by Aiden James
“Yes, I thought you would be surprised, even back then,” he said. “But, at the time, there were few alternatives, and I could tell Bishop Robiedo feared my wrath.”
“Hmmm. You expect that no one has ever tried to remove it, or that Bishop Robiedo never told of its present location tucked away in the wall for all these years?”
“Correct again.”
“Sounds like bullshit to me,” Alistair interjected.
He motioned to Amy that he would return in a moment, closed his laptop, and slid into the chair next to mine. We were now a tag team against the ancient druid…except for the fact I didn’t agree with Alistair’s assessment.
I expected Roderick to bristle, but he didn’t so much as flinch from Alistair’s rebuke. Of course, I couldn’t see his eyes clearly enough to determine if the gold flecks were swirling—a telltale sign my immortal friend is seriously miffed.
“Why on earth would anyone assume the map is still there, without first checking to make certain someone hadn’t stolen it?” said Alistair.
“I have checked,” countered Roderick. “In fact, I’ve checked several times during the twentieth century, from 1914 until 1997, since La Paz is a favorite winter destination for me.”
“So, as far as you know, no one is the wiser about the map’s presence in the church?” my son persisted.
“I personally looked inside the wall in both my 1938 and 1997 visits. It was still safely hidden, and wrapped in the same protective goat’s skin sheath.”
“Well then, a better question would be…why would you need for me to come with you to get it?”
I wasn’t trying to play the devil’s advocate. However, since Viktor had demonstrated an apparent ability to track my exact whereabouts in Hong Kong, he could easily do it again in Bolivia. Therefore, it seemed logical to have Roderick retrieve the map without my physical involvement. Of course, if Viktor was determined to claim the ‘Ringing Coin’, with or without a map, then it should be me who faced him in an effort to prevent that from happening, not someone else.
“Ah-huh…while I understand your position, William, your second supposition is closer to the truth of the matter,” said Roderick, obviously responding to my unspoken thought. “Believe me when I tell you this mission requires both our skill sets. The map is something over which I have some control. But the destination described in the map—and especially the prize that awaits us inside the castle—is your domain exclusively. It’s what the Almighty would expect you to handle. You know I’m right.”
Yes, it made sense. As I thought about it more, I realized my uptightness was largely due to Alistair’s and Amy’s presence.
“Allowing Ali and Amy to join us could prove helpful in the bigger scheme of things, William,” Roderick advised, glancing at Amy whose rapt attention was on our discussion. “They may not listen to you, my friend. But if they pay attention to their heightened instincts now fostered by the crystals’ influence, and follow my instructions, they should further our cause.”
Lord knew what that lofty compliment looked like inside Alistair’s and Amy’s heads. It seemed to ignite the chatterboxes inside them. They grilled Roderick with a barrage of questions lasting through breakfast, and not tapering off until lunch. Roderick handled the questions with aplomb and the tremendous sense of humor he possesses but rarely displays.
And he was right about some things. Amy’s negotiating skills as an attorney could have many uses. Alistair’s investigative talent had improved tenfold since his mind’s regeneration. But I still wasn’t pleased the pair had hijacked the journey originally intended for just Roderick and me. In the end, my druid buddy revealed enough of what he had in mind for them to do, and I began to feel better about their presence.
Despite their ever-increasing youthfulness, they both fell asleep the last two hours of the flight. It was a nice opportunity to catch up on a century’s worth of events that Roderick and I had missed from each other’s lives. Especially when it came with the finest Scotch over ice.
We arrived at El Alto International Airport just before two o’clock, La Paz time. A limousine took us from there to our hotel for the night, the Suites Camino Real. At Roderick’s behest, his room and the one shared by Alistair and Amy were booked on the eighth floor, and as another Viktor Kaslow precaution, my room was on the fifth floor. It seemed wise not to gather in one central location, since the psychopathic immortal was far more bloodthirsty than when alive.
But even if we were hoping to avoid Kaslow’s search for us, very soon we would begin the leg of our journey that would bring us face to face with this immortal monster.
