Victory of Coins (The Judas Chronicles, #7) (14 page)

“Yes, of course,” she assured him, smiling at Roderick and me, too, while I tried to comprehend how she ended up with the last name ‘Bashemath’, which in Hebrew loosely translates to ‘beautiful perfume’. She eyed me curiously, and I focused on blocking my thoughts.

We visited with Cedric for almost half an hour, until the nurse returned and shooed us out of the room.

“So where do we go from here?” I asked, as the three of us stood in the hallway. “Do we wait for him to recover, or do we try to find Kaslow’s trail?”

Rachel raised an eyebrow and looked at Roderick.

“You didn’t tell him?”

“Not yet.”

“Tell me what?” I asked, starting to feel like a mushroom again.

“My sources sent me a message that I forwarded to Rod shortly after you landed here,” she said, her tone devoid of any arrogance or gloating. “Viktor Kaslow was spotted in Jerusalem. And, the sighting was confirmed by multiple sources, since it happened near the Dome of the Rock. They assured me it is undoubtedly him.” 

“Then what are we waiting for? God only knows how long he’ll remain in the area,” I said.

“Agreed,” said Roderick, nodding to Rachel.

“We can leave any time,” she advised. “Since Kaslow knows your plane, we have chartered one locally to fly to Jerusalem. It’s set to take off as soon as you two are ready to leave.”

“What about Cedric?” I asked. “Won’t he need a guard to watch his room?”

“That’s been arranged, and we’ll have two guards on hand at all times, beginning at dawn,” she replied. “If this takes longer than expected to flush out Kaslow, or successfully track down your last coin, then we’ll send for Cedric to join us. But for now, it’s just the three of us.”

––––––––

I
had forgotten how easily an unwanted female presence could change the dynamics in my relationship with Roderick. Especially, since he seemed more at ease now that Rachel had hijacked our search for Kaslow and the last of my blood coins. She had done this to us once before, as I briefly touched on earlier, and I was dismayed by the likelihood her latest visit wouldn’t be a short one.

“Such a beautiful sunrise!” she enthused, leaning over Roderick to peer out through the closest window in our latest private jet. “Perhaps it will bode well for us today.”

We had departed the airport in Cairo shortly after 6:00 a.m. and were now preparing to land at Ben Gurion International Airport, roughly an hour’s flight. From there, it would take a forty-minute drive to reach Jerusalem. We could feasibly enjoy breakfast close to the very spot where Kaslow was sighted the previous day, near the Dome of the Rock.

She smiled warmly at us both. I managed a polite smile in return, as it seemed pointless to continue being a jerk. If Michael Lavoie, Cedric, and Roderick were comfortable with Rachel ‘Bashemath’ being part of our team, then I had no choice but to try and get along better—to put forth an honest effort to make it work. Besides, if she turned out to be the liability I expected, it would be the proverbial burning coals heaped upon the other three guys’ heads instead of mine.

“If we are fortunate enough to locate Kaslow and follow him covertly to the Damascus Coin’s location, that would be a lottery moment,” I said. “But it would likely mean supreme carelessness on his part. Considering his enhanced attributes from Bochicha’s realm, the asshole will likely remain three steps ahead of us. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s listening in remotely on our conversation at this very moment.”

“You forget that I’ve known this man for many years—even longer than you, Judas,” she said. I must’ve unwittingly angered her this time, and I detected the first hint of Aramaic in her otherwise American accent. She had done a marvelous job of speaking like the gals on the
Weather Channel
until now. My smile became easier to maintain, as I listened closely with some amusement. “And, from watching his activities the past few years since he became one of us, I have been quite accurate in predicting his next moves.”

“You don’t think he’s listening in on us?”

“No, Judas, I don’t,” she replied confidently. “Viktor Kaslow is more intent on finding an additional clue that he couldn’t obtain from either historian—that’s what I’m picking up. His arrogance has made you and Rod uninteresting at the moment; since he believes you both are completely clueless on where to look next for him or your coin. It’s almost like he’s laughing at your humanity, fully expecting you to tend to Cedric until he becomes fit for travel again. By then, the race between Kaslow and you would be over, prolonged only by his desire for cruel amusement....”

