Victory of Coins (The Judas Chronicles, #7) (23 page)

“Damascus,” he finished for me.

“Yes, so it seems.”

He grew quiet for much of the next hour, and feeling his peacefulness across the room allowed me to drift off...

“Rod?”

“Yes, Judas,” I said, painfully jolted from what looked to be a promising dream featuring my childhood home in what is now Ireland.

“Sorry to wake you... I will be quick.”

“It’s all right.”

“I dreamt of Beatrice... last night, while we were waiting on the plane for the Customs team in Istanbul,” he said. “She was sitting in a boat on some gloriously beautiful lake. Her smile was so loving and peaceful, and she motioned for me to come to her.... Am I boring you?”

“Not yet,” I told him, to which we both shared a quiet laugh.

“You sure?”

“Yes, please go on.”

“I joined her in the boat, though I’m not sure how I got there,” he said. “She told me how she missed me, and that it won’t be long.... She wouldn’t explain what she meant, and since I didn’t want the experience to suddenly end—like such things are wont to do when logic begins to rule the dream scene sequence, I let the matter go.... I had never been happier in her presence, despite the fact it was just a dream.”

“And you fear it might not repeat for ages to come?”

“Yes... that’s how it’s been for both of us, as you know.”

No need to be reminded, since the last time I had experienced that sweet nocturnal communion with my beloved wife, Claudia, was when the Ottoman Empire still held sway throughout this region of the world.

“Do you think it has anything to do with my last coin?”

“Maybe.” True, it could mean something, since a growing dread in the pit of my stomach told me the events of the next day or so would have a profound affect on all of us. Judas has often mentioned my guides, as he likes to call them. ‘Spiritual mentors’ was the term I grew up with, as an understudy to a druid priest. These advisors have repeatedly warned me about a major change coming to my world, and I had feared it dealt with Viktor Kaslow. Yet the feeling has remained after his demise, and intensified tenfold since crossing the Syrian border. “Let’s see where the coin’s call leads us.”

Perhaps he realized I could use a few hours’ rest. Regardless, Judas remained silent until the sun’s rays peered into our room through the lone window’s curtains. From the moment we arose until we had finished breakfast and were back on the road, he spoke little of our mission—only occasionally advising of the coin’s pull. He never again broached the subject of our midnight conversation.

“Well... so far so good. Our heads are still attached to our shoulders, and I’ve counted only a handful of potential ISIS scouts along the road,” Cedric advised. He shared the back seat in the GMC with me that we had hijacked from Turkey. We were never granted the legal right to drive it into Syria, despite the border patrol looking over the paperwork in the glove box. “You feelin’ the pulse still, William?”

“It’s stronger than ever,” Judas replied. He had commandeered the front seat that Sunday morning, stating he wanted to have the clearest view of the road ahead—just in case the direction of the pull changed. Rachel continued to serve as our driver, and he promised to let her know of any sudden shifts in the direction the steady pulse emanated from. “I don’t think either Hama or Homs are involved. I’m more certain than ever that the call is coming from inside Damascus.”

“Do you have a more specific idea than simply it’s somewhere
inside
Damascus?” asked Cedric. By then, we had already passed Idleb and were approaching Hama. From there it would be roughly three hours to reach the outskirts of Damascus.

“As I mentioned before, I think it could be the older part of the city,” said Judas. “To save time and not linger too long in the more dangerous hot spots, I suggest we continue on through without stopping unnecessarily. We have enough fuel, and if I’m wrong about all of this, we can lament about it over lunch and some strong wine in the newer part of town.”

“The safer part of town, you mean,” said Rachel.

“Why, of course,” he confirmed. “It will be my treat for dragging everyone’s asses down here.” He laughed sadly, and I could tell this alternate possibility terrified him. I feared for his mental state if this turned into some elaborate false alarm.

“But you could very well be right this time,” I said, not immediately realizing I carried the solemnity of a funeral director in my tone.

“It depends,” he said, and wouldn’t expound on what he meant.

