Treasure of the Deep (9 page)

Reign of Coins

The Judas Chronicles

by Aiden James

(read on to sample)

Chapter One

As I’m sure that most of you can imagine, I enjoyed a restless night, with almost no sleep. Not that the lack of sleep is normally an issue for me, as often I can go days on end without an extended rest period. But, whenever alcohol is involved, I actually do get tired enough to close my eyes for a ‘power nap’. Often, I get some great inspiration that way.

Not that night. At least not right away….

Instead, all of the possible mishaps related to my blown cover flitted before my mind’s eye as I lay in my bed, listening to Alistair’s light snores from his bedroom in our suite. It may sound strange, but I have always drawn comfort from his snoring, as I also did long ago from Beatrice. It’s as if a part of me is ever fearful that they could die at any moment, and a terror far greater than a violent death in my presence would be to find either one cold and lifeless in their beds the next morning.

I tried to think about positive things, like the fact Alistair and I could now spend more leisure time together. Not long after he left his post at Georgetown, I decided to leave the Smithsonian. Granted, my coin research efforts would be impacted by the lack of field notes and artifacts to which only an archivist (or someone higher in the Institute) would have access. But, knowing my days of prowling in the bowels of the famed museum were numbered, this past February I began diligently transferring files from the archives to a small zip drive I carried with me. Once I figured out how to skirt around the Institute’s security clearances, I carefully focused my efforts on gathering all pertinent information regarding the last thirteen potential hot spots for where my final eight coins likely lay hidden.

Of course, since we were presently in one of these places, my mood quickly spiraled down into despair. Looking for the coin that I was certain had traveled down through time and into the Cheung family’s possession was like searching for a needle in a haystack. I was clueless as to where to look next, now that the famed Cheung coin collection carried only untainted shekels.

Making matters worse was the intrusion into my personal mental space of Kaslow’s smug grin. My mind had drifted back to Caracas again…. I pictured him clearly as he watched me from less than fifty feet away. I had just finished replacing duplicate documents for the ones I lifted from a Belarus diplomat’s apartment in the city’s outskirts, and had stepped outside the building. While it isn’t unusual for those working covertly for their governments to sometimes catch a glimpse of one another in the field, it is very unusual to engage someone directly. Not unless it is with the intent to capture, interrogate, and dispose of such a person.

Even from a safe distance, I could see a contemptuous leer upon his face—like he not only was letting me know that he knew what I had been up to inside the apartment, but that he intended to obliterate my efforts with glee. That recognition saved my existence as William Barrow, since I didn’t immediately see the rocket launcher Kaslow carried. But I sensed it. Sensed it lucidly in my mind’s eye, and quickly determined where I needed to dive for cover.

In my Royal Garden bed, I now watched myself turning my head in horror toward the explosion behind me, as all five units in the 1920s building were destroyed. Several innocent people died, and I heard the screams of a woman and her child…and could do nothing for them. But innocent people always die when Viktor Kaslow is around. When I looked again to where he had stood, he’d already left the area, and the sound of a sedan speeding away was the only evidence he left behind.

Unfortunately for me, my mind will forever carry the image of the late morning sunshine and raindrops from an earlier downpour dripping from the leaves of cecropia trees and a large palm near the building’s burning remains. That image, and of course, Kaslow’s youthful mug leering at me.

Kaslow’s presence in my world had changed everything, as I’ve mentioned before. While staring into the darkness above my bed, I considered how easy life could be if Beatrice, Alistair, and I lived someplace else—maybe on a deserted island in the South Pacific. Of course, the reality that my beloved wife and son couldn’t manage without modern comforts nixed that fantasy in its infancy.

What about someplace that came with modern comforts and utilities? A place that was far, far away from America and hopefully out of reach from Kaslow’s homicidal radar.

Australia? The Philippines, maybe? Or…New Zealand?

New Zealand sounded intriguing, and I had visited both islands on a regular basis back in the early 1900s. This wonderful country offered nearly every climate and terrain I loved, and the people were strong and kind to strangers. I started making the arrangements to relocate my family to this wonderful country in my mind. I even added special accommodations in my fantasy world for Larissa Jones to come along as Beatrice’s private nurse and companion.

But, what about Alistair and his girl, Amy Golden Eagle—who would probably not go anywhere without her brother, Jeremy? That made five people and counting….

It was while thinking about this shit that I somehow drifted off to sleep. Normally, when I do rest in this manner, my consciousness moves through a narrow corridor where I am completely surrounded by thick darkness. The corridor seems endless, and along both sides of the corridor I sense souls of the dead…watching me, and speaking in whispers too faint to decipher.

Of course, none of this is likely real—I don’t see dead people. But…it does mark the place where my dreams start. Like everyone else on the planet, I nearly always dream when I sleep. That night was no exception. Most of the time my dreams are peaceful—despite the heavy burden of guilt I have carried since my ultimate betrayal of Jesus Christ in Jerusalem two millennia ago.

