Reign of Coins (11 page)

Who, moi?

“I sort of see your point. So, what happens next?”

“Where are you?”

“You mean Oz the Great hasn’t figured it out yet?”

“Give them another hour, and perhaps they will,” chuckled Roderick. His tone warmed a few degrees. “Christian Morrow and his hired hit man might find your new hideout sooner.”

Any allusion to Viktor Kaslow carried the most weight at present. How could I not come clean, especially considering my biggest ally was on the other end of the line?

“We’re at the InterContinental, Room 306,” I said, praying our longtime friendship was still as strong as it had been one hundred years ago. “We were forced to leave our belongings at the Royal Garden.”

“I’ve already taken care of that, and you’ll have your bags delivered in the next few hours,” he said. “They’ll pass through several hands before making it to the InterContinuental. I’m sure you understand how careful both of us must be at the present time.”

“You won’t be accompanying their delivery?”

“It’s better to stay apart until the smoke clears.”

It’s the way things have always been handled between us. Separation that could sometimes mean years, decades, or even centuries was often necessary to maintain anonymity.

“Michael is joining Cedric on a flight from Yokohama tonight,” Roderick continued. “They are looking for a quick resolution to the Morrow problem.”

“And?”

“They also intend to resolve the growing conflict between you and Kaslow.” His voice grew softer and solemn. “Be careful, William.”

“Just spit it out, Roderick!” I hated the coyness, and I wasn’t about to let it replace the straight honesty we’ve always addressed each other with. “Don’t be like them.”

“All right.” He released a low sigh. “You have caused them enough embarrassment to where they no longer care if you live or die. In fact, they no longer care if you take out Kaslow or not—they want you both out of the picture.”

“They want me dead?”

“If they can find a clean way to do it…yes.”

That was comforting. All cynicism aside, my immediate worry turned to Alistair’s welfare.

“I won’t let them hurt Ali,” I told him, evenly. “Even if it means I won’t see either of you again for some time, or even my beloved Beatrice again in this lifetime. As long as I feel my son’s life is in danger, I will kill them all. You know I can do it, so this is no idle threat…and not to you, but to—”

“Them. Yes I know,” he said, interrupting me. “Perhaps you would kill them all in a single night—like Louis the Sixteenth’s personal guards the night before his arrest. I remember that night very well. Yes, you could do it again…but what purpose would it serve? What would it accomplish, since everyone in the United States government is completely replaceable? Things are not as they once were.”

You would have to look past the face value of Roderick’s statements to catch his true meaning, delivered more by his vocal inflections than the words themselves. The bottom line was that the CIA—or some other federal institution with international tentacles stretching easily to Hong Kong—would eliminate whatever obstacles were in the way to stopping Christian Morrow. Viktor Kaslow, Roderick, myself, or any other immortal could only delay the U.S.A.’s objective. In the end, they would win. They always did.

But they might be missing a few field people and their supervisors to boot.

“So, is it a foregone conclusion that Michael and Cedric will seek to kill me?”

“No…but it’s a serious consideration coming to them from the highest levels in Washington.”

“The older families never know when to stop!” I said, disgustedly. “How do they propose to get to Christian Morrow with the equivalent of Spawn protecting his back? A squad of Navy Seals would be mere fodder for this one…I haven’t seen anything like him since Drakul.”

“True…he has already killed two seal teams earlier this year, when they were sent to intercept him in Afghanistan.”

Well, this was news. And, here I thought I was the guy to blow the very first whistle on our Russian immortal’s murderous activities. He must’ve gotten a head start right after Christmas.

“Yes, my friend, I thought your advisory was the first as well,” he said, sadly. “You may be the best candidate to get to Morrow, since he admires your boy. I’ll continue to play that angle with my Washington contacts, and with Cedric and Michael.”

“I appreciate it, Roderick,” I said, restraining my anger about being dragged into this shit storm. “I’ll always have your back, Roderick, and will forever cherish our shared Celtic cross of blood. As for Michael and Cedric, they’d do well to watch their backs going forward.”

I half expected for him to offer one last defense on their behalf, but he refrained. Instead, he stated he would see what he could do for Alistair and me, and would keep our present whereabouts a secret until we spoke again. Then he hung up.

* * *

There wasn’t time to sulk. To protect my son, I gave him a bullshit answer instead of the truth from Roderick. Not a great way to ingratiate myself into my boy’s desire for better honesty between us; however, keeping him alive meant a helluva lot more.

Taking care of things while revealing as little as possible to Alistair wasn’t exactly an easy deal since some of our luggage never made it to our new lodgings that night. Roderick sent me a message advising there were unforeseen complications, and I’d be given information before morning. At least Alistair’s personal computer was delivered, so it provided him with a distraction while I left to get us some clothes and other odds and ends we needed for the rest of our stay. When I returned to our room around ten o’clock, he was fast asleep, having believed my earlier promise we’d be fine and that Roderick had shared great news with me.

I watched him sleep. Not all that different from when he was a young lad more than half a century earlier. Just like those older times, he was dependent on me to protect him from all harm.

It was the only thing I thought about as I waited for the dawn’s light, and the promise of an uncertain Thursday.

Chapter 13

Cheung Sulyn arranged for a limousine to pick us up from the hotel. She had insisted on the arrangement after speaking with Alistair for nearly an hour the night before. I’ll admit to some surprise—at both the fancy ride to the Adventist Hospital and the fact my kid was in the mood to chat for so long after watching Agent Daniels being used as a human plastic ketchup bottle. Then again, the lovely charms of Ms. Cheung may have been exactly what Alistair needed to regain a balanced perspective on things.

“So, where exactly are we supposed to meet Sulyn?”