* * *
After setting up my suitcase on my room’s valet, I decided to take a quick shower. Roderick advised everyone to rest up for an hour, but I was anxious to get started. Even though we were still a few hours travel distance from this latest coin, I could already sense it. This one, in particular, carried an extremely powerful pull. It was an attraction I had sensed while on my original trip to this region, nearly five hundred years ago.
Back then, there was an ancient Aymara village located here called Choqueyapu. The Spanish settlers took it over, forcing their culture upon the natives. Following the Catholic spirit of the day, in 1548 they changed the name to La Paz, which means Our Lady of Peace.
I smiled at the irony while wiping away the steam from the bathroom mirror. In those days, nothing the powerful Spanish empire stood for dealt with peace. Whether that was the multiple conquests in the name of God going on throughout the world, or the Spanish Inquisition lasting more than three centuries. That grueling witch-hunt successfully put me to death on two separate occasions.
But as I looked upon my misty reflection, I hardly thought of those experiences. Instead, my mind was drawn to the silver shekel, bouncing away from me on the stone walkway at Simon’s house. The echo of Jesus’ voice calling to me as I crouched beside the wall outside the courtyard was worse. At one time, this memory had been buried deep within my subconscious for nearly nine hundred years. Yet, once it was awakened again, I was forced to deal with the mental agony anew. It has always been that way.
The sky blue eyes, regal hairline, chiseled features and physique standing before me in my reflection had served me well for so very long. Never getting older and drawing the favor of both women and men had afforded me innumerable privileges. Yet, as I stood there gazing at myself, all of it seemed starkly inadequate and empty compared to what I lost that night so very long ago. My soul has been tormented and incomplete, with only the arrival of Beatrice and Alistair in this lifetime to dull the pain enough to allow some comfort from my chronic loneliness.
It’s why I grew so desperate when they began to die from old age. As wonderful a friend as Roderick has been, off and on these past nineteen hundred years, our friendship has never been able to relieve the pain of separation from the Almighty and my severe error in judgment….
A sudden pounding on the door to my room shook me from the swirling mental drain I was being sucked down into.
“Just a minute!”
“Maith go leor, Judas ... Le do thoil deifir!”
Roderick? What in the hell?...
I wrapped a towel around my waist and moved quickly to the door, opening it carefully, just in case it wasn’t him. Viktor Kaslow had surprised me with new tricks in Hong Kong. I wasn’t about to be fooled again.
“Are you ready?” said Roderick, reverting back to English from his Gaelic entreaty. He stepped back so I could see him clearly.
He’d said he was getting cleaned up as well—which to him means fresh clothes, as the makeup tends to rub off his elbows, shoulders, and other areas. Instead of dressing for the warmer weather, as it was mid spring in La Paz, he was still dressed in his sweater and slacks.
“Why the rush?” I asked, brushing my bangs from my forehead, since fresh micro streams of water were flowing down my face. “I thought we planned to leave in forty minutes, so what’s up?”
“The
re’s been a development,” he said. “I’ll explain in the car downstairs. Alistair has volunteered to drive, which will give me time to bring you up to speed on what I just learned from Michael.”
“Michael? Michael Lavoie?!”
“Yes…now hurry!”
“No, wait…is he here?”
“Not yet, and he might not come,” said Roderick, glancing anxiously down either side of the hallway. “It depends on how quickly we take care of our business.”
“Don’t feed me horseshit, old friend—not after dragging all our asses down here on short notice,” I warned him. “Don’t—”
“We’re wasting time, ‘William’!” he hissed. “Get dressed and I’ll meet you downstairs!”
“Just give me a quick reason for the rush—you owe me that much.” I returned his sternness with my own. I fought the urge to go off on him, since ninety-nine percent of sudden changes to agendas in my line of work usually means serious trouble. Almost always. “Just something quick.”
“Ramon Espinoza is dead.”
“What?”