I worried that his spirit understood much more about what lay ahead than any of us accompanying him could discern—unseen guides for Rachel and myself included. The mood remained solemn, and I expected it to continue as we drove through Hama, Homs, and a host of small towns on the main thoroughfare to the oldest major city in the entire region. Fortunately, Cedric surprised everyone by poking fun at Rachel and Judas, sharing some of their amusing blunders as CIA agents. Since the pair had never worked together, they found the foibles involving each other quite humorous, and it turned into a great way to pass the time—especially when they effectively turned the tables on Cedric, who had served as their field boss at various times during the past thirty years.

Finally we reached Damascus.

As if the coin named for it understood we were now in close proximity, it finally lessened the strain of its pull on Judas. An aspect quite familiar, in truth it made me feel much better about the prospects of collecting coin number thirty that very day. My biggest concern for him now was finding the sections of the city where Jesus and Judas’ brethren had walked, since much had been destroyed and rebuilt over the years. Neither he nor I had ventured inside this city since shortly after the Crusades... much had changed in the past nine hundred years.

“I think I can find it,” said Rachel. “I have toured this part of the world at least once each century since my... well you know.”

“I’ll tell you if the coin’s call lessens or grows stronger,” Judas advised. “Frankly, it’s more important to find the coin than to simply revisit our old haunts.”

I believe he sensed what the rest of us were picking up on, since the older part of town meant a place of greater lawlessness. Certainly, this was to be expected. However, as Rachel with Judas acting as her compass navigated away from the ‘safer’ areas of Damascus, we soon found ourselves in the middle of a slum.

“Great. Just
fucking
great!”

Cedric shook his head in disbelief, as what had always looked like a foolhardy mission had just taken on the tag of deadly as well. Like fire ants coming out to survey and circle a wounded grasshopper, youths dressed in tattered robes with bullet straps around their waists and over their shoulders approached the Jeep. Several of them carried automatic weapons in their hands.

“Keep driving!” Judas urged. “It’s not far!”

“Are you fucking insane?” Rachel glared at him in similar disbelief to Cedric’s.

“You know it’s here.... and I can’t explain how I also know we’ll be okay, but we will—”

The first volley of bullets tore through the GMC’s roof. From then on it was Rachel’s instincts and Judas pointing emphatically in directions based on an invisible map inside his head. The vehicle raced through the streets, nearly losing control after several hairpin turns. More bullets pelted the back of the Yukon and I believe we all worried about being blown up if a shot pierced the fuel tank.

Rachel and Judas continued their joined efforts to gain a lead over the gang of youths pursuing us earnestly on foot, and at his urging she pulled into an alley. He directed her to immediately pull into another alley from that one, to our right, and then she slammed on the brakes.

I’d be lying if I didn’t confess to being greatly alarmed by our predicament.

“Are you trying to get us killed?!”
she shrieked at him. “I doubt any of us could survive several hundred rounds per minute... Hey! ...
Where the hell do you think you’re going now?!”

Perhaps he suddenly realized how badly he had endangered us and thought for some absurd reason we would be okay waiting for his return to our present hideout, which for the moment sat deserted. Whatever the reason, he dashed out of the car, leaving the door open as he took off running. Sprinting down the alley we had just vacated, he headed deeper into the slums and away from the maddening crowd that would soon pursue him....

Or, so I assumed.

But no one came. Other than a few more rapid-fire blasts echoing in the distance, none of the hostile youths pursued him.

Following my instincts—the protective ones that had always prompted me to keep an eye on Judas, as if he were my cherished older brother in the flesh—I jumped out of the vehicle and ran after him. Two car doors slamming shut behind me confirmed that Rachel and Cedric intended to also come along. But I didn’t look back, and other than a cursory glance toward where a mob should be gathered to my left, I picked up my pace. The alley behind me remained empty, as I turned right, following the direction I had last seen Judas running toward. He was a quarter mile ahead of me, and suddenly disappeared into another alleyway or street to our left.

“Come on—follow me!” I urged the others. Not waiting for them to catch up, I sprinted to the spot where I had last caught a glimpse of him, and then scurried down a curved stone stairway.

