Reign of Coins

by Aiden James

  Now he glared at me…but nodded while returning the cigarette to its previous home.

  “We saw you and Alistair with Christian Morrow this afternoon,” he advised. “From what we could tell, you guys are fairly chummy with him—especially Alistair. We shouldn’t have to plead to get you to help us determine what exactly he intends to purchase while he’s here in Hong Kong, and when he plans to deliver whatever this thing is to his Syrian contacts.”

  “Michael told me that he believes the mysterious item you’re after is a weapon of some sort,” I said, moving to the sofa and sitting across from Alistair.

  “That’s correct,” Agent Daniels confirmed. “It’s something Morrow’s coveted for years. Our techs picked up part of your conversation today. Do you know what this ‘Mantle of Genghis Khan’ is?”

  “We only know what you guys know. It’s a very rare item belonging to Khan…if it’s even real.”

  Bravo, Ali my boy. A clever dash of deception often works…except Sam Daniels wasn’t buying my son’s answer just yet.

  “Are you interested in buying it?”

  “No…why would we want something like that?” I tried to sound nonchalant.

  “Why else would you be here?”

  “It was my idea,” said Alistair. “I always wanted to see Hong Kong. William offered to bring me here as an early retirement present, since I’m unsure as to when, or even if, I’ll return to Georgetown.”

  “A vacation that has nothing to do with purchasing anything of value, huh? Especially after visiting the coin convention on successive days…. Are you really content to feed me this load of bull?”

  Despite Sam’s homicidal stare, his tone remained smooth. Like a carefully aged bottle of the finest Kentucky bourbon.

  “Buying coins is a far cry from purchasing a weapon,” I said, determined to turn the course of this conversation around before it crashed head-on into an iceberg of nastiness. “Perhaps Michael told you that I do, in fact, enjoy collecting coins. Unless something changed last night while we were sleeping, such activities are completely legal and encouraged in some economies around the world.”

  I grinned smugly. Sam seemed to be in the mood for a fight. Silly shit, and for what reason? To ruffle some feathers in hopes we’d relent to a twisted obligation to serve the United States once again, by doing something technically illegal—whether it meant taking covert pictures, stealing documents, stalking, etc?

  “You can play coy all you want, William, but in the end I will find out what you’re up to. Hell, if not me, someone else in the agency will do it, and then blow your fragile cover.” His tone threateningly, he got up from his chair, taking his first steps toward exiting our suite. “Help us nail this prick by using Alistair’s connection to gain his trust.”

  Well, at least he finally spelled out what he wants…or what the agency wanted.

  “What makes you think he’d be impressed enough with Alistair to allow me entrance into his world? Or, is this strictly a mission for him?”

  “It’s for you, William, since you’re the guy who worked for us—not Alistair,” he said. It begged the question of whether he was talking about my recent reenlistment with the agency, which spanned from a few years before Sam joined the CIA until I told Michael and Cedric to bugger off a few weeks ago. Or, did he have knowledge of my previous affiliations with both the BOI and later the CIA that began near the turn of the last century? “But, Alistair gives you the ‘in’ with Morrow by virtue of him being mentioned by name in a few of Morrow’s diaries—while in school at Georgetown, and up until a few years ago. Alistair made quite an impression on him, and your father’s philosophy on dealing with hostile cultures—such as in Afghanistan and Syria—have aided Morrow in making the inroads that now put the security of the American people at stake.”

  Boy, what a mind-fuck this conversation was. ‘Screw you, but we need your help.’

  “So, by filling in the blanks, you’re asking to use my dad’s comfort level to do what…sneak into Morrow’s hotel room and snoop around for clues as to what he’s up to?” I admit, it had become impossible to mask my contempt for a really stupid-sounding assignment. “But Morrow has already explained what he’s looking for.”

  “We don’t think it’s what he’s after, since we’re dealing with a man who stands to make nine figures from the Syrian government. At least in American dollars,” said Agent Daniels. He moved past the sofa to the door, still eyeing us both disdainfully. “If I were you, I wouldn’t wait to get started on this. We need answers in the next couple of days, since our Middle East contacts have told us Morrow plans to meet with his Syrian connections either Friday or Saturday.”

