by Aiden James
I realized then I had made yet another terrible mistake.
I should’ve never told either of them anything, and I should’ve spent more time thinking of an alibi as to what took me so long at the liquor store that afternoon. Instead of uttering a word about Roderick’s visit, I should’ve waited until I was alone with Beatrice…and then only told her. It would’ve been better for everyone involved in the long run.
I was ready to kick myself for not resorting to the trait I once was best known for in the early centuries as I walked the earth utterly alone.
I should’ve lied.
Chapter 3
“Do you remember the first time you left?”
Beatrice turned to face me, and the passionate glow in her beautiful eyes from just moments earlier was now tinged with worry.
She and I were lying together on a Bengal tiger rug from long ago—actually two centuries before the big gorgeous kitties were endangered. And, just for the record, I bought the rug from a street merchant in New Delhi. One I’ll admit had little respect for the trading practices of the local Indian government or the British Crown at the time. Also, for the record, I have never killed any of God’s precious creatures for sport—only for food or in self-defense.
I had forgotten about the rug, but Beatrice reminded me that she had dug it out of an old steamer chest of mine during our courtship in Glasgow. I’m not even sure why I purchased the item…but I believe it had something to do with the merchant’s tale of having sixteen children to feed, despite his boyish appearance. The fact he seemed a tad malnourished was the deciding factor that swayed me.
Anyway, we used to have some very intensely enjoyable experiences upon this exotic piece. But not every fond memory was sexual in nature. Some of our deepest heart to heart conversations took place on it in those early years, just before Alistair’s arrival into our lives. Instead of giving it to Glasgow’s Salvation Army with my clothes before she and Alistair journeyed to America in 1967, she kept it.
“Like every other foolish moment of my existence, I more than remember that experience,” I said, inching my body closer to hers. We were clad only in bathrobes as part of our gradual return to full intimacy. I had just placed a large hickory log on the hearth in our bedroom, and before I returned to the rug, the flames from the waning embers had nearly engulfed the wood, sending waves of warmth to where we snuggled together. “It was the first time duty had called during our marriage, and I wasn’t sure how to break the news to you, my love…. The Russians bugged homes and offices throughout Britain—even before the Berlin Wall was completed. I couldn’t tell you anything other than the fact you would likely see me in about a week.”
I truly hated this particular memory. I got the call from my contact in London, via Washington, not long after Beatrice had lost her brother and father in a terrible boating accident on Loch Lomond. Her mother had passed away shortly before the war’s onset, and my leaving her with only vague assurances I’d be back soon brought little comfort to either of us. It broke my heart to leave her in tears…but to state anything else of that particular mission beyond the newly formed Iron Curtain was far too dangerous. My status as a protected American spy living in Scotland was already on shaky ground, after a security compromise within our ranks revealed the identities of nearly a thousand agents to the MGB. All of us were spread across the globe at the time, and one of the few political assassinations I was called on to complete involved an early leader of what eventually became the KGB. Ivan Patrisky was his name.
The CIA was less than a year old in September of 1948, and getting everyone organized across several continents didn’t always work as well as it would later on. My mission entailed traveling to Moscow on a Wednesday, locate Patrisky by Friday, and take him out at the first opportunity that weekend with a return to the UK late Sunday night.
I was there for almost two weeks, and two of the contacts assigned to assist me were killed. However, Ivan Patrisky escaped. I never got close enough to pose a legitimate threat to his life.
“I thought you were dead,” said Beatrice, sadly, as she reminisced. I shifted my body closer, feeling the warmth from her aura as I invaded her personal space. I gently massaged her back and shoulders. “No one would tell me anything when you didn’t return as promised that Sunday night…no one knew anything about William Barrow.”
She said this with enough cynicism for me to expect her somber disposition to suddenly lift to a more volatile state of anger…although it would’ve surprised me. But, her voice cracked and tears formed in her soft emerald eyes. It tore at my soul to realize this was one of the experiences that had pierced her heart—despite the elation I recalled from her when I burst in through the front door of our tiny cottage at the time. Back then, seeing her rapturous joy upon my return erased my concerns for what she had endured for that additional week. I never considered our reunion had failed to erase the emotional turmoil she endured while waiting for me to come home.
“It won’t be like that this time,” I assured her. “Viktor will likely be in for a surprise if he makes it to the Essene castle. Roderick told me that during the past thirty years they have become as militant and dangerous as any of the Bolivian cartels. And, since this group has often felt despised by most of humanity for hundreds of years, they won’t be the doormats he surely expects to find. Not to mention, their leaders have gone willingly to their deaths in ages past when pillagers demanded the location of their most sacred treasures.”
“So, that’s supposed to make me feel better about your survival?” She shot me a wry look while reaching for her glass of Zinfandel from a small wooden tray in front of the marble fireplace in our room. A bowl of fresh strawberries drizzled in chocolate separated our glasses from each other. “Besides, you now have our beloved son and Amy to keep you distracted, as well.”
Ah, yes. That did complicate things…substantially.
“Beatrice, my darling…you should know I will survive, if for no other reason than my life’s purpose is far from fulfilled,” I said, reaching for my glass.
