by Aiden James
Yes, you should have, my dear boy. You didn’t want to be saddled with a bulky safe in your new condominium. But, who’s keeping score?
“Well, the important thing is to improve our wariness as we go forward, and hopefully I’ll soon learn the identity of who betrayed me,” I said. “I have a strong suspicion this person is also responsible for Kaslow’s sudden interest in me and my whereabouts.”
“All right…and here’s my counter proposal in light of what you’ve shared tonight.” He leaned back in his chair after lighting his pipe. “If we hear from Roderick tonight or early tomorrow morning, we go with whatever he tells you, Pops. However, if we don’t hear from him in a timely manner, then I say we shouldn’t sit around waiting for him to call us. Either you call him at that point, or you can join me on a trip around the islands tomorrow afternoon.”
“We’re done with the sightseeing,” I advised, adding a touch of surliness like a good father should. “There will be no trips anywhere tomorrow, unless it’s to the airport. Do you follow me?”
“And, if Viktor Kaslow or this Morrow guy never show up at our door, that’ll give us one more reason to call this vacation a frigging disaster from hell!” He got up from the table and moved over to the sliding door to our balcony. He opened the door slightly, and immediately the stream of smoke following him seemed to hurry toward freedom outside. “I’m serious, Pops, snorkeling and an evening tour of the city is what you can look forward to doing—along with waiting to fly back to the States until Saturday.”
“Are you insane?!”
“No more than you!” He came back to me, holding his pipe in the lecture pose that had long been his habit. “I think you’re being a little too paranoid—especially about some rich businessman hiring Viktor Kaslow to knock us off. How preposterous!”
“I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you, Ali,” I said, picturing Viktor’s fine cutlery I got a close up of in Iran.
“Nothing will.” He smiled confidently as he patted my shoulder. “And, again, if Roderick calls early enough, I’ll do whatever he says. But, if things turn out like I think they will, we switch to my game plan. Fair enough?”
Not really.
I shot my son an endearing look to affirm his take on this conversation, since it seemed pointless to argue further. He seemed quite pleased with himself and the prospect of enjoying some vacation fun in Hong Kong, after all. In the end, however, none of that carried much weight with me. I will always do everything in my power to make sure my progeny remains safe…with or without his cooperation.
Chapter 7
As I’m sure most of you can appreciate, I enjoyed a restless night, with almost no sleep. Not that lack of sleep is normally an issue. Often I can go days on end without an extended rest period. But, whenever alcohol is involved, I actually get tired enough to close my eyes for a ‘power nap’. Sometimes, great inspiration comes to me that way.
Not that night. At least not right away….
All possible mishaps related to my blown cover flitted before my mind’s eye as I lay in my bed, listening to Alistair’s light snores from his bedroom in our suite. It may sound strange, but I’ve always drawn comfort from his snoring, as I also did long ago from Beatrice. It’s as if part of me is ever fearful they could die at any moment, and a terror far greater than a violent death in my presence would be to find either one cold and lifeless in their beds the next morning.
I tried to think about positive things, like the fact Alistair and I could now spend more leisure time together. Not long after he left his post at Georgetown, I decided to leave the Smithsonian. Granted, my coin research efforts would be impacted by the lack of field notes and artifacts to which only an archivist (or someone higher in the Institute) would have access. But, knowing my days of prowling in the bowels of the famed museum were numbered, this past February I began diligently transferring files from the archives to a small zip drive I carried with me. Once I figured out how to skirt around the Institute’s security clearances, I carefully focused my efforts on gathering all pertinent information regarding the last thirteen potential hot spots for where my final eight coins likely lay hidden.
Of course, since we were presently in one of these places, my mood quickly spiraled down into despair. Looking for the coin that had spent centuries in the Cheung family’s possession was like searching for a needle in a haystack. I had no idea where to look next.