  “That doesn’t give us much time, since the next time we will see Mr. Morrow is tomorrow, Thursday afternoon,” said Alistair. “You’re expecting us to make the inroads you seek that soon?”

  “Yes, I am,” he said. “William has worked with tighter deadlines than this one. Make it happen.”

  I didn’t let on as to whether I’d cooperate, or not. However, Alistair’s anxious expression proved effective enough to elicit a smug look from Sam. He stepped out into the hallway and headed for the nearest elevator. He left the damned door wide open, too—like one last disrespectful act for defying him and the government agency I once worked for.

  I almost pursued him, but had no idea what I’d say. Other than telling him to bugger off as I recently told his bosses, it was pointless. Hell, my attempts to walk away from the agency had already proved futile, and I had no doubt for the rest of our stay in Hong Kong our every move would be scrutinized. Depressing, really. It was what I thought about as I listened to the chime of the elevator down the hallway and pictured Agent Daniels stepping inside the car and the chime’s bell announcing the door would close again.

  That’s what I expected. It wasn’t what happened.

  Just as I prepared to close the door to our suite and discuss a new plan of action with my kid, I heard a struggle. It sounded like Agent Daniels was straining for breath as he fought to free himself from someone’s grip. Someone much bigger and more powerful than the six-foot four former state trooper.

  “What in the hell’s going on out there?”

  “I don’t frigging know—stay right where you are, Ali!”

  I knew my son wouldn’t listen, and I rushed to the elevator hidden from direct view. Hidden, I should say, until I stepped around the corner of the short hallway. Alistair was right behind me, as I feared, and gasped when he saw what had caused me to stop cold in my tracks.

  Viktor Kaslow stood next to the elevator that had a knife jammed inside the door slot to keep it open. He held Agent Daniels by the throat, and although the agent stood at least an inch taller than the Russian, the tips of Sam’s toes dragged against the hotel’s carpet as Kaslow stepped toward us. Sam’s face had turned deep crimson from lack of air, and he would die very soon if I didn’t quickly think of something.

  Kaslow snickered meanly as he watched Alistair’s and my abhorred reactions.

  “Hello, William and Alistair,” he said cheerfully, despite the scorn in his eyes. “Have you missed me?”

  Chapter 11

  “Yours is a face only a mother would miss,” I said. “There’s nothing to gain here by playing games, Viktor.”

  Determined to keep my tone even and free of any signs I was scared shitless, my focus was on finding the quickest way to save Agent Daniels’ life. Unfortunately, that likely meant someone else would die in his place. Since I can’t die, and would awaken in some other time and place, Alistair would become the next target. Knowing Kaslow’s penchant for supreme evil, Alistair’s death would be much sweeter for him than my demise anyway.

  “Oh, but you are certainly wrong about that, my friend,” he replied. “Maybe we should start with a little contest of ‘strangle the pesky CIA agent’. I believe it would be much more fun than tossing the fucker off a twenty-story building. Wouldn’t you agree, William?”

  My blood
ran cold, picturing what had happened to James Stewart in Caracas. Kaslow grinned, as if he could also view the horror being played out in my head. His steel blue eyes glowed unnaturally and his face had regenerated further since our recent encounter in South America. His thick blonde hair seemed fuller than before and his body’s musculature appeared far more ripped than when mortal. The power provided by the crystal shard buried in his chest had transformed him into a modern day Superman. Hell, the crystal’s soft green glow emanated from his chest left partially exposed through the open collar of his blue polo shirt. Like kryptonite in reverse.

  “This is not Sam’s quarrel. It isn’t Alistair’s quarrel either,” I said. Alistair’s legs were quivering as he looked on. “This is strictly between you and me, Viktor.”

  “How convenient that would be…if it were true!” He laughed heartily, as if we reminisced as old friends sharing Bolivar cigars and brandy. “But, I hate them all. Everyone who works for your government is an enemy of mine!”

