washington!”

That brought a chuckle, though I kept it soft. No sense in pissing off anyone else associated with the CIA until we were far removed from any immediate consequences. The walk to where the private boarding gate sat wasn’t far. I was surprised I’d never noticed it before.

“Have you—”

“Yes, Pops, I’ve seen this gate before,” Alistair interrupted me. This time he chuckled, despite his irritation that hadn’t subsided. “In fact, I’ve noticed it several times the past few years. You might discover what wonders exist outside of your narrow focus, if you’ll only pay a little more attention to the world around you!”

My son picked up his pace before I could respond with something clever. He nearly ran over our CIA attendants as they led us to the ticket counter.

“Why the frigging hurry, Ali?” I still wore an impish expression, despite his grumpiness and stern little digs.

A beautiful young woman of Middle Eastern descent smiled warmly and greeted us from behind the counter. I barely caught her name—Kali—before she immediately left her post to lead us all down the covered walkway to the airplane. No ticket check-in that day...just skip ahead and pass ‘GO’ and collect two hundred dollars without having to roll the dice. Swweeeeett!

Well, considering that our present CIA escorts were still with us, maybe not so much.

“‘Why the frigging hurry’, you ask?” Alistair scolded me over his shoulder. “Except for you, everyone else seems as anxious to get this misadventure over and done with as much as I am!”

His irritated Scottish brogue at its best, it drew snickers from the two agents, proving they at least carried human pulses after all. Meanwhile, the cute stewardess named Kali urged us to keep up with her on our short trek to the plane.

Was I the only one in vacation mode, I wondered? Granted, we had an appointment with some crazy Russian billionaire willing to waste his cash on a quest for the Garden of Eden. Not a tremendous amount of fun to be had, but still....

As soon as we actually boarded the jet two more dark haired beauties greeted us, named Pirma and Serena. All three females could pass as sisters. Not sure if they were from Dubai, or perhaps somewhere deeper in the Gulf region. The shape of their big deep brown eyes looked Jordanian. If nothing else, their charms effectively cooled my boy’s ire. Meanwhile, one of the ‘suits’ made a call on his radio, and then I heard him add, “We’re ready for her...send her to the plane.”

“So, who’s joining our Iranian party?” I glanced to my left where the cockpit sat. To my right were two rows of luxury passenger pods. This clearly wasn’t an American airplane. “I doubt the Ayatollah would approve of this. Don’t you guys?”

Although my question was directed toward the two men representing the U.S. government, who suddenly stiffened, the girls giggled shyly. The one named Pirma shot me a flirtatious wink...might be a little fun to be had on the way to the Arab coast.

“If this person we’re waiting on is a striking female, she might not appreciate being compared to some old bearded guy with an Aladdin turban.” Alistair chuckled as he stepped over to the closest pod to set his flight bag down in the plush leather seat. His ill mood had lifted. “I’d like to see how your considerable charms work with this information as prior knowledge. I’ll lay down a Jackson that says you’ll never see first base.” He glanced playfully at me after relieving his shoulder of the bag’s weight.

“I’ll trump you with a Hamilton that not only says I’ll win, but that first base will be her idea!”

More snickers from the CIA duo, and bigger smiles from the ladies. Everyone, it seems, loves a guy who can effectively flirt.

“You’re on!” my son fired back, and I detected a glint of supreme satisfaction in his eyes that suddenly looked beyond where I stood. “Looks like it won’t take long to find out the verdict.”

“The verdict on what?”

My head whipped around at the sound of the voice...lush, genteel, with a hint of another language long since forgotten.

“That, my dear lady, has yet to be decided!” I pictured my charms surrounding the woman standing before me, and all at once swooping in under her defense system—should she have one. “I’m William Barrow, and this is my father, Alistair Barrow. Perhaps you’ve already met these other two gentlemen?”

I motioned to our escorts, who had never made their introductions known to us. All they had said when they accosted Alistair and me was that Michael Lavoie sent them; in order to make sure we boarded the right airplane. Being a bit put off by Michael’s further intrusion to my travel plans, I didn’t give a shit about ingratiating myself with these guys.

But in truth, I was now looking for a way to buy time...a distraction to pull this female’s attention from me long enough to get a handle on what my son and I would be dealing with. Obviously, she would be traveling with us. Her carry-on bags announced that much. Expensive designer, they matched the smart pantsuit and Prada heels. But it was the part not covered up that drew my attention and quickened my pulse. No, not her low cut blouse plainly visible through her light beige dress coat. That wasn’t it. Rather, her stunning face—especially her emerald eyes—framed by full flowing locks of raven-black hair that surprised me most.