Making matters worse was the intrusion into my personal mental space of Kaslow’s smug grin. My mind drifted back to Caracas again…. I pictured him clearly as he watched me from less than fifty feet away. I had just finished planting duplicate documents for the ones I lifted from a Belarus diplomat’s apartment in the city’s outskirts, and had stepped outside the building. While it isn’t unusual for those working covertly for their governments to sometimes catch a glimpse of one another in the field, it is very unusual to engage someone directly. Not unless it’s with the intent to capture, interrogate, and dispose of such a person.
Even from a safe distance, I could see a contemptuous leer upon Kaslow’s face. Not only was he letting me know he understood what I had been up to inside the apartment, but he intended to obliterate my efforts. That recognition saved my existence as William Barrow, since I didn’t immediately see the rocket launcher he carried. But I sensed it. Sensed it lucidly in my mind’s eye, and quickly determined where I needed to dive for cover.
In my Royal Garden bed, I watched myself turn my head in horror toward an explosion behind me, as all five units in the 1920s building were destroyed. Several innocent people died, and I heard the screams of a woman and her child…and could do nothing for them. Innocent people always die when Viktor Kaslow is around. By the time I looked again to where he’d stood, the spot was empty, and the sound of a motorcycle speeding away was the only evidence he left behind.
Unfortunately for me, my mind will forever carry this image amid the late morning sunshine and raindrops from an earlier downpour dripping from the leaves of cecropia trees and a large palm near the building’s burning remains. That, and of course, Kaslow’s youthful mug leering at me.
While staring into the darkness above my bed, I considered how easy life could be if Beatrice, Alistair, and I lived someplace else—maybe on a deserted island in the South Pacific. However, the reality that my beloved wife and son couldn’t manage without modern comforts nixed the fantasy in its infancy.
What about someplace overflowing with modern comforts and conveniences? A place far, far away from America and hopefully out of reach from Kaslow’s homicidal radar.
Australia? The Philippines, maybe? Or…New Zealand?
New Zealand sounded intriguing, and I had visited both islands on a regular basis back in the early 1900s. This wonderful country offered nearly every climate and terrain I loved, and the people were strong and kind to strangers. I started making the arrangements to relocate my family to this wonderful country in my mind. I even added special accommodations in my fantasy world for Larissa Jones to come along as Beatrice’s private nurse and companion.
But, what about Alistair and his girl, Amy Golden Eagle—who would probably not go anywhere without her brother, Jeremy? That made five people and counting….
I drifted off to sleep thinking about this shit. When I do rest in this manner, my consciousness moves through a narrow corridor where I am completely surrounded by thick darkness. The corridor seems endless, and along both sides of the corridor I sense souls of the dead…watching me, and speaking in whispers too faint to decipher.
Of course, none of this is likely real—I don’t see dead people. Even so, it marks the place where my dreams start. Most of the time these events are peaceful—despite the heavy burden of guilt I’ve carried since my ultimate betrayal of Jesus Christ in Jerusalem two millennia ago.
Occasionally, I’m visited by nightmares. That night, I thought such an event was happening. Loud explosions erupted around me, and clods of falling soil fell onto
my head. Crouching inside a cavern approximately fifty feet wide and less than five feet in height, the only illumination came from a hole in the center of the cave. Through this entrance, an assembly line of Chinese men dressed in silk changpaos moved up and down a pair of thatched wooden ladders, carrying small steamer chests into the cave from above. The jingle of metal on metal when each chest was stacked along a rear wall in the room made it seem like items of significant value were being stored there.
The explosions grew louder, and the men scrambled in panic, peering anxiously toward the opening as they continued their task. A voice called shrilly to the others from above the entrance, and then machine gun fire sprayed into the hole, sending a man’s bullet-riddled body tumbling down upon his terrified companions. Everyone scurried into the cavern’s shadows, carrying what they could.
Roughly a dozen more men descended into the cave, and these were attired differently than the first group. I recognized the black boots and dark blue pants from what the Japanese infantry wore during World War II. But, I’d never been this close to them—even when I enlisted with the U.S. armed forces in the Pacific.
