Tyranny of Coins (The Judas Chronicles) (Volume 5) Paperback (5 page)

“Personally, I prefer Pops’ response,” said Alistair, absently twirling fingers through his long, dark bangs that had grown unchecked since my last update. “After all, being an indentured servant isn’t exactly a title to be proud of.”

“So, you showed everyone else this letter, I take it?” I asked, trading impish glances with my boy. As for my dig about the letter’s privacy, I preferred to not divulge much information from the Hungarian devil—especially anything addressed specifically to Roderick and me.

“I gave them the general gist,” said Roderick, eyeing me seriously. “They have a right to know what we’re up against.”

“And, my money’s on this cat Krontos gaining an edge from what we discussed last night, William,” said Cedric. Dressed in a sharp black polo shirt and slacks, his hands fidgeted as if the longing for his slim panatelas had grown tenfold since our last private conversation. Lots of nervous energy going on around here. “You’ve got to admit it makes the most sense for an abrupt turnabout like this.”

It did make sense… perfectly. It also meant we were far behind Krontos’ next move. If the mention of the Stutthof-Auschwitz coin was behind our adversary’s sudden change of heart, then he had far bigger fish to fry than merely aborting our travel plans for his sadistic pleasure.

“We need to get to the coin before Krontos does,” I said, directing my words to Roderick. “Who do we—”

“I’m already on it, William,” he said, interrupting me. “I’ve been on the phone twice in the last hour with Bennevento in Rome. I had a hunch the asking price for the coin would skyrocket if Krontos became a player in the stakes. And, he definitely has joined the early bids. But the amount the new entry point has risen to now means we need assistance in covering the coin’s cost, until we can access our Swiss reserves.”

Shit!

For those unfamiliar, Bennevento Vitorio is an alchemist friend who long ago betrayed us. Remorseful for his shortcomings against Roderick and me, Bennevento has spent the past five centuries trying to make amends.

“How high is the price?” I asked.

“Just shy of eleven million euros,” Roderick replied.

“According to what you told me the other night, the official auction is scheduled for Halloween—one week from tomorrow,” I said, feeling a renewed surge of anger rising within. “If the cost is skyrocketing now, how in the hell will it be affordable at all by then? It isn’t worth losing everything to get it—especially, when The Almighty seems ready for me to retrieve a coin, He clears a path and aligns events to make it happen. I’ve never had to mortgage the farm to help Him out.”

“It’s not always so easy,” countered Roderick, motioning for everyone to either move into the dining room or living area. A sure sign this was going to be a drawn-out discussion. “Lately, it hasn’t been that clean. Not to mention, collecting coins with you has become a hazardous and often deadly business.”

“Why don’t you two just let Krontos purchase the coin unhindered and call it a day?” Alistair
suggested, grimacing disgustedly. Another sign his perspective from three years ago had dramatically changed. “You can try again for it in twenty years, when you’ve got nothing better to do to appease your wanderlust.”

“If only it were that easy, son,” I told him. “Twenty years could easily become three to four centuries, if we’re not careful. And, although I’d like to think that you, Amy, and your mother would still be with us in four hundred years, none of you are truly immortal. The chances of avoiding serious injury between now and then will become less favorable as the centuries march on. Not to mention, Almighty God might not look kindly on me deviating from the path I started taking seriously forty years ago with you, Ali.”

Alistair nodded thoughtfully, and I worried I might’ve offended him and Amy, as well as Beatrice. Their expressions matched his, and I would have to wait to revisit this reaction with my wife later on.

“Why don’t the rest of you go into town and get some donuts or something for breakfast, while William and I come up with a plan?” Roderick clapped his hands, as if this would help shoo the rest of our group out the front door.

“I’d rather wait until I find out what mischief you two will get us into, if you don’t mind,” said Alistair. “I’d bet Cedric, Amy, and Mom would rather stay, too.”

Roderick tried to coax them out the door again, but it quickly became obvious we’d get nothing done until we relented. With a promise to stop within the next hour for breakfast, the group moved into the living room.