  He tightened his grip around Agent Daniels’ throat. Sam’s eyes began to roll back into his head. He was losing consciousness. It turned out to be a good thing, based on what happened next.

  “Don’t worry, William. When the police find what’s left of your friend and the man who poses as your father, you’ll be nowhere around, will you?”

  My heart froze within my chest, and suddenly my feet felt as if they had just become thousand pound weights.

  He knows! Viktor Kaslow knows who I am! Shit…he must know everything! How in the hell is that even possible?!

  “Unfortunately, there isn’t time to discuss the marvelous transformation you’ve witnessed in me,” he continued, nonchalantly. “Let’s just say the miracle you see extends far beyond the physical.”

  I doubt Alistair was aware of the slight groan escaping his throat. Our mutual terror compounded by the second, and my mind went blank as weakened thoughts raced toward panic.

  “Alistair, run!”

  Perhaps some would picture me shouting this as an urgent, but controlled, command to my beloved son, holding my chest out like a proud peacock. If only I had been so confident. My voice cracked from emotion.

  How clearly Kaslow could read my thoughts would determine whether or not I could come up with something…some heroic scheme. We were completely screwed if he read my thoughts verbatim. Yet, until I knew for certain, I decided to trust my instincts. If I failed to save Sam, I prayed Alistair had the good sense to run until he found his way to the Royal Garden’s main lobby.

  I lunged and it was futile—at least in my efforts to save Agent Daniels. My supernatural curse means only that I can’t die physically. As long as the blow isn’t to my brain, heart, or a combination of other vital organs, I will regenerate every damaged tissue in under a minute—two minutes tops. Great for me, but fairly useless against someone whose strength far surpasses that of an Olympic power lifter. All the combat skills I’ve acquired over the years are no match against the Tree of Life’s influence.

  Kaslow shoved me and I flew back onto my ass nearly a dozen feet away, where Alistair stood frozen in fear. Agent Daniels no longer struggled to escape his grip.

  “Perhaps you would like to see my rendition of Mount Vesuvius’ wrath upon the foolish townsfolk of Pompeii, no?”

  He tore off the agent’s head at the shoulders with minimal effort and tossed it inside the empty elevator car. Kaslow pointed the top of the headless corpse at the elevator and covered the entire car with the agent’s blood rush. He squeezed the torso as if trying to get every ounce of blood out. It sickened me further to hear the sound of ruptured organs amid bones splintering inside what used to be my CIA colleague.

  I stood up and shoved Alistair forcefully down the hallway, glancing over my shoulder as Kaslow retrieved his knife from the elevator door. For a moment, I thought we might escape. However, Kaslow produced a pair of semi-automatic Steyrs equipped with silencers. An expert marksman, it wasn’t likely he’d miss Alistair. Not unless I mirrored my son’s movements, staying between him and Kaslow’s bullets.

  “Run for the stairs, Ali!”

  A bullet ripped through my right shoulder, closer to my heart than I’d assumed Kaslow would aim.

  “Run! Run like the frightened doe that you are, William, and your fawn!” Kaslow cackled. Less than twenty feet away, his steady footfalls announced he trotted behind us.

  Stalking us like a couple of wounded animals! Such a cocky mother….

  “There’s the stairs, Pops!”

  Alistair’s voice was shrill, but hopeful. He zigzagged, hinting at speed that made him a Scottish soccer star many years ago.

  “You’ll never get there!” Anger from Kaslow, followed by a volley of shots. Several bullets struck my legs and pierced my stomach. It suddenly dawned on me that he could paralyze me if he hit my spine. But I could no longer mimic my son’s moves. Meanwhile, Kaslow gained on us. His breaths were steady and unlabored.

  Such confidence often leads to slight mistakes. Alistair had just reached the stairs when Kaslow slowed up to take fateful aim at my son’s back. In the few seconds before the trigger was pulled, I sprinted and dove in front of Alistair, as the bullet that would’ve killed him tore through my left lung.