I had just glanced at my watch, noting the time was 7:47 a.m. According to my son, it would take us roughly twenty minutes to navigate traffic to reach the hospital. From there, Sulyn and her grandfather’s security detail would escort us to his private room. That should give us a few minutes to spare for our scheduled eight-thirty meeting with the patriarch of the Cheung fortune.

“She said she would wait for us by the side entrance, where a private elevator will take us up to her grandfather’s room,” advised Alistair, glancing nervously toward the crowded sidewalks beneath towering buildings as we drove by. As if he expected Viktor Kaslow to suddenly appear somewhere in the throng. “We’ll have about an hour to visit with him.”

“Conversing with two strangers…sounds like it could be fun,” I said, drawing an immediate look of scorn from my boy. Another clue to watch my tone. “Seriously, it might not be too bad. At least for you, since you will be the celebrity today. You should loosen up and have some fun with it, Ali.”

I offered a smile, but his expression made me realize I had a long way to go in order to lessen the impact of my sarcasm.

“I’d have the most fun listening to you speak in a version of Cantonese that Cheung Yung-ching might recognize,” he said, grinning impishly.

“What?! Are you insinuating Yung-ching might not be able to keep up with the older dialects?”

“Actually, I believe he’ll be fine,” said Alistair. “It’s
you
I’m worried about. Lord knows you like to fill in the blanks with words that have never existed in
any
Chinese dialect. Now, if he has a good understanding of ancient Persian, or Yiddish and classical Sanskrit, then perhaps he will easily follow the trail of horseshit spewing from your mouth.”

“Ali!”

“I’m just teasing, Pops. Really, you need to smile more often. Remember we’re merely visiting with one of Hong Kong’s most reclusive natives. It’s not a frigging wake!”

My boy was beginning to give me a complex. Not to brag, but I carry a reputation as being one of the immortal world’s best at the art of social skills and ingratiating one’s self with strangers. I’ve never lacked for charm—even Alistair acknowledged that fact yesterday. However, it seems when my charisma is not in active employment, I’m as comely as a fang-bearing serpent. And, I don’t mean the silver-tongued variety. Too late for charm school, my only immediate recourse is to rely on my kid’s take as to whether I’m winning friends or making enemies.

“This must be it, huh?”

We pulled up to a small entrance just beyond the Emergency Room.

“As far as I can tell, it is,” he said, and pointed to Cheung Sulyn and two stoutly built men standing near the doorway. “It looks like they’re ready for us.”

Indeed. No sooner than we exited the limousine, the men left Sulyn’s side to greet us. Well, it was more like urging us to get our asses moving. We didn’t stop until we had stepped into the elevator taking us upstairs to Cheung Yung-ching’s private room.

“I’m glad you were able to do this today, after what happened last night,” said Sulyn. “Alistair told me that you had met with the American who was killed in the accident, and he was a long time acquaintance of yours, William. I am sorry for your loss.”

I hoped this was all Alistair revealed. He’s been charmed by a beautiful woman before, as recent as last year when we first met Amy Golden Eagle. He gave out sensitive information about me to her within a day of their introduction, long before they fell in love.

“Thank you, Sulyn, for your concern,” I said, shifting my gaze to the elevator door. We had just arrived on the fifth floor. “Sam will be missed.”

Well, it’s true. Even though we got on each other’s nerves, the CIA would seem a lot louder without Agent Daniels’ abrasiveness to keep everyone around him in check. Of course, I no longer worked there, so I won’t be missing him as much as those who shared a cup of coffee with him first thing in the morning.

She nodded respectfully to us as the elevator doors opened, and we stepped out into a long hallway. It occurred to me that she hadn’t introduced her muscular companions, which made things a little awkward as she locked her arm inside Alistair’s and the pair led the way to Cheung Yung-ching’s room. Her escorts seemed as reluctant as me to strike up a conversation. At least the view I was afforded made up for the lack of discourse. As opposed to the two men guarding Sulyn, who were dressed in black from head to toe, she was dressed in a smart business skirt ensemble that was still colorful enough to please the male eye.

My playing days are long over, and my present admirations would never venture beyond casual. I simply like this woman’s taste and the way she carries herself. In fact, those who enjoyed my earlier physical descriptions of this lovely lady will have to let those suffice. Other than having her hair pulled back away from her lovely neck and wearing lipstick a shade darker than what she donned yesterday. She would make a marvelous catch for the vast majority of young men with a pulse, and perhaps my son in a few months when he is thirty-ish, if not for the fact he’s already attached to someone else.

Her grandfather’s room was obvious. A pair of casually dressed guards guarded the entrance, and both were packing serious heat. The abode for a man who had much to fear—even in old age.

The guards stepped aside and all five of us entered the room. In actuality, it was two rooms physically altered to pose as one large room. Four more guards stood at attention throughout the room, and Cheung Yung-ching was sitting up in his hospital bed, an IV tube attached to his left arm.

Despite Sulyn’s advisement yesterday, Cheung appeared to be in pretty decent shape for a man in his late seventies. But, he would be gone soon…the aroma of death grew stronger as we approached his bedside.

“Wait here for just a moment,” said Sulyn, as she pulled away from Alistair. “He has been expecting you both, but the medication he takes sometimes makes him forget.”

There was pain in her tone—more than what her eyes let on. She greatly loved her grandfather, and I found myself admiring her more for wanting to brighten her grandfather’s waning hours upon this earth with Alistair’s presence.

She stepped over to his bedside, and when he nodded to her, she bowed slightly. She pointed to a small stack of books upon his nightstand and motioned to my son. Cheung’s expression had been neutral except for a slight smile when he recognized her. That expression grew brighter as he nodded at Alistair.