Destiny of Coins (13 page)

“The coin is calling you,” he advised, pausing to scan the room. “It is calling from the place it has rested in relative peace for so many eons…. You hear the shimmer—I’m certain of it. I hear it, too.”

He was right—I could hear it, and the shrill pitch was getting louder. But as I looked around me, it certainly appeared no one else heard it…they were all smiling, laughing—acting as if they hadn’t a solitary care in the world. Francisco’s expression made him look as if he was on the verge of a severe migraine, despite his compassionate smile.

“I’ll show you where it is tomorrow, if you would like to see it—or take it with you,” he said. “It’s your coin. But… keep in mind there is a reason why Viktor Kaslow wants it. I sense this fiend’s intelligence continues to grow with his increased penchant for wickedness. According to Moroni, the vibrations and other unique qualities of this coin could bring about catastrophic events unlike anything the earth has ever seen, if it’s harnessed to today’s technology. The ‘Singing Coin’ is relatively safe here inside the castle. Unless Kaslow or anyone else knows its exact location, they will never recover it. Yet, if you take it with you….”

He didn’t finish. Nor did he need to spell it out further. If I took it with me, the coin would no longer be protected from someone like Kaslow, or anyone else who could ‘hear’ it. I dearly wanted to finish collecting my coins, but it was no longer the desperate search and rescue mission, where I had raced against time taking my beloved Beatrice and Alistair from me. Bringing something so volatile into the outside world would likely mean terrible danger to others—especially those I cared about most.

Maybe my soul has always known this…maybe it’s the main reason I wanted to save the damned thing for last in the first place!

Francisco gently patted my wrist again.

“You don’t have to make a decision tonight,” he said. “There is still time to weigh the pros and cons.”

“I guess….”

“Listen to the ‘still small voice’ in the very core of your being, Judas. Wait for its answer, and when it comes, tell us.”

“How long do I have?”

“I believe you know the answer to that question.”

True. That part I did know.

I could take as long as I needed…provided Kaslow didn’t show up first.

Chapter 11

I retired early that night, shortly after Francisco and Rafael finished giving us a fairly extensive tour of the castle’s main floor. At least I hung out long enough to catch the first truly impressed expression upon Cedric’s face.

It happened in a place Rafael referred to affectionately as the ‘castle icebox’. Much cooler there than anywhere else in the castle, the immense room has never been updated beyond glass display cases containing a variety of priceless artifacts. The only way to see anything is with either lighted torches or flashlights. Not surprisingly, our hosts seem to prefer the former.

I experienced several moments of nostalgia when seeing items once on display in Jerusalem’s temple, along with twenty-three scrolls from the Talmud and other rare ancient texts kept behind protective glass. But it wasn’t these things that impressed Cedric, or such items as a Zorastrian idol and a trumpet from King Solomon’s legendary temple—both made from solid gold. Ironically, it turned out to be the very subject he had made fun of earlier.

Angels.

But not the living heavenly beings he had hoped to encounter, as mentioned at dinner. Even so, the pair of golden giants that suddenly loomed above him in the glow from Francisco’s torch startled him. Not enough to elicit a yelp, but he instinctively jumped back, bumping into Amy.

I believe it was the incredible realism on display that affected him so. Francisco seemed especially delighted at Cedric’s reaction, and proudly pointed out that the pair of angels were created by unknown ancient artisans—one Hebrew and the other Aymara. The Hebrew angel had once graced King David’s bedchamber, while the other angel came to the Essenes’ castle from deep within the Amazon jungle.

Both angels held their arms out before them, as if carrying mysterious objects presently invisible to their audience. Despite the different artistic orientations, the statues carried a magisterial aura that proved to be a fitting finale for our icebox tour.

“So, where is the Singing Coin kept?” asked Alistair, as we returned to the reception area.

Although the Andean spring was in early bloom, we found two silver trays loaded with cups filled with hot cider and a decanter filled with brandy waiting for us near the fireplace. A medium blaze seemed to be the perfect remedy for the chill that stayed with us from the relic vault where we had just spent the past hour. There was also a box of cigars Rafael advised had been dipped in the same fine brandy.

“For now, that location is a secret,” Francisco advised, motioning for us to all help ourselves to the refreshments. “When the time is right, your father will be made aware of its location.”

My son nodded politely. He is such an easy read most times, and he shot me an imploring look to push the issue. But as I’ve mentioned before in this chronicle, I truly was in no hurry to recover this particular coin. And, at the moment its call had quieted, with only a slight ring. I assumed only Francisco, Roderick, and I could hear it. 

I grabbed a cup of cider and a couple of cigars, and told Francisco I was ready to turn in for the night.

“So soon, William?”

Cedric helped himself to a cigar as he said this, and held me in his gaze as Rafael lit it for him. I waved off the Essene’s offer to light mine, as well.

“I’m bushed,” I told him, and shrugged when Amy and Alistair shot me the same disappointed look…a great snapshot of how their once awkward attraction to each other had become a truly symbiotic relationship. My widening smile was actually inspired by the hope Beatrice’s and my rekindled connection might soon be similar. “Considering what’s on the horizon from our Russian menace, I think I’ll take advantage of a good night’s sleep.”

Roderick nodded to me, surely wondering why I’d say such a thing when I sleep three to four hours a night at most as it is. Tampara watched me leave with the same indifference he had shown throughout the evening. Even though his stature and bronze skin set him apart from most native people, I found it remarkable how calmness seemed to be a hallmark of such folks—regardless of the continent, or in this case, dimension in which they lived.

Francisco, sent a young boy named Petra to show me to my room, which was on the fourth floor, where I had recently learned all of us would be staying during our visit. After walking up to the fourth floor veranda, he led me to a corner room at the end of the long open hall. As Francisco had advised earlier, the doorway to my room was enormous.