  That one hurt like a royal mother…but at least my momentum carried my son through the door. I managed to close it with my right hand from behind me. An extra few seconds was all I hoped for. We scrambled down the stairs to the next floor, making it through the door just moments before new bullets came our way.

  “Are you hit?” I asked Alistair, as we raced down the hallway to the elevators.

  “Not yet,” he blurted out between breaths.

  A night maid and several guests were mulling about. We startled them as we sprinted by. All the while, I prepared myself for bullet spray coming from behind, but didn’t chance a take a peek over my shoulder until we reached the elevators. The night maid was handing extra towels to a guest, and neither one seemed threatened…. Kaslow had not pursued us.

  “Should we chance taking the elevator?”

  Alistair shook, and I feared a breakdown was on the way. I almost said ‘no’, and prepared to suggest we take the other stairs further down the hall. But, the doors opened.

  The car sat empty, the lighted arrow pointing down.

  I urged my son aboard, and heard shrill shrieks from above us as the door closed. Someone had surely stumbled onto Viktor Kaslow’s fresh kill. Alistair slumped to his knees and cried.

  He cried harder than I’ve ever witnessed. “There, there, son...we’re going to be okay. We’ve got to move quickly once we reach the main floor,”

  “I c-can’t…I can’t do this anymore!” he sobbed.

  “Yes, you can son—I will get us to safety in just a short while. Trust me.”

  “That’s not what I mean!” he said, pushing me away as he stood up. We had just passed the second floor and would reach the main floor momentarily. “I can’t be you! I tried, but it doesn’t work!”

  “What in the hell are you talking about?”

  So far out of left field, he totally lost me as to what he meant.

  “I’ve been trying to be like you for years!”

  It damned near tore my heart out. I didn’t know what to say. But getting to the root of whatever this shit was about would have to wait.

  “Hang on, son…I’ve got to get us out of here.”

  The elevator chimed for the main level. The lobby bustled with excitement, and a pair of police officers prepared to take our places on the elevator with an anxious looking night manager from the hotel. I stepped out casually, and looked around. No sign of our nemesis…but who could be sure?

  “My laptop…I need to go back upstairs and—”

  “No, son…I’ll buy you a new one or get someone to come back for it,” I said. “And, whatever I’ve done to upset you, I’ll make it right. We’ll talk about it as soon as it’s safe enough.” I gently urged him to keep up with me to the m
ain entrance.

  “When you said you’ll get somebody to come back here for it, did you mean somebody like Roderick?”

  “Yes…someone like him.”

  He had more questions, but I shushed him. Hard to predict what Kaslow would do with dozens of people coming in and out of the famed hotel. Would he take out the innocent to catch his prize? Once his usual M.O., he was so much worse now.

  “There’s a taxi coming up, and it looks empty. We better grab it while the coast is clear.”

  Despite an unimpeded path to the hotel curb, it took nearly five minutes to convince Alistair we wouldn’t be cut down like vulnerable college students from a gun tower as we ran to the cab. As a further precaution, I gave the driver enough cash to last at least an hour on the road.

  No choice but to find someplace new…someplace safe. Especially after we passed a patron standing in the shadows near the hotel’s parking garage. Dressed in a local Dragonflies baseball jacket and cap, along with dark sunglasses, the man smiled and waved as we drove by.

  I didn’t mention it to Alistair. It would only make things worse. Besides, I knew in my heart we’d meet this man again very soon. For as long as we were in Hong Kong, Viktor Kaslow wasn’t going anywhere.

  Chapter 12

  We ended up at the InterContinental Hotel. A bit pricier than our previous location, but the right choice in eluding Viktor Kaslow, the CIA, and anyone else who might prove to be a threat. Even if for only a short while. My biggest worry was whether or not the hotel had a vacancy. Fortunately, it did.

  And how could I afford such an extravagance, running low on cash and needing to avoid any credit card payments under the names of William and Alistair Barrow?

  By no longer being those two individuals.

  The inner panel of my billfold holds multiple credit cards and picture IDs for two other aliases of mine. Names I rarely use, one hasn’t seen the light of day in more than a decade, and both are tied to substantial resources.