Not far from the base of the stairs was an outdoor bazaar, consisting of several small tables and a rack of dated clothing that looked like it came from the 1970s. At the moment, the street sat deserted, and the windows above the tall brick walls were shuttered closed. A portly and short bearded man with shoulder-length dark hair and dark sunglasses stood watching us. He wore a weathered Los Angeles Dodgers baseball cap from yesteryear, and together with his multi-colored robe and leather sandals it made him look like one of the Haight-Ashbury hippies mentioned earlier by Rachel, when describing her beloved sister’s carefree spirit.

Judas stood before this man, pointing a trembling hand at a woven basket that for the moment was covered. Rachel gasped from behind me, obviously seeing the same thing I noticed.

A luminescent blue light emanated from inside the basket. We hurried over to where Judas stood, across from the local merchant who looked like a displaced hippie.

The smell of cinnamon barely covering terrible body odor wafted to us from the merchant, and the three of us soon shared a sour look that contrasted sharply with the peaceful smile on Judas’ face as he turned to regard us.

“This merchant speaks broken English and has offered to sell me what’s inside the basket for four hundred American dollars!” he said excitedly. “Can any of you spare sixty bucks? I have enough on me to cover the rest, and the guy doesn’t take credit cards.”

“Ya think?” said Cedric, wryly, in regard to the vagabond who seemed to carry nothing of value other than what we hoped was inside the basket. The man cocked his head to study us, offering a near-toothless smile. “I’ve got twenty. This had better be worth it, man.”

“We might be in a spot trying to get back to Aleppo, but I’ve got about thirty in my pocket,” said Rachel.

I covered the rest. Rachel and I surely anticipated the same thing as Judas, who eyed the glowing basket like it contained the Holy Grail. Hopefully for him, it truly did.

Judas held up the cash to the merchant, who snatched it out of his hand, counting it all and offering a bigger smile once confirmed it was enough.  He encouraged Judas to step up to the table and view his purchase.

I believe all three of us—Rachel, Cedric, and me—held our breath in anticipation of what was about to happen... the procurement of the final coin once paid for the most famous betrayal the world had ever known. If the gang of young Damascus thugs were to find us at that moment, none of us would’ve noticed... at least not while Judas cautiously lifted the lid from the basket, peering inside as if the coin he sought were a slippery critter that might escape its prison and scurry away. The blue glow intensified, and for a moment his smile was the sweetest I had ever witnessed from him outside of the adoring looks he would often cast to Alistair, and later Beatrice. But then his face fell....

“What’s wrong?” I ran over to his side, and as he staggered away from the basket I threw off the lid to look inside.

“Holy shit!” gasped Rachel, as she and Cedric joined me.

Inside the basket were several hundred silver shekels, and all were identical to the twenty-nine coins hidden inside a highly secured vault in the underground fortress at my Abingdon estate. But that was not the worst aspect of this most unpleasant surprise. Each and every one of the coins was glowing... blue!

“It’s all for naught!”
cried Judas, after collapsing on the stone walkway, pounding his fists against the unforgiving limestone surface. “Every... everything I have worked so hard for is nothing but a
fucking fraud!”

“There must be some mistake,” I tried to assure him, kneeling beside him and wanting to gather my dear friend into my arms to console him—if only I knew he would allow it, which I was certain he wouldn’t. Not yet. “There must be some logical explanation, my brother—it can’t be—”

“The hell you say, Rod!”
He gritted his teeth to try to contain a level of grief I had only known once, though emotional trauma is a unique experience for each of us as individuals. “I
can’t
... I just can’t do this
anymore!”

Rachel joined him in weeping, as did Cedric. I was destined to follow, as my heart broke for him. But the merchant, who I had assumed would be observing us with a sardonic smile, stepped over to Judas and motioned for him to stand up. I looked into the face of this man, searching for clues as to whether I should allow him to continue the charade of goodwill or move to break his neck. His expression seemed as if it were one of compassion, or so I assumed. The eyes are the windows to the human soul, and a cheap pair of Foster-Grants hid his from view.

“Come,” he said. “Come with me... I believe I might have something more valuable than what you have sought.”