It took a moment for Petra to manage the pole and its hook to manipulate the gold ring located several feet above my head. If he hadn’t accepted my help to reach the ring, it might’ve taken a lot longer to gain entrance. Once inside, he stoked the low-burning coals in the fireplace to ward off the room’s coolness. We were beyond the reach of the castle’s furnace system, but at least there was electricity, and no need for candles or torches.

The large bed looked comfortable, and the adjacent bathroom was surprisingly opulent. Granite walls surrounding a waterfall shower were polished to a high gloss and in stark contrast to the stone’s original roughness I had seen elsewhere in the castle.

“Will you need anything else, Senor?” asked Petra,
prepared to leave the room.

“Do you suppose Francisco would prefer I smoke these out on the balcony?” I asked, showing him the pair of stogies in my hand, and anticipating the most likely response I’d get from a kid. “Or, is it okay to smoke inside?”

There were no smoke detectors to worry about, and perhaps the disaster least likely to destroy the solid-stone castle was a fire. Still, Petra eyed me shyly while his face flushed from embarrassment. He shook his head doubtfully, in obvious acknowledgement that no one had ever presented such a question to him before.

“It’s okay. Really it is,” I told him, offering a warm smile that he regarded suspiciously.
“Ir en paz.”
 

Petra’s face lit up as I urged him to go in peace. Although we hadn’t had time to change my US currency to Boliviano, he smiled at the twenty-dollar bill I handed to him.

“Gracias, Senor!”

I watched him run toward the stairs at the other end of the open hallway, and then I peeked down below at everyone still gathered downstairs. I heard my son’s and Cedric’s laughter, which brought me comfort. No one missed my presence.

According to my watch, it was nearing nine o’clock Bolivian time. After I closed the door behind me—marveling again at the sheer enormity of it, I opened the much smaller windowed door to my room’s balcony and stepped out into the crisp night air. The glacier’s chill no longer competed with the sun’s warmth, which only afforded me a few minutes to enjoy my first cigar.

The brandy’s presence was just strong enough to add a slight kick, and I enjoyed my moonlit solitude as I looked out into the Andean wilderness before me. I thought about my previous trips to Bolivia, which weren’t many in comparison to the majority of locales I’ve frequented these past two thousand years. And, I thought about Beatrice—my soul’s one true love. How I missed her, and pined for her presence… especially when the image of a very angry Viktor Kaslow pushed her aside in my mind’s eye.

My archenemy was on his way here. The castle’s cloaking device, which Roderick had mentioned and Francisco later confirmed to me as we left the relic room, sounded promising. But I doubted very seriously that our modern devotees to Elohom had ever encountered anything, or anyone, like Kaslow.

“But they will understand what you’re all about soon, won’t they?” I whispered, wearily. “A storm from hell was coming.... May Elohim be with us.”

* * *

I didn’t expect to sleep much at all after I laid down to rest. I’m not even sure when it was I drifted off that night, as most nights if I do sleep a few hours, my mind completely shuts down. At least my awareness does. Although, the slightest creak of a floor will awaken me immediately—an occupational hazard, fed by many years of covert work for a litany of empires and governments.

But no such creaking floors have ever existed in this ancient castle of granite. And, whereas I normally don’t recall my dreams lucidly, that night proved to be a double exception.

In my first dream, I was walking along the veranda toward the stairs. Unlike earlier that evening, the castle lay dormant. All my companions, including our Essene hosts, had retired for the night. The reception area below lay empty, and was dimly lit by security lamps.

But where the stairs had been earlier was an immense hole in the castle wall, and on the other side of this gaping wound was a brilliant light. The light’s rays poured into the castle, and I couldn’t stop myself from picking up my pace as I moved toward this light.

I should’ve known better. I should’ve tried to wake myself…at least that was the thought trying to catch up with my spirit as I ran into the garden. A garden I was quite familiar with in life, memory, and previous nocturnal visits.

Olive blossoms drifted down from ancient trees in full bloom, and the fragrance of lilies, poppies, crown daisies, and geraniums filled the air around me. Certainly other flowers were present as well, but the ones I mentioned are those overwhelming my senses.

I was in Gethsemane once more.

In Gethsemane and irresistibly drawn to a familiar stone bench from long ago. A robed figure sat there, enveloped in the amazing light emanating in every direction. Not an angel, but once a man…it was Him.

Jesus smiled as I approached, calling me by name and motioning for me to join him. I felt such joy at our reunion, though I remained fully aware of my heavy burden of guilt, hanging like a dark storm cloud above the ethereal glow of His presence.

“Judas…come near,” He said, lightly patting the other side of the bench for me to sit down. His azure eyes were nearly on fire in their unearthly splendor, more captivating than any I had ever seen—angel or man, mortal or cursed to walk the earth for eternity. It was as if the very energy force that created the entire universe resided in those eyes…and the way He studied me was beyond unsettling. Yet, I couldn’t look away. I sat down, held in this gaze while He gently touched my shoulder. “Do you know why I have come?”

“No.”

My answer felt honest—completely so. He chuckled warmly in response, subtly shaking his head.

“Are you certain?”

Truthfully, yes, I felt certain I had no idea—at least in the sense of my logical understanding. The guilt from the cloud casting its shadow seemed to be steadily increasing. My spirit was being crushed, or so it felt.

“Tell me Judas…. Are you finally ready to make the ultimate sacrifice?”

“What sacrifice is that, my Lord?”

My mouth went dry. The dream was feeling more and more real as my physical discomfort escalated.

“Would you lay down your life when called upon to do so?” He said, His expression turning serious. As Jesus would often do in life, He lightly stroked his bearded chin as He regarded me. “Would you protect your brothers and sisters, as I have protected you?”