“Okay… I will spell it out clearly for everyone,” Roderick advised, as he stood in front of the fireplace, which provided the best vantage point to view everyone else. I shared the loveseat with Beatrice and the rest of our group sat on the sofa. “Benevento Vitorio is an immortal friend of William’s and mine. An alchemist who has had close ties to The Vatican for centuries, he frequently provides access to information we could never obtain from anywhere else. He was instrumental in helping us deal with Viktor Kaslow down in South America last year. And, as Beatrice, Amy, and Alistair are aware, Benevento helped us in our efforts to track down Dracul and The Dragon Coin.”

He waited to go on, perhaps expecting Alistair or Cedric to either pose questions or derisive comments. When neither happened, Roderick continued.

“Some of what I’m about to reveal, I have not had a chance to clear with William first, as you know,” he said, pausing to regard me. I nodded for him to go on, while my stomach felt queasy—the sure sign something disagreeable was coming. “Benevento understands the seriousness of what is happening for a number of reasons. Rarely have I found him as thorough and candid as he was this morning during our conversation. It turns out Rome has been watching Krontos for centuries—since the mid-fourteenth century, at least. Krontos has often taken an active, meddling role in the kingdoms of Europe. The evolution and eventual dissolution of governments have long fascinated and attracted him.

“This is important for what he sought to accomplish with his sorcery back in the day, and the continued black magic he dabbles in now to influence the power structure among the Slavic nations, in particular. It is the mafia empire Krontos has controlled since the 1960s that brought the latest warnings to The Vatican about something huge going down in the organization. This news comes from spies loyal to the Holy See, and Benevento advised that the news surrounds the planned restoration of an ancient shrine belonging to Krontos.”

Roderick paused to sip the tea he apparently brewed while Beatrice and I were upstairs.

“Ever hear the phrase
Mortis imago Trinitatis argenteum
?”

Our companions unanimously indicated they had not. I, on the other hand, recalled this phrase. But it was the English translation that inspired a chill across my spine.

“The Silver Trinity of Death,” I said, hoping Roderick wouldn’t mind me translating the phrase for the group. “I’ve often wondered if this vile shrine actually exists.”

“Apparently it does,” he said, smiling weakly. This was supposed to be the thing he and I discussed in private, and I hated the information being disseminated to everyone else like this. “Before Krontos reanimated the lifeless corpse of Vlad Tepes, he created the shrine using that coin and two others from you, William, which he procured during his long, natural life. Not long after he stepped into immortality, by way of an elixir not unlike the one the St. Germaine brothers once concocted, he set out to test the legend of the trinity.

“He was not the first to try to create it, but he certainly was the first to succeed. Legends you and I have read about, back when you called yourself Emmanuel, foretell the ability to enforce one’s will upon the natural world and its events.”

“I remember,” I said, and all eyes were upon me, as I erroneously expected to happen earlier when I translated the Latin phrase. “I feel like kicking myself for never suspecting Krontos as the Hungarian that Juan Garia de Moguer mentioned long ago. Do you remember my mention of a mysterious Buda nobleman that Juan had once met, who carried two shekels taken from two Ottoman rulers at their deathbeds?”

“Yes… I believe so,” he acknowledged. “Something about both rulers seeking last minute penance to wash away years of bloodshed inspired by the coins.”

I had forgotten many of the details, until Roderick mentioned the Ottoman chieftains, renowned for unquenchable bloodshed. Old memories flooded my awareness. Memories of evil men hiding behind the Mohammedan title of
Khalifat Rasul Allah
. Both were instrumental in spreading the influence of Islam, which might’ve become extinct like so many religions and philosophies have done during my extensive stay on planet Earth, without excessive violence to keep it thriving.

“Anyway, with three blood coins in his possession that once belonged to you, as Judas Iscariot, Krontos Lazarevic was able to explore world domination by means of metaphysical doors and windows—openings that Einstein and others referred to as portals and wormholes. The very things we dealt with recently in Bolivia,” Roderick explained. “Why he gave up the third coin to save Vlad and create Dracul has always baffled me, since in effect it limited his freedom outside our normal reality. Granted, he did a number on us all when we traveled to Montenegro this past summer….”

