Reign of Coins by Aiden James

really.
    I shot my son an endearing look to affirm his take on this conversation, since it seemed pointless to argue further. He seemed quite pleased with himself and the prospect of enjoying some vacation fun in Hong Kong, after all. In the end, however, none of that carried much weight with me. I will always do everything in my power to make sure my progeny remains safe…with or without his cooperation.
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 7
     
     
    As I’m sure most of you can appreciate, I enjoyed a restless night, with almost no sleep. Not that lack of sleep is normally an issue. Often I can go days on end without an extended rest period. But, whenever alcohol is involved, I actually get tired enough to close my eyes for a ‘power nap’. Sometimes, great inspiration comes to me that way.
    Not that night. At least not right away….
    All 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’ve always drawn comfort from his snoring, as I also did long ago from Beatrice. It’s as if part of me is ever fearful 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 had spent centuries in the Cheung family’s possession was like searching for a needle in a haystack. I had no idea where to look next.
    Making matters worse was the intrusion into my personal mental space of Kaslow’s smug grin. My mind drifted back to Caracas again…. I pictured him clearly as he watched me from less than fifty feet away. I had just finished planting 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’s with the intent to capture, interrogate, and dispose of such a person.
    Even from a safe distance, I could see a contemptuous leer upon Kaslow’s face. Not only was he letting me know he understood what I had been up to inside the apartment, but he intended to obliterate my efforts. That recognition saved my existence as William Barrow, since I didn’t immediately see the rocket launcher he 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 watched myself turn my head in horror toward an 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. Innocent people always die when Viktor Kaslow is around. By the time I looked again to where he’d stood, the spot was empty, and the sound of a motorcycle speeding away was the only evidence he left behind.
    Unfortunately