“He’s dead, and it can only mean one thing.”
“Oh shit!”
“Yes, oh shit, indeed.”
Chapter 5
We arrived at the cathedral in less than twenty minutes. The atmosphere felt somewhat surreal given the fact the city’s most powerful Church figure was dead. Nothing had been announced publicly about Espinoza’s passing, but I fully expected his absence to have been noticed by now. Roderick glanced several times at the merry picnickers gathered in an adjacent park. Seemingly on the lookout for someone or something specific, he had told me in the car that the local and state police had agreed to keep the story of the archbishop’s abduction a secret from the news media, until they and the CIA had completed their initial investigations.
“They found his body less than two hours ago,” Roderick had said. “Michael hasn’t given me any details other than Espinoza’s corpse was found stuffed in the trunk of his Mercedes.”
Viktor Kaslow was the only suspect at this point. Certainly he had gained whatever information was needed from the clergyman before dispatching him from this world.
“We could be losing precious time by bothering with this exercise,” I told Roderick, as the four of us entered the cathedral, a seventeenth century edifice in the mission style that prevailed wherever the Spanish empire flourished. “If Kaslow gained the information he needed, then he’s probably already in the Andes as we speak.”
Amy and Alistair’s subtle nods in support of my point of view meant little to Roderick, who’s always been a stickler for his agendas.
“If the transept wall is intact, then we’ll know Kaslow is traveling with the disadvantage of not knowing the castle’s exact location,” he said, just before encouraging us to casually follow him to the sanctuary. “And, if it isn’t intact….”
He didn’t finish. Guards nearby kept watchful eyes on a pair of tour groups admiring the gaudily gilded depictions of angels and a host of saintly statues. As expected, the depiction of Jesus nailed to a cross hung above the sacristy. Accurate in the general spirit of the Crucifixion, it isn’t possible to accurately depict the hours of intense suffering He endured. Regardless of what anyone believes in regard to His divinity, Jesus died as a man—as a human being forced to feel the agony of torn tendons, broken bones, lacerated organs, and the nails…should I go on? After all, I was forced to witness the horrible experience from nearby, hidden in shame and wearing a woman’s hijab to hide my face.
But, know this also. The Jesus I knew would loathe the world’s focus on the suffering. Beyond the celebration of His triumphant ascension to heaven from Sheol, there’s nothing worth acknowledging about the event. At least not to Him.
But I digress….
“I’ve not seen so many Bolivian watchdogs since the Banzer Regime forty years ago,” whispered Roderick. His clipped delivery revealed his unease from the gunmen’s presence. The uniforms were standard police issue, but the automatic weapons held ready for use spoke to a severe military presence, as if marshal law loomed on the horizon. Is this what La Paz could look forward to once the local media released details about their beloved archbishop?
“Maybe we should come back,” suggested Amy.
“We probably should’ve flown out here yesterday, instead of waiting until today,” said Roderick, evenly. “But the slim opportunity to confirm what we came for will only prove more difficult if we leave now.”
Without waiting for a response, he moved down the center aisle in the nave toward the altar, lifting his eyes to the giant crucifix before him. Nice. That should give him time to survey every obstacle he’d encounter on the way to the north transept. The kids started to follow him, and I pulled their attention to slide with me into a nearby pew to wait for his return.
“I’m not a child anymore, Pops!” said Alistair defiantly. “I can fit in just fine with these tourist types.”
I fought the urge to laugh.
Not while looking like the infamous Sean Connery’s young double, my dear boy…. Especially not here, where the original ‘James Bond’ films are immensely popular—despite the uproar over the latest film in the series.
“Actually, you are a youngster again.” I motioned again for him to slide in between Amy and me. “You’re younger than me physically once more. Beyond that, two cops are watching us from the gallery. Raise your eyes and not your head to nine o’clock…you will see them.”
