Destiny of Coins by Aiden James Page A

built into the mountainside to our right. A swollen stream from melting glacial ice flowed in front of the structure. Amy was especially delighted we would have to cross a drawbridge to get to the main entrance—one with a pair of gorgeous stained-glass angels on either side of a medieval-styled entryway.
    “How in the hell did these guys know you were coming before Roderick confirmed we were on our way to South America?” asked Alistair, as we prepared to enter the castle. He inadvertently interrupted Cedric, who had been trying to get my attention to discuss something fairly urgent. He had said something to me inside the cavern…something about how lifelike the angel depictions on the walls looked, and how what he saw through Tampara’s spyglass related to it. “Who else could’ve possibly known?”
    Rafael suddenly stopped ahead of us, motioning for everyone else to keep moving down the ornate corridor to the reception area where apparently the Essene Superior, Francisco de Luciano, awaited our arrival. I thought for a moment he would let us pass as he had everyone else, since my son and I pulled up the rear of the line. But he stopped us, and this time instead of on me, his attention was focused on Alistair.
    “The answer to both of your questions is the same,” he said. “It is a simple answer that perhaps you will not appreciate. Not until you have spent time with us.”
    “Well, you certainly behave like genuine Essenes,” I said. “You speak in mysteries and half-truths. Doubtless, we shall be treated to a parable or two from your leader.”
    It was all in good fun. Although, I was just as curious as Alistair to find the source for their knowledge about me, and how they predicted a visit I had not even considered before yesterday afternoon.
    “Parables and clues…and the clues for our ultimate source of information are all around you, Judas,” said Rafael. As he stepped away from us, he regarded me over his shoulder. “That which dominates our art is the very thing in reality we rely on for our insights, inspiration, and when the Internet is down, our news about events in the outside world that affect us.”
    “What…the frigging angels?” Alistair could scarcely hide his skepticism, snickering as he said this.
    “Why, of course,” confirmed Rafael.
    He smiled before running to catch up with the others, leaving Alistair with his mouth hanging half-open in surprise, and me with the dread that the Almighty’s most trusted servants were far more involved with my earthly business than I cared for them to be.
    I now hoped for good, solid answers from Francisco de Luciano.
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 9
     
    “Welcome, our American brothers and sister!”
    The announcement reverberated against the colonnades that surrounded the large reception area in the center of the castle. Furnished tastefully, if this had been 1950, a handsome bearded man with intensely warm brown eyes stood in the middle of the room. He was much taller than his Spanish brethren, and unlike their militia apparel, this man wore a long colorful robe not unlike what his distant ancestors from Judea once preferred. In fact, for a brief moment I felt a tingling sensation along my spine at the realization this man’s facial features favored those of Jesus’ more comely brothers, Josef and James. Prominent cheekbones with softer brow-lines were the genetic traits from Mary’s side, whereas the less appealing heavier brow and plain facial features were what their more famous brother and most of their sisters inherited from Joseph.
    The charisma of Jesus was all the more remarkable since, as the Gospels did get right, it wasn’t aided by the regal comeliness so often depicted by artisans down through the centuries. I found myself thinking of Josef, especially, as I regarded this man…this slightly eccentric individual who must certainly be the current Superior for this band of Qumran descendants. He was a near dead-ringer for the man