Plague of Coins (The Judas Chronicles #1) (5 page)

“So...it’s all free enterprise shit that you’re worried about, correct? And, as easy as it is to gather that kind of information, why do you need anyone to risk life and limb for it?”

Really, I’d be willing to take a moment to check out this Stanislav guy on my own. I’m always curious about the silly projects in which the rich and powerful immerse themselves. Even if it were just for a day while Alistair and I were in Iran, I’d love to see what kind of equipment and crews had been brought to the Alborz.

“There is one other thing...and it’s pretty weird,” Mike confided. He lowered his voice as if this wasn’t something intended for Teddy the ugly-toothed driver’s ears. “In all likelihood, Petr Stanislav is simply procuring minerals to further his wealth—something we’re not happy with but it’s definitely legal. But, several sources have confirmed another possible motive.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

Here’s where I expected to hear about high-tech weaponry or mineral hording.

“He’s searching for the Garden of Eden—literally.”

The somber look on his face made me want to burst out laughing. Absurd notion, and a tough deal to swallow...and I did snicker slightly.

“I’m serious,” he said, indignantly. Just like that, the twinkling light in his brown eyes fizzled and faded. “Stanislav apparently thinks it’s hidden inside one of the mountains.”

“Inside a mountain? That’s a new one…. But even if that were true, he’s in the wrong country. The Tigris and Euphrates rivers are in Iraq.”

“Yes, they are.” Mike’s tone iced a little after my stating the obvious. “Apparently Stanislav has obtained an ancient Tibetan text that mimics the older books of the Hebrew Talmud...except the rivers are different. According to our sources in St Petersburg, he has determined through painstaking translations that the actual rivers to the eternal garden have changed location and flow paths over the millennia. The rivers as they are known today are the southern thrust of the Volga River from the north; the Amu Darva, or Oxus, from the east; and the Kura River from the west.”

“Don’t they all empty into the Caspian Sea?” I couldn’t contain my second derisive snicker.

“Yes, they do,” said Mike, whose irritated look announced he was no longer in the mood for my jokes that evening. “This means, of course, that a ‘Garden of Eden’ or
any
other kind of garden couldn’t exist, since it would be submerged under water. And we know the Caspian Sea was formed more than five million years ago. Thus, at first glance it seems completely unlikely the inscribed papyri obtained by Stanislav is accurate.”

“So it seems,” I agreed, hoping that a confirmation of his point would lessen the ire directed at me. “What’s the connection between this and digging in the mountains?”

“It’s inferred from other details mentioned within the Tibetan legend.” Mike’s eyes were aglow again, and his expression was almost Cheshire in its knowingness. “Although not specific, the garden’s location is somewhere between the Black Sea and the Aral Sea. Both seas are referred to by different names. Along with a reference to a ‘great body of water’ that marks the eastern boundary of the sacred garden, Stanislav narrowed down an area of one hundred square kilometers.”

“That still puts him no closer to his quest than where we’re sitting right now from the Jersey Turnpike,” I said. Probably should’ve held off on that one...especially since mean Teddy and irritable Mikey glared in unison this time. “Okay, so there’s still more than what meets the eye, right?”

“Yes,” said Mike, tersely. He again motioned for his driver to turn around and mind his own business. “As luck would have it, another ancient document—this one Persian—asserts a location somewhere in the Alborz, just south of the Mazandaran Sea, which is one of the oldest names for—”

“The Caspian Sea or
Gilan
,” I interrupted him, unable to resist a good old fashioned pissing contest by stating another ancient name for the Caspian. It might seem childish and rude, but I had to chill him out before he went on a tangent and turned this into one of his patented lectures. By my estimation I just saved myself a five-minute speech about some needless bullshit. “It still doesn’t explain how the damned place ended up inside a mountain.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

The frown Mike wore confirmed his deepening displeasure with me and my cavalier mouth. Yet, his expression also held the promise I’d soon be set free. Free to commiserate with my son about how our treasure hunting vacation had just been hijacked and transformed into an Iranian wild goose chase.

“Suffice it to say, since you’ve been such good company tonight, the rest of your briefing will take place at a later time...one determined by my choosing,” he said, and then stiffly nodded to his surly chauffeur that it was time to release the door locks so I could exit the sedan.

“I’m leaving first thing Friday and will be retiring early tomorrow evening, to get my beauty rest.” I said this in case he was planning a similar round to this one at some ungodly late hour—he’s done that before.

“Why of course.... I have your itinerary right here.”

I hated his knowing smirk.

Was some surprise still in the works? Or, did my mention of beauty sleep touch his deeply ingrained fear of aging? I should advise here that Mike generally views me as a freak of nature and as somebody with a closely guarded secret health routine to beat the aging process and look perpetually thirty-ish. If only he knew the truth. Getting lots of sleep isn’t part of it, since I rarely require more than a few hours of rest at any one time.

“We are expecting your full cooperation on this, William.” He closed his laptop. “If you play your cards right, I’ll make sure you have enough time to snorkel in the Caspian—or for what other mischief you and Alistair can concoct.”

“I guess we’ll see how it goes,” I said, and then stepped out of the sedan.