Rachel’s voice trailed off as she gazed beyond me. I turned around to look at what had distracted her, but there was no one else present—not even one of the plane’s three flight attendants. Yet, her gestures indicated otherwise. I was tempted to chide her for this foolishness, but Roderick stopped me.

“You, among most people—especially immortals—should understand the visions of a true stigmatic,” he whispered. “Let her alone while she absorbs this particular prescience.”

“If this is a stigmatic event, as you imply dear brother, then why isn’t she bleeding?”

I pointed to her wrists and her feet, which were exposed since she had changed out of the business attire that I can only assume was worn to impress upon me that she is the real deal—a covert employee of the ‘U.S. of A.’ Dressed in a casual teal blouse and khaki shorts, along with sandals to match, the ‘deluge of blood’, as a former companion of ours once referred to the phenomenon, wasn’t happening. Other than a slight flush just above her instep and upon her wrists, there were no bleeding wounds.

She suddenly snapped out of her trance, and regarded me with a look of disappointment while shaking her head.

“Thanks for cutting it short, asshole!”

“You’re welcome,” I replied, and I could tell that Roderick shared her loathing of my smirk.

“For your information, I am under a doctor’s care for my stigmatism, and have been for years,” she said. “Don’t you recall how the attacks were frequent back when we began our often infuriating relationship?”

“It was a daily irri... I mean, ‘occurrence’ back then,” I said.

“Yes, it was almost daily. And
you
didn’t have to deal with the worst of it—or have you any idea what it’s like to suffer the agony of it all?”

I thought for a moment she would explode in a full tirade, her eyes morphing to gold with what looked like orange flames for irises—one hell of a cool trick if this were Halloween. Roderick cut me another look, as if begging me not to speak what was literally on my mind. From Rachel’s expression, she could read it, too.... I chose the highroad and held my tongue.

“It’s not always painful, but is always draining and humiliating,” she continued, biting the words as she controlled the obvious rage I had stirred within her. “Can you imagine being an effective bodyguard, assassin, and later on, BOI operative with this shit, especially after I accepted Roderick’s offer to come to America in 1911 and gave up much to leave Istanbul?”

Now I was the one with a sudden perturbed look, directed mostly at Roderick.

“I never said Teddy wasn’t recruiting anyone else after leaving the presidency in 1909,” he said to me. “And, if you’ll recall, you and I were on the outs at the time about some silly issue or another going on in Europe... one of the few times in our very long—and cherished—friendship that we weren’t on speaking terms. You were already part of the team, as you know, that included Barnabus and Theseus. It was either going to be Rachel or Racco St. Germaine to come aboard next, and you know how fickle the Germaine brothers can be.... So I chose Rachel, and she accepted. And, I might add, she has been one of the very best operatives we’ve ever had—damned near as good as you, Judas.”

An olive branch perhaps? It was difficult to know for sure if the last statement was a compliment or not.

“Sorry I interrupted your private séance,” I said, directing my attention to Rachel again, and with more sincerity than the statement implied. “But I do hope you don’t simply fall into these things at a moment’s notice.”

“For your information, Rod receives his visions the same way—from his guides,” she replied, coolly. “I have guides as well, or angels—and even you do, Judas, although I would expect they have one hell of a time getting you to listen to their suggestions to your heart without a struggle.... Would you like to know what I was partially able to determine from my latest vision?”

“Most certainly,” said Roderick, before I had a chance to respond, likely fearing I would succeed in getting her to clam up. “I would dearly like to hear the details.”

“I saw Kaslow and he remains in Jerusalem, looking for something he tortured out of the poor historians,” she said. “My guides tell me that it was one of the few details surrounding the Damascus Coin they agreed upon. But Kaslow needs a distraction in order to break into the building where the document, or something that looks like an encoded map, is stored. That is why he has been hanging out in the older part of town, and we won’t have long to find him since he determined the correct location within the past few hours. He is waiting for the streets to become active enough to create a diversion.”

“What kind of diversion?” I asked, worriedly.

