The Eye of Shiva

by Alex Lukeman

  The bar was a three-story establishment built to resemble an Irish pub. The ground floor featured wooden floors, pub food, a fireplace and comfortable couches and chairs. The bar was polished wood, with wooden stools for the patrons. The back bar had a brick wall, two flat screen television sets and an impressive array of beers, whiskeys and liquors. The mellow glow of wood and comfortable lighting made it a place for serious drinking, if that's what you wanted. The pub looked more or less authentic, in an American kind of way. Missing were the Irish and two or three hundred years of music, tobacco smoke and spilled whiskey.

  Nick took a seat at the bar and ordered a double Jameson neat, with a soda back. It was early in the day. He had the bar to himself except for a corporate-looking guy in a dark blue three-piece suit at the other end, drinking a martini. Nick sipped the whiskey and felt the mellow heat of Ireland descend into his stomach. The pub wasn't authentic but the whiskey was.

  He'd thought Selena would be happy, surprised. She'd been surprised, all right, but she sure as hell didn't seem happy about it. What did he do wrong? He finished his drink and signaled for another. The whiskey made a soft bed for his anger. Maybe he hadn't done anything wrong, he thought. Maybe it was just that age-old disconnect between men and women, the impossibility of either sex understanding the other. Why should he expect it to be any different between him and Selena? He was damned if he was going to let it spoil his day completely. But still, it pissed him off.

  It hadn't been that way with Megan, back when he was almost done with his first tour in the Marines and ready to make the move into civilian life with her. It might have gotten that way after a while but he'd never had a chance to find out. She'd died in a plane crash as he watched, unable to do anything to save her. A piece of him had died that day as well, until it came alive again after he met Selena.

  The whiskey helped. He debated having a third and decided against it. He paid for the drinks and left a five dollar bill and walked out into the fall afternoon.

  I guess the ring is on hold, he thought. Maybe it's a good thing.

  CHAPTER 8

  It was the evening of the same day. Nick sat with Ronnie and Lamont at a table in The Point, a bar popular with current and former members of America's Special Forces. For a while the three of them had been barred from the premises, after a wild brawl provoked by a patron who'd taken exception to a song they were singing. Since then, all had been forgiven. The joint had a jukebox loaded with rock 'n roll. Sweet Home, Alabama played in the background.

  Ronnie had a glass of club soda with a lime in front of him. Lamont and Nick were drinking beer. Lamont had lost weight in the hospital. The corded muscles that lined his wiry frame seemed more prominent than usual. His coffee colored skin was pale from being indoors. The scar he'd picked up in Iraq stood out like a thin, pink snake running across his forehead and the bridge of his nose. But the blue eyes he'd inherited from his Ethiopian forebears had lost none of their intensity.

  It was early and the place wasn't crowded. It made conversation easy.

  "How you feeling, Lamont?" Ronnie asked.

  "Better with this beer."

  The last few years had been rough on Lamont. He'd been badly wounded in Jordan. He'd almost died in Cuba. Now he was ready to come back and Nick was glad to have him. But he could tell Lamont had something to say.

  "Better spit it out, Shadow," Nick said. Lamont's mother had named him for Lamont Cranston, The Shadow of radio fame. His Navy SEAL teammates had dropped the nickname on him. It was a natural.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Come on," Ronnie said. "You've been sitting there like you're hatching an egg, all quiet."

  Lamont grinned at him. "Hey, I'm a quiet guy, you know that."

  "Not when you've got a beer in front of you," Nick said. "Not usually."

  Lamont fooled with his beer bottle, making rings of condensation on the table top.

  "I've been thinking," he said.

  "That's dangerous for someone like you," Ronnie said. "You ought to be careful about that."

  "At least I can think, which is more than I can say for some people I know."

  Nick signaled the waitress for another round. "So, what have you been thinking about?"

  "I had a lot of time in the hospital to do nothing but think."

  "And?"

  "And I think it's about time for me to hang it up."

  Nick and Ronnie looked at each other.

  "Hang it up?" Nick said. "What would you do?"

  "There's a dive shop for sale down in Florida. I called the real estate agent. It'd be perfect, just what I'd always dreamed of. I'd have to upgrade some of the gear but the price is right. I've got enough money saved up to take care of the down payment and I can borrow the rest."