The soldiers crept deeper into the cave and opened fire toward the shadowed depths. To my right, a lantern burning low exploded into flames when a bullet hit. The fire spread quickly, igniting several chests. One of the Chinese survivors moved over to one of the chests, where the lid had popped open slightly. I caught a glimpse of a metal armor vest in the firelight, along with something faint…but glowing blue.
Holy shit, it’s my coin!
I tried to get closer to it, as the Japanese soldiers fired upon the defenseless man. He fought desperately to close the chest’s lid before he died, as if it were direly important to do so. But he failed to shut it. I tried to get close enough to verify the coin bore the eagle and Caesar’s profile, until an invisible force prevented me from drawing any nearer.
All at once, the world around me grew dark and I was pulled back into my hotel room. I cursed silently at the lost opportunity to mentally take notes on the cave’s physical details, as well as the chest’s other contents illuminated by the coin’s soft glow. Contents important enough for a man to sacrifice his life protecting them.
Where in the hell was the place I saw? Based on what I observed, the cave had to be someplace in China…likely this area. I had read accounts of what happened during the Battle of Hong Kong, which was the Japanese invasion that came within hours after the bombing of Pearl Harbor.
Think, William…where is this place?
The vision’s images that seemed completely real had already begun to fade. I fought to hang on to the textures embracing my senses. Things like the earthen smell, the panicked voices of the men about to die, and other sounds besides gunshots and explosions.
I had heard gulls screeching nearby and the crash of water.
The frigging thing must be buried along the coast!
Either in a cave within Hong Kong proper itself, or on one of the surrounding islands, it was almost as dire a prospect as my coin being buried beneath the city’s sprawling skyline. Not to mention, the Japanese very likely had plundered the cave.
My blood ran cold. Yet, something told me the soldiers I saw in my dream hadn’t taken my coin. Despite my mind’s logical protests, my heart said the cave’s contents had been left alone and the coin awaited my claim. My left hand began to tremble, further confirming I’d find my prize…provided Viktor Kaslow didn’t end my present lifetime first.
I now had renewed inspiration to remain in Hong Kong.
Alistair would be so pleased…and Roderick, not so much.
Chapter 8
The Hong Kong heat was sweltering Wednesday afternoon. But, at least it wasn’t raining. Perfect weather for a boat ride, I could hardly wait to get started on my search of the coast and surrounding islands.
If only Alistair saw things the same way.
“Pops, you’re not the only one with an interest in rare coins. We barely had an opportunity to see what was on display the other day,” he said. “Since you advised this morning that you planned on ignoring Roderick’s warning to stay put, I knew we’d have to squeeze in as much as possible today. How long do you think it will take him, or someone else in the agency, to react?”
“Not long,” I said, following him into the cab after scanning the area for any sign of a known friend or foe. So far we were in the clear. “But, I’d think the chances of being interrupted—and possibly you put on a plane back to the States—will be far greater if we return to the coin exhibition. Let’s keep it to an hour, and head to the harbor. Okay?”
“As long as it’s a full hour once we get there, I’m game,” he, said, sounding glum. “And as far as me leaving here without you? Not happening.”
“They can be quite persuasive, you know.”
“Maybe, But I’m not going back home without you. Especially not, if they give us bullshit for not following their silly rules.”
Our driver smiled impishly at us through the rearview mirror. He couldn’t be any older than nineteen—a kid named ‘Yun Chan’. He drove with the ferocious confidence of a cabby twice his age. Too bad he couldn’t be our chauffeur for the rest of our stay.
Several thousand coin enthusiasts milled about the Convention and Exhibition Centre’s entrance in the unforgiving heat.
“Welcome back,” said a lovely voice, approaching me from my left. Cheung Sulyn. “You look well today.”