More alluring than any woman I’d seen in decades—excluding my beloved Beatrice, of course. It must be the bright green eyes...I’m a sucker for the females that have them.

“I am Amy Golden Eagle,” she said, eyeing me knowingly as if she could clearly define my silent musings. “Michael sent me to accompany you and your father to Iran.”

Indian...and not just based on the name and darker complexion. Not unlike the other females in attendance, but different still. Not Middle Eastern in descent, and not from India. She was an
American
Indian, or if you will, a Native American.

“So you work for the CIA?” Alistair moved back toward us with an impressed expression upon his face. “Any chance you’re related to the late Stephen Golden Eagle, the famed anthropologist?”

“Yes,” she said. The two CIA agents moved over and took her flight bag and laptop from her, setting them in the pod across from where Alistair set his bag. “He was my father.”

Such a small world...at least between these two. It was time for me to join the party.

“Blackfoot,” I said, pausing to loosen the straps to my backpack that held everything I’d need other than clothing changes for the next two weeks. Including my latest razor-thin MAC laptop.

“Why yes, I am.” She sounded surprised. “Tony and Dan...let the pilots know we’re ready to leave. Michael is waiting for you both in the short term parking lot.”

I waited for her to continue. She waited for the agents to disappear inside the cockpit.

“You are as observant as Michael advised you would be,” she said to me, motioning for Alistair and me to join her in the pods. The three stewardesses acknowledged her head nod, and removed the dividers between our seating areas to where we could easily converse with one another. “Golden Eagle is the English translation for ‘Peta’.”

“Like the animal rights group?” My son wore a wry, enamored smile. Her presence had the same effect on him as on me. Only in Alistair’s case, humor with an intelligent edge was the driver behind his flirtations.

“Yes, exactly.” She smiled warmly at him.

I could already tell she had her guard up for me. If Alistair were twenty years younger, I might try to set him up with her. By my guess, Ms. Golden Eagle was in her mid to late twenties, just four or five years younger than the age my physical appearance would indicate.

“You’ll be taking off in a few minutes, so please take your seats,” advised one of the CIA men, a blonde with a receding hairline. It was the only distinguisher I had for determining who was who. Suits, shoes, and sunglasses were damned near identical. Just the hair color—one brown and the other blonde—and the forehead coverage were different.

“All right, Dan.” Amy motioned for us to join her in taking our seats. “Tell Michael thanks again.”

“Sure.”

The agents exited the plane and the three stewardesses moved to their positions. Alistair and I had flown together many, many times over the years. But being on a plane like this—on a luxury flight where the atmosphere was more like visiting the lounge of a fine five-star restaurant—was a completely new experience. Alistair’s child-like grin told me his anticipation of what takeoff would be like on this aircraft rivaled the excitement that fueled the smile I felt spreading across my face. Meanwhile, Ms. Golden Eagle seemed unfazed, as if she were an Emirates frequent flyer.

“So, do you work for the CIA in some capacity?”

I repeated Alistair’s earlier question after our surprisingly smooth takeoff. The tallest buildings in the D.C. skyline were behind us with just the deep blue Atlantic below. Alistair’s seat was directly in front of hers while mine was across the aisle from them both. All of us had a window-view close by.

“No, I don’t,” she said, removing her seatbelt. She relaxed in her leather chair, releasing the restraints so that it swiveled freely and allowed her to face me directly. “Michael is a family friend. When he heard you guys were headed to Iran he called me and asked if I’d be willing to join you. It provides the perfect cover for me to get close to Petr Stanislav.”

I certainly didn’t expect to hear that. No more than I expected a woman in designer clothes to assist me and my son in our assigned espionage. Of course, I still lacked specifics about what Alistair and I were supposed to do for our beloved country this time around.

“Then what is your vocation? I take it your father’s aspirations didn’t carry down to his children.”

Alistair sounded disappointed, though not with disdain. I think it was a reflection of how he’d feel if his kid never pursued something of an academic bent as he has. Yes, Alistair does have a kid...somewhere. The boy’s probably in his forties by now, and the child was born out of a tryst with a junkie/prostitute in the early 1970s. I could find out more information about him if I desired to know badly enough. But something inside tells me that it wouldn’t be positive news for Alistair—something very tragic about this unknown progeny. Since Alistair has never spent the effort to track down his kid, I haven’t done so either.