Sean spoke next. “Charlie said that the coin was a family heirloom, handed down for several generations.”
“That’s correct, yes,” Coop nodded. “It was handed down by some great grandfather several times removed. I don’t know how many greats I would have to include in that description. But you get the idea.” He snickered a little at the thought. “Anyway, apparently, the original owner of the coin was a distant relative named Francis Jackson.”
The name didn’t ring a bell to Sean. History was littered with famous Jacksons from the founding of the first colonies all the way down to Michael and Janet. Francis wasn’t one he’d heard of.
“How did your ancestor get the coin?” Sean asked. “I’ve never seen one like it before, and I’ve seen my fair share of historic coinage.”
Their host’s face puckered. “That, my good man, is an excellent question. I’m not entirely sure how Francis came by the piece. I was hoping that my esteemed friend, Mr. Fowler here, could assist with that endeavor.” He pointed at Charlie with an open palm as he finished.
“I put the image on one of the forums I use for these sorts of things, but nobody seems to recognize the image of the guy on the face. The back of it is a mystery too. The inscription is small, and in ancient runes.”
Sean interrupted the two. “Would it be possible to see the coin?” Sean asked cautiously. He didn’t want to intrude on someone’s personal historical collection, but at the same time, his curiosity was raging inside him. Not to mention the fact that someone had tried to kill Charlie over the object earlier in the day.
“Absolutely. I’d be happy for you to see it.”
Coop stood and walked over to an antique writer’s desk in an adjoining room. He leaned down, opened the middle drawer, and shuffled through a few papers before withdrawing a small plastic bag. After reclosing the drawer, he stepped back over to the living room and handed the object to Sean.
“Would you mind if I remove it?” Sean asked reverently.
“Of course. Be my guest. You’re the expert, Mr. Wyatt.”
Charlie leaned in close as Sean parted the seal on the plastic and removed the golden coin. It was barely larger than a quarter. On the front, a heavily bearded man stared off into the distance, his head capped by a domed helmet. Other than that, there were no other identifying features on the image. Sean flipped over the coin and examined the back. He recognized the runes from his previous glance on the Internet, but had no idea what they meant. While Sean was capable of speaking a few different languages, reading ancient Viking script wasn’t one of them.
“This looks like it comes from a Viking land,” he said after flipping the coin back over and staring at the head for a minute. “These runes are definitely some kind of Norse language. And the guy on the front has to be a Viking based on the headgear and his appearance.”
“Can you read the runes on the back?” Coop asked, now leaning forward in his chair.
Sean shook his head. “No. But I know some people back at the IAA lab in Atlanta that could figure it out. They could run an analysis on the metal the coin is made from, and tell us what those letters mean. Might even be possible for them to cross-reference the face with some possible matches.”
“You really think they could do that?” Coop sounded hopeful. He rested his elbows on his knees.
“It’s worth a shot,” Sean shrugged. “They’ve got some pretty advanced stuff there at IAA. My friend, Tommy, spared no expense. And their research department is top notch. They’re a couple of regular bloodhounds when it comes to this sort of thing.”
Coop leaned back in his chair and considered the possibility.
“I’m assuming you’re not trying to sell this, that you just want to know more about its origin.” Sean interrupted his host’s thoughts.
“Oh, absolutely. I would never consider selling such a piece. I desperately want to know more about it.” Coop knew what Sean was asking, even though he hadn’t directly asked. “So, you would need to take it to this lab in Atlanta to find out more?”
Sean nodded. He knew it could potentially be a big deal to let such an heirloom go. “This is the kind of thing I did for several years at IAA, Coop. I salvaged and delivered precious artifacts to various government agencies, private owners, that sort of thing. Your coin will be well cared for. I’ll take a few pictures if that’s okay, and send them to Tommy so they can get a head start on the investigation. Might speed things along somewhat.”
Coop thought for a few more moments before answering. “I love it. And I have no doubts that you will take care of my coin, Mr. Wyatt.”
“Call me Sean.”
“Very well, Sean.” Coop clapped his hands together as if to seal the arrangement. “By all means, take as many pictures as you like.” He turned to Charlie who appeared as though he’d just watched a tornado zip by. “Chuck, are you hungry? I know how much you love a good barbecue. It’s not too late for supper, is it?”
“I could eat,” Charlie responded in a gruff tone.
“Sean? Do you like barbecue?”
“Seeing as we missed supper earlier, that actually sounds amazing. But we might need to get back to Chattanooga,” Sean argued despite the grumbling in his stomach. He wasn’t sure if Charlie wanted to hang around or not.
“Gentlemen, I have extra beds here. We can go have a nice meal, you can get some rest, and then head back early in the morning.” Coop would have made a good salesman. Sean wasn’t sure what the guy did for a living, but if it wasn’t in sales, Coop had missed his calling.
“Sounds good to me if Charlie’s okay with it.”
“Let’s eat,” Charlie said, seeming happy about something for the first time all day.
Their host clapped his hands together again and stood up. “Perfect. Finish taking your pictures, and we will head out to one of my favorite places. I’m sure you’ll love it.”
Thirty minutes later, they were seated at a stereotypical red-and-white checkered tablecloth in a place just south of the city. The smells of a wood fire grill and a smoker filled the entire place. Wooden beams, lattices, and rafters gave the restaurant the sense that its patrons were in a giant log cabin.
Sean chewed through a heavily smoked brisket, while Charlie and Coop tore through some baby back ribs. On the way to the restaurant and before their food had arrived, Sean had learned about Coop’s background.
Browning Cooper had served as a medical officer in Operation Desert Storm during the first war the United States had with Iraq. After his tour of duty, he’d gone back to school to finish a degree in dentistry. Having completed a four-year degree before entering the military, it only took another four years of school and a few more of what he referred to as “red tape years” before he opened his own practice.
Cooper had got a late start on his career because of his time in college and then the military. Sean never asked him his age but he guessed the man to be somewhere in his mid to upper fifties. Coop’s original plan had been to get his degree, go into the military and put in his twenty years, and then retire. Like it happens so often in life, plans change: he met a woman.
She’d turned his world upside down in a good way. Coop had never felt like that for anyone before. They got married, and he went back to school. Everything seemed like it was going perfectly. Just two years after opening his practice, though, things went south. His wife was diagnosed with an aggressive form of pancreatic cancer, and she died only a few months later.
As Coop relayed the story, Sean sat quietly, observing the reflections in the man’s eyes. It was the first hint of sadness that had shown itself in Coop since they’d met. Sean had learned long ago never to tell people he was sorry for their loss after something like that. It didn’t make things better. In fact, Sean believed that it was a disservice to the person going through the trials. To say one was sorry meant that they were a victim. Sean believed people could choose to be a victim or not. Coop had clearly chosen not to be. The kind and happy demeanor the man displayed was no accident. Though he had faced an extraordinary tragedy, he’d come out of it on the other side.