I waited to get inside my Acura until the sedan had exited the garage and moved on to whatever next appointment Mike had. Listening closely for anything else, I felt strangely comforted by the deserted parking garage’s silence. I tried to visualize what might lie ahead, and found myself drawn most to what Petr Stanislav and his crazy quest for the Garden of Eden might entail. I decided the man must be crazy, alright...but no worse than some guy searching the world for his lost thirty pieces of silver.

Chapter 5

I didn’t sleep well that night. Especially after I relayed the latest news to my son regarding the assignment we’d been given for our trip to Iran. Not that I ever sleep long as it is...but it was much less than usual.

“You should see if we can cancel our reservations and forego this nonsense!” Alistair told me on the phone. The only good thing was I didn’t interrupt his dinner, decreasing the chance of an acid reflux attack. “It makes a helluva lot more sense to reschedule for the fall break—or even next spring if necessary. No rush for getting school agendas completed on time, and no Russian billionaires to hobnob with in the frigging Alborz Mountains!”

There wasn’t much I could say since they were my exact sentiments, initially. But his irritation greatly exceeded mine, forcing me to pull the phone away from my ear.

“Yes, if given the chance to redo this whole adventure, I would concur with you.” I tried to sound caring while presenting an alternative point of view. “But the ‘
die has been cast’
, so to speak, Ali my boy. We’re going.”

“The hell you say!”

“Yes, the
hell
I say! I’m your father and you’ll just have to trust me that this will work out!” Now I was the one a little ticked off. “I’ll still find a way for us to head north to our destination. I promise!”

“To Al-h—”

“Sh-h-h-h!!”

“What the hell’s the matter now??”

“You damned well know what!” I chided him, although by then I had lowered my voice to a harsh whisper. “I’d rather not give away the rest of our itinerary, if you don’t mind, son!”

Every phone line we’ve ever had has been bugged over the years.

“Bah! Pops, only you’d be so arrogant to think everyone on the planet wants to know what the ‘Great William Barrow’ is up to these days!”

Awkward silence followed, and I wasn’t sure what to say next. Apparently, Alistair faced the same problem.

“I saw Mother today,” he finally announced.

“How is she?” I felt a sudden lump form in my throat.

“Not so good, Pops.” His tone bore profound sadness. I doubt this world has seen devotion for one’s mother any stronger than the love Alistair holds for his mom. “She’s remembering less and less...the nurse told me that she no longer wanders down the hallways at night.” He chuckled sadly.

“I’ll be sure to stop by Good Shepherd tomorrow after I get off from work. I’m planning to read her favorite passage from
Pride and Prejudice
.”

“I don’t know, Pops.” He sniffed. “I’d like to think she’d enjoy your company, but she didn’t seem to know who I was tonight. She might not even believe you’re her long lost grandson this time—probably not even if I came with you and told her that you’re my boy.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine with me, son,” I sought to assure him, my tone soothing and confident. “And if my presence agitates Beatrice in any way, I promise I’ll leave quietly. She won’t even know I’m there, unless it’s a positive experience for her.”

“You swear?”

Another image of my kid as a little boy suddenly filled my mind, and now it was my turn to chuckle, although warmly.

“Yes, I swear. Ali, it’s going to be fine.”

“Well, okay.” He sounded a tad hopeful. “I look forward to our evening chat tomorrow night.”

“Good night, son.”

“’Night, Pops.”

After he hung up, I stared out my living room window at the twinkling D.C. skyline for nearly half an hour. A powerful sense of sadness overwhelmed me as I reflected on all that I had been through in the past century...what it was like before I met Beatrice, and how she changed my life and perpetual existence forever. I pictured her so clearly...when she was a young and beautiful woman with bright green eyes and long flowing strawberry blonde hair, and a smile that easily melted my steeled heart. Back then, my Georgetown professor son was just a young kid pretending to be Buck Rogers out in the backyard of our home in the outskirts of Glasgow.

My wife and kid embodied such joy and happiness, and our lives seemed so complete. I’ll never forget the extreme pain I endured when I left them—how it literally destroyed me inside to do what I had to do. To do what I had done so many times before in the previous nineteen hundred years of my existence.

Sometimes I’m not sure which is worse. Is it the terrible loneliness I’ve become so familiar with over the centuries in my solitude? Or, is it more the inevitable goodbyes when those I cherish finally succumb to old age and death?

Beatrice would be leaving soon. All the more reason to spend as much time as possible by her side.

***

“She’s sleeping, William. Maybe you should come back tomorrow in the daytime.”

Thursday evening after work, and a woman I greatly admire was trying to shoo me away from my wife’s room. Of course, this lady, Nurse Larisa Jones, has no idea to this day that the young man standing before her is not actually Beatrice Barrow’s grandson. I can only imagine the shock this portly middle-aged caregiver would experience if she were to learn I was her favorite patient’s husband instead.

I had no intentions of ever telling her.

“I promise to be quiet,” I said softly, and for good measure flashed the devilish smile I’m known for. “I’ll only be here for a little while. Dad and I are headed overseas early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh? Where would you two be off to now?”

My charm was working. Larisa’s golden brown eyes seemed to glow within her youthful ebony complexion as she chuckled and shook her head.

“You ain’t going to China or Japan this time, are you?”

“No, not this time.” I no longer worried that my wife’s nurse would stop me from entering her private room in the Good Shepherd nursing home. I pushed gently on the door’s latch and quietly opened the door. “We’re heading to Europe.”