Reign of Coins (9 page)

At least my kid hasn’t totally dismissed me, he fully believes in my immortality. His block in the eye comes from not being able to picture who I’ve rubbed shoulders with down through the centuries. Guess it’s a good thing I’ve never told him that Roderick, under a different name, was an original signer of the Declaration of Independence. On occasion, he visited George and Martha Washington at Mount Vernon, where they assumed he had a fetish for French powder.

Once our dinner arrived, I endured a few more barbs that gradually became more and more lighthearted since I refused to be drawn into a debate. With what looked like a full schedule the next day, we returned to the Royal Garden, intending to retire early. However, when we stepped into our room, I knew our plans for that night and perhaps the next day had been nixed. An old CIA acquaintance sat in a chair by the window overlooking Victoria Harbour. He had pulled the curtains closed and left a single light on, turned to its dimmest setting.

“Hello William and Alistair…. Take a seat.”

The tone brisk, the icy stare was worse. Sam Daniels had a serious bone to pick.

Chapter 10

Alistair sat on the sofa while I closed the door behind us. I turned on the recessed overhead light above the living area and set it to the highest setting—Agent Daniel’s perturbed look notwithstanding.

“Do you truly think a rude intrusion at night will get better cooperation than a more polite meeting scheduled during the daytime?” I told our guest, who kept his right hand near the hidden holster to his cherished Glock beneath his dress coat. Carrying a concealed weapon was probably the only reason he wasn’t dressed casual. “Will Michael or Cedric be joining us, too?”

“Tonight it’s just me,” said Sam. He glanced up at the short row of bright lights I had turned on and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from inside his coat, tapping one out. The pissing contest had officially begun. “Mike’s on the way here from L.A. and should arrive tomorrow afternoon.”

“You should realize smoking isn’t allowed in here,” said Alistair, drawing a look of surprise from both Sam and me. It had never been my son’s habit to address any of the agency’s representatives so casually, and with overt disdain. I guess I wasn’t the only one to feel the brunt from my son’s new brashness. “And, I for one like being able to see you clearly, Agent Daniels.”

Sam glared at Alistair for nearly a minute in silence, while twirling the fresh cancer stick between his fingers. A twelve-year veteran with the CIA, he’d been a career state trooper in Georgia before that time. Not necessarily handsome, Sam’s best feature was his hazel eyes—and it wasn’t saying much. His square jaw and military buzz-cut did little to change the impression he was a boorish asshole.

“Alistair’s got a point,” I offered, quickly tiring of the conflict simmering between them. “Don’t smoke and we’ll listen to what you have to say.”

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.