Alistair muttered ‘oh fuck’ under his breath, echoed by Amy, whose photochromic sunglasses gave her more freedom to linger on the cops, likely detectives. After many years doing this sort of thing, I can usually tell when to be wary and when to relax. In this case, it was the intensity as they studied us. Even Roderick’s gaze was briefly drawn to them when they looked away from us and over at him.
“They are definitely interested in our presence…could be this country’s equivalent to our CIA,” I whispered to my son.
Alistair nodded and picked up a hymnal to thumb through. Not the most inconspicuous thing to do in order to look uninteresting. Amy, however, caught my signal to pretend to be praying. I was especially pleased she took the ruse a step further by kneeling on the unforgiving floor.
“So, how long do we have to put up with this…bologna?” asked Alistair.
Not bad…now you’re getting it, kiddo.
“Just a few minutes longer,” I responded quietly. Roderick was making his way nonchalantly along the crossing toward the cathedral’s northern transept. “He’ll be able to tell if the hidden vault’s seal has been tampered with in a moment. Remember, all he needs to do is check that aspect and we’ll be ready to leave.”
Roderick stopped a few feet from the wall, where one of the armed guards stood. The guard eyed him sullenly when my eternal pal said something to him, and I worried when Roderick continued his attempt to engage the man. Suddenly, the guard’s somber demeanor lit up, and he laughed.
Must’ve been a joke told in the area’s native Spanish flavored by the Aymara roots to which many residents can trace their lineage. I doubt the guard even noticed the pen Roderick had deftly removed from his pocket and allowed to fall to the floor. But, as soon as it hit the tiles the guard reached for it.
Roderick stopped him, and as he grabbed it off the floor with his left hand, he grazed his right hand across the seams between two large stones in the wall below the transept.
“You’ve still got it, my friend,” I whispered, admiringly.
Both Alistair and Amy looked over at me, surely wondering what in the hell I meant. Meanwhile, Roderick finished his conversation with the guard. The two shared another mirthful moment before Roderick nodded goodbye, retracing his steps along the crossing and down the aisle toward us. His face was blank, giving no indication as to what he had found.
“Well, what did you discover?” I asked, after he motioned for us to scoot over so he could join us on the pew.
“Someone’s b
een here…and if it is Kaslow, I have a new level of appreciation for his cunningness,” he advised, subtly tilting his head toward our nine o’clock voyeurs still watching us.
“So the map isn’t here? How can you be sure?”
“I’m not sure,” he replied, lowering his voice as he leaned toward me. “But my fingers detected a slight crease in the mortar that once was perfectly smooth. I picked up mental images of Kaslow forcing an elderly Hispanic man to show him the right stones to remove to get to the vault inside the wall. That event felt very recent, and no doubt the man was Ramon Espinoza. I had foolishly trusted Bishop Robiedo to keep his oath to protect this hiding place at all costs. Perhaps he decided he was no longer obligated to keep the vow once he became archbishop of La Paz the year after I returned to Virginia, in 1704. Regardless, the hiding place hasn’t been a closely guarded secret, as I foolishly assumed it was these many years past.”
The hollowness was worse than when he spoke of the loss of his Essene friend the other night. Perhaps this Robiedo character had something to do with the assassination, and Roderick was just now considering the same thing. It seems we immortals can go centuries without making a single blunder in judgment, and then grow careless with our trust. Such lessons carry incredible angst and sorrow, since as in this case it is far too late to do anything, and by then the fallout will have affected generations of innocent people. Beyond the murder of Yael Mordecai, there was now the death of Ramon Espinoza, whom Roderick had personally vouched for yesterday afternoon as a good man.
“Let me ask you again, my dear friend…in your heart of hearts do you think Viktor Kaslow has the map once safely hidden in this church?”
“Yes, Judas…I do.”
“Then we should go,” I said, preparing to stand up.
“Not so fast…there are others in this building who are prepared to make that proposition impossible, or difficult at best. Unless….”
“Unless, what?!” I hissed, not liking the sound of more bullshit to deal with when we had just begun our quest to keep Kaslow from getting his hands on my coin.