I am, however, occasionally visited by nightmares. That night, I thought such an event was happening. Loud explosions erupted all around me, and clouds of falling soil fell upon my head. I soon determined that I was crouching inside some sort of cave room that was approximately fifty feet wide, but less than five feet in height. It was quite dim, with the only illumination coming from a hole in the center of the room. Through this entrance, an assembly line of Chinese men dressed in silk changpaos moved up and down a pair of thatched wooden ladders while carrying small steamer chests into the cave from above. The jingle of metal on metal and small stones when each chest was stacked along a rear wall in the room made it obvious to me that items of incredible value were being transported there.

The explosions would come and go, with the men ducking in panic and peering anxiously up toward the lighted opening. One of the men suddenly called anxiously to the others from above the entrance, and then machine gun fire sprayed into the hole, sending the bullet-riddled body of the man tumbling down upon his terrified companions. They all scurried away into the cavern’s shadows, carrying what they could.

Roughly a dozen more men descended into the cave, and these were attired differently than the first group. I recognized the black boots and dark blue pants from what the Japanese infantry wore during World War II. But, I had never been this close to them—even when I enlisted with the U.S. armed forces in the Pacific. These soldiers were no more than eight feet away from where I was crouched.

As the soldiers crept into the cave, they fired shots in every direction. Death screams from direct hits accompanied the flashes of bright light from each expended round. Even so, I heard the sound of survivors moving deeper into the cave, as if the subterranean shadows would save them. Perhaps such a tactic worked for some, since the soldiers seemed reluctant to venture after them, and instead fired multiple rounds from their automatic weapons in every direction again. Of course, none of the shots hit me, since I was a mere voyeur in spirit.

A lantern that had been turned down exploded when a bullet hit it, in one corner of the cave room, roughly thirty feet away to my right. Suddenly, that entire section of the room was brightly illuminated from fire as the lantern’s fuel landed on several larger chests that immediately ignited. Nearly a dozen similar chests were stacked against a wall behind these other chests. One of the Chinese men moved over to them, where the nearest chest was propped open slightly. I caught a glimpse of a metal armor vest in the firelight, along with something faint…but glowing blue.

Holy shit, it’s my coin!

I tried to get closer to it, as the Japanese infantrymen opened fire on the defenseless man. Like so many nocturnal travels, I couldn’t move quickly. Meanwhile, the man tried desperately to close the lid to the chest, as if it were direly important to do so. He did manage to pull it mostly shut, and then he slid down the side of the chest, slumping dead from a bullet that pierced his heart from behind.

I tried to get close enough to verify that the coin bore the eagle and Caesar’s profile. But, it was as if an invisible force prevented me from drawing any nearer to the chest. All at once, the world around me grew dark and I was pulled back into my hotel room. I cursed silently at the lost opportunity to mentally take notes on the cave’s physical details and the chest’s other glowing contents. Contents that were apparently important enough for the Chinese man to sacrifice his life to protect.

The dream might’ve been some sort of prophetic gift from one of The Almighty’s merciful angels. It’s happened to me before. But, where in the hell was the place I saw? It definitely was a cave, and it had to be somewhere in southern China. Someplace where the Chinese people had tried to hide their treasured possessions before the Japanese army could pillage the region. I had read accounts of what happened during the Battle of Hong Kong, which was the Japanese invasion that came within hours after the bombing of Pearl Harbor.

Think, William…where is this place?

The vision’s images that seemed completely real had already begun to fade. I fought to hang on to the textures that embraced my senses. Things like the earthen smell, the panicked voices of the men about to die, and other sounds besides gunshots and explosions.

I had heard gulls screeching nearby and the crash of water.

The frigging thing must be buried in one of the islands here!!

It was either in a cave within Hong Kong proper itself, or on one of the surrounding islands. In some ways, this was almost as bad as the prospect of my coin being buried under the city’s sprawling skyline. Either way, I had no idea on where to begin looking. And, what if the Japanese had plundered the cave in my vision, once the gunfire cleared and the bodies quit moving?

For a moment my blood ran cold. But, then the part of me that clings to divine inspiration told my heart the soldiers I saw hadn’t taken my coin. My heart told me that for whatever reason the cave was left alone and my coin waited for me to come claim it. My left hand began to tremble, and I knew in that instant that I would find my prize—beyond any doubt. Provided, of course, that Viktor Kaslow didn’t take me out of the present lifetime first.

I now had renewed inspiration to remain in Hong Kong. Alistair would be so pleased…and Roderick, not so much.

Reign of Coins

is available at:

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About the Authors:

J.R. Rain
is an ex-private investigator who now writes full-time in the Pacific Northwest. He lives in a small house on a small island with his small dog, Sadie, who has more energy than Robin Williams. Please visit him at
www.jrrain.com
.

Aiden James
has spent time as a real life paranormal investigator in Tennessee. In love with the legends and history of the Deep South, he and his wife, Fiona, share an old antebellum home with a spoiled terrier named Gypsy. Please visit his website at:
www.aidenjamesfiction.com
.