I wanted to take a subtle sip, but ended up with a bigger gulp that gave away my irritation with how things had progressed from the moment we stepped inside our home until Roderick told me on the phone he fully expected my kid and his girlfriend to be coming along. Whether based on his intuitive gifts or just years of astute observation, I was left without the barrier I needed to force an end to the ongoing debate between Alistair and me, that his and Amy’s presence would help, rather than hinder, our journey to the Bolivian Andes.
“Perhaps it’s true, William,” she said, raising up to where I could see the swell of her breasts. Youth had certainly returned to that portion of her body, and I tried not to think about how long it had been since I caressed my wife as her lover. “Yet, as Judas, it may mean some other time and place. I know you would find me again, my love…but what if it happens when Ali or Amy need your help the most? If this evil man you speak of gains the upper hand on you and your friend, Roderick, what then? I’ll be reduced to a widow cursed to mourn our boy and you—and the girl I’ve come to care for deeply—while this body continues to get younger. The devil himself couldn’t concoct a fate more hellish than that….”
Tears forming in her eyes spilled over, forming two imperfect streams as they coursed down her face. I reached up and gently caressed her cheeks while catching her tears with the back of my forefinger. I offered her my most confident smile, all the while feeling my heart grow heavier to where it felt as if it would fall through my ribcage or simply burst from profound sorrow.
If only I had the foresight of this moment when I first heard about my coin being held by the Andean Essenes, who descended from the very Judeans I once rubbed shoulders with while following Jesus, this situation would’ve been resolved centuries ago. Instead, the child and woman I loved above all else seemed on the verge of going from sharing an amazing future with me to having one filled with dark clouds again.
Despite su
ch dreadful musings, I forced my smile to widen for Beatrice. A painful smile for me, but one infused with every ounce of love I could call forth.
“I won’t let anything happen to them, my love,” I said, setting my glass back down so I could gently lift her chin with my right hand while my left hand’s fingers continued to caress away her tears. “I will bring us all home safely. You’ll see…I will succeed in keeping the promise I made to you so long ago. An oath I can’t blame you for not believing, thinking for years I had failed to keep it. Yet, I tell you from the very core of my being this pledge has always been at the forefront of my heart, mind, and soul.”
“Do you really mean it?”
She looked up into my eyes with incredible longing. The healing of her mind and body was something truly magical. But the healing of her spirit, and the heart that had always loved me so deeply, wasn’t something the Tree of Life could take care of on its own.
“Yes,” I told her, gently, and with confidence and warmth that needed no force. The Almighty knows I would endure the very fires of hell, if necessary, to restore her to the woman who so easily arrested my heart and enraptured my soul. “I will bring them back safe and sound, and spend the rest of my earthly days cherishing you and protecting your tender heart.”
Chapter 4
It was still dark Sunday morning when we boarded our chartered flight to La Paz. Roderick had advised me the previous evening there wasn’t enough time to wait for a first class ticket on a major airline, and when I checked the Internet myself, none were available to La Paz until the next evening or on Monday. At least not from Washington, D.C.
Roderick assured me the accommodations he procured for us were beyond satisfactory. He was picking up the tab for the trip to La Paz, and I would tote the bill for our trip home. That’s the way we’ve always arranged things, many eons before the phrase ‘going Dutch” came into vogue.
“How is Beatrice taking it?” he asked.
The four of us had just picked our seats in the Cessna’s surprisingly spacious cabin. It turned out to be the easiest decision of the day, as Alistair and Amy immediately claimed two of the four seats, on the right. Since there were itinerary details to work out, I suggested to Roderick that he and I settle on the left side. It would give us a little more privacy, and if the youngsters had something pertinent to add to our discussion from across the way, so be it. But after last night, it wasn’t something I planned to encourage.
“She’s worried,” I told him, frankly. “I believe most of her angst stems from the fact it’s not just me sticking my neck out. Remember, when I re-entered her life as her grandson twelve years ago, she had no idea who I was. Now that the charade and everything else has been explained in detail to her, much of it frightens her. Not to mention the very real fact that someone could die on these coin-collecting journeys across the globe. It’s a lot to absorb so soon.”
I pictured Beatrice’s sorrowful eyes from last night and shot an annoyed glance toward my son and his girl. For the moment, they seemed preoccupied with setting up their laptops for when they would have full access to the jet’s Wi-Fi system, after the aircraft was safely in the air.
“Perhaps I should have joined you for dinner last night after all,” said Roderick, sitting in a plush, leather captain chair, motioning me to take the one across from him. “Our long awaited personal introduction might well have eased her fear about our ability to take care of the kids and keep them safe.”
“On the contrary, I’m afraid meeting a tall stranger whose eyes remain hidden from most of humanity, and whose occasional slip of the tongue might come to her in surround-sound, would heighten her concerns even more.” I added an impish smile to let him know most of this was stated in jest. “Thankfully, I talked to an old friend of ours, Larisa Jones, my wife’s nurse at Good Shepherd for most of the past decade. She agreed to stay with Beatrice this week. The news lifted my wife’s spirits somewhat, and it should be a good time for them to catch up. They haven’t seen each other since early this past summer.”