She shook her head. “They couldn’t tell me... but gave me the impression we should go there immediately once the plane lands, which won’t be long now,” she said. “If we can track him to this place, perhaps we can figure out what he is looking for and gain an upper hand... no? Regardless, they also advised he might get spooked and retreat to his lair beyond this dimension if he sees the three of us together, or recognizes your presence. We will need to come up with a plan.”

Getting through security in Israel wasn’t the quickest process, but to Rachel’s credit, her contacts cleared as much of the red tape in advance as possible. We picked up our rental car and were on the road to Jerusalem by seven o’clock. Of course, she insisted on driving and we stopped along the way at a men’s apparel store to pick up a more casual hat for Roderick. Since it usually isn’t my custom to cover my head, I borrowed his fedora and we added mirrored sunglasses for us both, as neither of us cared for the biker-cop look and hoped Kaslow might miss recognizing us at first glance. Then, thinly disguised as we were, the next plan was for me to cover one end of the older section of Jerusalem and for Roderick and Rachel to cover the other. It would be difficult to minimize Roderick’s height, and our hope was Rachel’s ‘American tourist’ presence at his side would be enough to camouflage them as a loving couple on holiday—which, something told me, probably wasn’t too far from the truth in their shared past.

This was my first visit to Jerusalem since Alistair and I visited the holy city in 1993. Even though I was prepared for moments of nostalgia, I was hit harder than expected several times during our drive through the city. And, after we parked our rented Volvo sedan, seeing the old Ottoman walls from the sixteenth century up close brought me back to cherished conversations with my son. The freshness of his comments, spoken as the Georgetown history professor he was back then, resounded in my mind as if it all happened just yesterday.

“We will meet you at the Wailing Wall in an hour,” said Rachel. “Keep an eye on your phone for text messages from us, and we will do the same from you.”

“Be safe,” I told them, disappointed that my grudge against her was beginning to fade. Despite my curt responses to Rachel earlier that morning, and as recently as our flight, I couldn’t hang on to the animosity. The old Judas from centuries past wouldn’t have had any such qualms.

I watched the pair begin their trek to the eastern sections—which contained the Jewish and Muslim Quarters—and then I headed for the western sections. Both of my assigned areas were Christian in orientation: the Christian Quarter in the Northwest and the Armenian Quarter below it. I confess to lobbying for the western side of the ‘Old City’, since my hunch was that I might find something of note—either Kaslow snooping around or the mysterious building mentioned by Rachel—near the Damascus Gate in the Christian Quarter or the Yafo Gate and Zion Gate in the Armenian Quarter.

It was nearing eight-thirty when we began our separate searches for the elusive Russian, and I soon silently chided myself upon realizing I would have to eventually backtrack to meet Roderick and Rachel, since the Wailing Wall was in the Jewish and Muslim Quarters. It made me wonder if Rachel had picked up something about Kaslow being in that area instead of where I planned to look and silently tricked me into the wrong choice. By then, I determined the coin wouldn’t be the bait, as I didn’t feel the slightest tremor in my being. In fact, I reaffirmed this status several times while wading through the steady influx of other people. Tourists and locals alike became a throng to the various shops. Remembering how Alistair enjoyed watching people, I smiled at his remarks about the myriad of cultural perspectives and various races being part of an incredible melting pot in Jerusalem that would easily rival any other place in the world.

“I do admire your resourcefulness, William,” said a familiar voice as I stepped past a winding alleyway. I froze and whipped my head around to see Viktor Kaslow casually leaning against an ancient stone wall, a black-booted heel raised up against the wall while he smoked a cigarette. Like me, he wore mirrored sunglasses, and I hated them even more. The rest of his dark attire blended with the modern gothic look of the city’s headstrong youth. Obviously, he wasn’t worried about blending in. “While I expected you to eventually figure out I was here, I thought it would be somewhat later than now.... If I were you, I would be sure to thank the latest lady in your life for her venerable intuitions.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?” I hissed.

He was close enough for me to rush and attack him, although doubtless he would be armed with a gun or knife. Seeing that he again carried the stature and presence I recognized from his mortal days, I fantasized ripping his smirk from his face; or better yet, tearing out his Godless heart and lifting it up to his dying eyes to behold.