Dressed in a gray skirt and a light purple blouse with modest pumps on her feet, she looked more stunning than the day before. Her dark eyes seemed to take on a lighter hue from her wardrobe. Some people are like that. She must’ve gathered something amusing from my expression, since her graceful right eyebrow was raised ever so slightly. But, with the prospect of my dear Beatrice’s recovery from Alzheimer’s seemingly imminent, and the full restoration of her youth not far behind, I’d lost my edge as a flirt.
“Why thank you, Ms. Cheung,” I told her, feeling my face heat up from slight embarrassment. “I do feel much better today.”
Once Alistair caught up to me after viewing a display case bearing ancient Mongolian artifacts, she turned her attention to him. It was subtle, but I could tell she favored him. Something about the combination of his ‘harmless’ middle age appearance and natural charm, fed by his confident realization that he was getting younger by the day. Regardless, the smile she gave to him was a hell of a lot more radiant than the one she had offered to me and other patrons around us.
That’s my boy!
Alistair is mostly clueless about his new sex appeal, as the only thing he’s noticed is other people seem to like him better than in the past. Even his sometimes-surly disposition is easily forgiven. It makes me wonder what it will be like when he physically regresses to his mid-twenties.
He had picked up a nametag this time, and Ms. Chung’s expression soon changed to surprise as she read it.
“Are you the famous author of books about the Middle East?” She suddenly covered her mouth as if ashamed by her enthusiasm. “I’m so sorry…that was rude of me to ask a question without being properly introduced.”
“That’s quite all right, Ms. Cheung, I should’ve done so yesterday when we had talked about your grandfather’s Mongolian trays,” said Alistair, smiling sheepishly. “As you can tell, my name is Alistair Barrow, and this is my son, William.”
He motioned to me proudly, and I was saddened for a moment that for so many years he had resigned himself to this arrangement. How hard it must’ve been for my son to watch his jaunty father ingratiate himself with so many women that Alistair might’ve enjoyed getting to know, but felt helpless against the fact he was getting older while I remained young.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Ms. Cheung,” I said, nodding politely.
She did the same, perfunctorily, and then brought her attention back to him. I took my karma with delight and grace.
“Please call me by my western name, Sulyn,” she said. “B
ut, are you in fact the famous author?”
“Famous might be a bit of a stretch, but the books you referred to are penned by me.”
“That is incredibly fortunate for me, then!” she enthused, but then caught herself again. She shot a cautious glance to Mr. Lao, the Event Director, who stood chatting with a dark haired Caucasian man wearing an expensive suit. The man had his back to us.
“If I might impose, would it be possible for you to meet with my grandfather, Cheung Yung-ching? He is a great admirer of your work, Mr. Barrow,” she said to Alistair. “He is not well, and does not have much time left with us. If you could spare an hour and meet with him at the hospital, you will make an old man and his granddaughter very happy.”
“I’d be honored. Would tomorrow morning work with your schedule and his?”
“Perhaps it will,” she said, and her smile brightened her countenance and allure. Alistair blushed. “I will check with him and get back with you. I assume you are staying in one of the hotels nearby? I can leave you a message and directions on how to get to the hospital. I will need to meet you there, since he is surrounded by tight security.”
“Sure,” said Alistair. “We’re staying at the Royal Garden, in room 619. If you need the phone number, I can get it for you.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Barrow.”
She pulled out a small cell phone from a concealed pocket in her skirt and typed in the information he gave her. I took the opportunity to find out more about her godfather-ish grandpa.
“Isn’t it a bit unusual to travel with bodyguards in the city these days?”
“The old ways still pervade here, despite the incorporation of modern outlooks in Hong Kong,” she said, regarding me as if I were a cuddly lost puppy with an enormous weeping sore on its face. “My grandfather has lived a very long life, and has prospered well. Along the way, he has made many friends and enemies. He is a man known for his generosity and his harshness, although I have only experienced the kind and gentle man that he is.”