“And, how does this Ms. Jones react to your wife’s age regression?”
“So far, she has chalked it up to plastic surgery and intensive Swiss vitamin therapy,” I explained. “Fortunately, Larisa watched a recent re-run of Phyllis Diller’s amazing transformation in her seventies, after undergoing multiple procedures under the knife. It might’ve been a tough sell without it.”
The plane began to taxi onto the runway. The pilots and lone flight attendant had recently advised there might be a delay due to light layers of ice covering the tarmac. Apparently we were now cleared to fly.
“You told me yesterday afternoon Beatrice has dropped her age by twenty-five years since she left the nursing home,” said Roderick once we were safely in the air. “I would guess this Larisa Jones might have a plethora of questions waiting for you upon our return. Especially, should she encounter Ali any time soon.”
Very true. It was something that would eventually have to be dealt with in drastic fashion. Perhaps relocation, since it seems the most logical way to start over. Amy recently suggested Dallas, Texas. She lived there briefly as a kid. Personally, I preferred a different place out west that had intrigued me on two previous twentieth century visits: Sedona, Arizona.
Beatrice wants to return to Europe, so we shall see. I’m not sure I’m ready yet to return there. Another menace has been rumored to be looking for me from centuries ago…and moving to this one’s old stomping grounds would only hasten our reunion.
Inside I shuddered.
“What?”
I believe I’ve mentioned before how sentient spying upon my thoughts and emotions irritates the hell out of me.
“It’s nothing. So, when are you going to share the ‘why’ behind our need to visit the archdiocese in La Paz? And, do you really need to wear the glasses inside the plane?”
He pointed behind me toward the cockpit.
“They haven’t seen me in my natural state yet,” he said. “Neither has Carolyn, the nice attendant who will soon be serving us something in the way of nourishment. I’d hate to startle her in any way—especially when we’ve been promised excellent cocktails later on. Can you imagine the furor caused by a frightened young lady barreling into the cockpit when Captain Reisner and his assistant are navigating our path—or worse, if she scares the hell out them, as well?”
“Hey, if you want to look like an eccentric, white-haired Elvis or Billy-Idol wannabe without the spikes, go for it!” I teased. “Just thought it would make you more comfortable when I start to grill you for details about this insane mission.”
“You mean necessary insane mission.”
“That remains to be seen,” I said. Alistair and Amy had been engaged in small talk, but he looked up sharply from his laptop. I pretended not to notice. “As long as the pups are protected at all cost, I’m game. So, what does our visit to the Roman Catholic cathedral have to do with the map? Or, rather, is this more about Viktor?”
“And, here you carry on as if I’m the only one with acute intuitions,” he said, chuckling. “Our trip to the cathedral this afternoon deals with both the map and Viktor. While we won’t need the map to find the Essene castle, he’ll need it. Otherwise, Viktor will search fruitlessly for days without it.”
“How so?”
With or without an accurate map in his hands, I couldn’t picture my adversary struggling to locate a structure as old as the castle. Especially, if it was as grand as the regional legends depicted. Not to mention Viktor spent a lot of his time during the 80s and 90s in neighboring Brazil and Peru playing cat and mouse games as we sparred several times in South America. He knew enough of the topography to deduce a general area, and then rely on GPS to get him the rest of the way there.
“It won’t be as simple as you assume it to be,” said Roderick. “Our friend, Nikola Tesla, took on an apprentice from these Essenes in 1921. That apt pupil lived long enough to create a scrambler that can take any form of energy emitte
d, such as radar, sonar, and GPS, and rendering it useless. One of our older sources in La Paz once told me the device has cloaking properties, too.”
“No shit?”
“None at all.”
“So, having the map in hand would be priority number one for him, I’d assume.” I paused to look out our window, where the dawn’s light had just begun to creep up along the horizon. “Wait…I’m missing something here. Since he kidnapped Archbishop Espinoza in La Paz, it seems logical Viktor either has the map, or will torture it out of the clergyman before we get there. That probably has already happened.”
“Perhaps,” sighed Roderick. “But, I’m counting on the fact Ramon Espinoza has no clue about the map’s location, or even the map itself.”
I waited for him to go on, thinking his presumption was flawed in many ways. He glanced out the same window at the rising sun’s glorious glow emanating behind us.
“I personally oversaw the placement of the map inside a vault within the wall beneath the north transept,” said Roderick. “That happened after the funeral rites for my friend Yael, much later that evening when the cathedral was deserted. At the time, the Essenes pretended to be Catholic, and had done so since the rumor of Cortez’s advance reached the castle’s leadership nearly two hundred years earlier. Only a handful attended the service with me. After the procession, I returned to the cathedral and waited for the current bishop, Diego Robiedo, to return. I struck a deal with him, since he was reluctant to give up the map…. Oh, the trouble I have endured to protect your interests my friend, since you had already returned to Europe by then.”
“And, I’ll always be grateful for your efforts, my brother. I am surprised you compromised by allowing the Catholics to keep it inside the cathedral.”