Roderick’s voice trailed off, and it appeared he fell into a trance. I managed to catch him before he collapsed.

“Are you all right, Rod?” I asked him, snapping my fingers in front of his eyes. He blinked.

“What happened?”

“We were hoping you could tell us,” I said.

“I honestly don’t know.” He tried to stand straight, but sat down gently in front of the hearth. “I was picturing what Tampara had told me long ago, while you were getting to know the Cherokee nation here in America, around 1470. When I mentioned the tortures you and I endured in Spain being the reason for my delayed return to the land that would eventually become Bolivia, Tampara told me about the diminutive white haired European he would see now and then in the plane that contains the realm of Paititi. Or did, until the war Cedric told us about.”

“What did he tell you about Krontos?” I asked. Surely everyone else was just as curious.

Roderick didn’t answer right away, and seemed to be listening to a sound or voice undetectable to the rest of us.

“I know why Krontos has changed his mind,” he said finally, in a hushed voice. “And, it makes sense why he would want to jam the circuits in my head that brought forth the memory of Tampara. My ancient friend said something about three bands of light that followed the little old man, and Tampara could tell the energy rivaled the purity of the power source enabling Paititi to float above Lake Titicaca, as it did until Cedric watched it collapse in flames into the lake….”

Roderick started to fall asleep, as if whatever force attacking him absorbed his consciousness.

“Rod…
Rod!
Snap out of it!” I shouted.

“Huh?”

His eyes opened, barely. He raised his hands, using his fingers to draw an imaginary line around his head. Then Roderick’s eyes opened fully, as his layman’s sorcery worked. The swirl of gold flecks glowed eerily within his bright blue irises.

“Are you okay now?” I persisted, hovering above him.

“Yes,” he said, looking up at me. “Krontos does not want to deal with the tainted remnants of Vlad Tepes’ energy that is forever part of the Dragon Coin. Instead, he is attracted to the purity of the ‘Holocaust Coin’. That’s the name he has for it.”

“What in the hell?”

Alistair whispered this as he and Amy came over to us, followed by Beatrice. Cedric remained seated, looking even more ready for one of his cherished slim cigars.

“It’s tied to what you sensed and have not told us, William,” said Roderick, trying to rise to his feet. He fell back down, and I motioned for him to rest until the spell had fully passed. “Krontos is not interested in revenge for Dracul, as we originally surmised, after finding our plundered fortress in Abingdon. He sees us—especially you—as a threat to getting what he wants.”

Everyone’s focus shifted to me, and frankly, I was at a loss for words. My druid pal had managed to define what I could not. The relentless stream of images, thoughts, and words bombarding my mind these past few months—and that had reached a fevered pitch during the past week—suddenly became clear. Or, the coded message had done so.

“Tell us, Pops... and this time no bullshit.”

“Okay,” I sighed. “Krontos doesn’t want to watch the world burn after all. He simply wants to own it. Completely.”

Chapter Five

For three days we sat on pins and needles—largely because Roderick suggested we wait to see if Krontos would contact us. Never mind the fact our discussions continued to revolve around reasons
not
to wait. Not everything that comes to a gifted psychic—even one as old as Roderick—is a true premonition. Sometimes, fear gets in the way. Unless impressions are defined in a calm and peaceful moment, they can easily be misunderstood and ignored. It becomes direly critical to make sure one’s panic doesn’t obscure or twist a solution into an option that gets avoided.

“The longer we sit around here debating whether or not the coin’s price is going to increase or not, the worse our chances become of securing it,” I said, wearily. We had turned the dining room into a data center, each of us with laptops, tablets, notepads and pens. Take-out cartons and pizza boxes were piled as several unstable towers in the table’s middle. “Jeffrey and Benevento have now confirmed the dealer resides in Berlin, and we know two other bidders have emerged. Correct? Didn’t you say one is a Saudi Shiek, and the other a collector of Nazi memorabilia in Switzerland?”