  The waitress came and set a new round of drinks on the table.

  "You sound like your mind is pretty well made up," Nick said.

  "Yeah, I think it is."

  "There you go with that thinking stuff again," Ronnie said. He was joking but Nick could see he wasn't happy about what Lamont had said.

  I should've seen this coming, Nick thought. Lamont had taken a lot of hits in the past two years. It would be enough to make anyone think about getting out. Hell, he had his own thoughts about getting out, and he hadn't been hurt as bad as Lamont. Sooner or later, everyone got out. The only difference was whether you went out on two feet or in a box with a flag over it, if there was enough of you left to put in a box.

  "When were you planning on leaving?" Nick asked.

  "It'll take time to replace me," Lamont said. "I don't want to leave the team short."

  Nick knew that if Lamont had made up his mind to go, nothing he could say would change it.

  "You'll stay until we find someone to take your place?" Nick said.

  "Yeah. Until the end of the year, anyway. Harker ought to find someone by then. Then I'm gone."

  "Ah, shit," Ronnie said. "Who's going to jump in the water if you're not around?"

  Because of Lamont's time with the SEALS, anything involving boats and water on missions had fallen to him.

  "Didn't they teach you Jarheads to swim in Recon? Course, that's kind of like the YMCA. I guess you're finally going to have to learn how," Lamont said.

  "Marines are smart enough to stay out of the water. Fish crap in it." Ronnie sipped his club soda.

  Lamont changed the subject. "Nick, how's it going between you and Selena? When's the wedding?"

  "You're asking me? How would I know?"

  "Oh, oh. Like that, is it?"

  "I never know where I stand with her," Nick said. He told them about what had happened earlier at the jewelry store. "I wanted to surprise her. I thought she'd be pleased."

  "You surprised her all right," Ronnie said. "You should've just bought the ring and given it to her without taking her into the store."

  "What if she didn't like it?'

  "What if she didn't? Then you could just go back to the store with her and have her pick a ring she liked."

  "But that's why I went in there with her in the first place."

  "You know what your problem is?" Lamont said.

  Nick was beginning to get annoyed, thinking about what had happened with Selena.

  "No, I don't know what my problem is. Why don't you enlighten me?"

  "The problem is you're thinking like a guy instead of like Selena. A guy says to himself, self, I think I'll go in this store with my honey and buy a nice diamond ring. It's a jewelry store, right? Got to be a lot of rings in there. Shouldn't take long."

  "So? What's wrong with that?"

  "Nothing, so far. Where it went wrong was when you picked the first one you saw and said, 'let's get that one.'"

  "It was a nice ring."

  "That's got nothing to do with it," Lamont said. "That's how a guy shops. We go to a store, we see something that works and we buy it. We don't spend a lot of time thinking about it. Women don't do it that way."

  Ronnie was nod
ding his head in agreement.

  "What was I supposed to do?"

  "You were supposed to let her look at rings until she decided she wanted to think about it some more."

  "But what's there to think about?" Nick asked. "There must've been a hundred rings in that damn store. Any one of them would of worked."

  Lamont turned to Ronnie. "See what I mean?"

  "Hopeless," Ronnie said. He turned to Nick. "That's not what Selena wants."

  "You, too? Okay, Einstein, what does she want?"

  "She wants it to be special when she chooses a ring." It was Lamont's turn to nod his head. Ronnie continued. "You made it seem like buying a pair of socks."

  Nick looked at his two friends and their serious expressions.

  "I think you're wrong. I'm picking up on second thoughts about getting married."

  "Hers or yours?" Lamont said.

  CHAPTER 9

  Jagadev Muhkerjee walked the grounds perimeter of the Indian Embassy in Manila and looked again at his watch. It was a very nice watch, with a little button he could push to light the dial. It was 3:30 in the morning, a half hour from the end of his shift and exactly 2 1/2 minutes since the last time he'd looked.

  Jagadev was bored and tired. He wanted nothing more than a quiet smoke and hours of sleep on his bunk in the security barracks. The night sounds of Manila were muffled by the trees and landscaping that made Dasmarani Village seem more like a rural estate than an enclave of important government buildings. Only the glow in the night sky was there to remind him that he was in the heart of one of the great cities of the world.

  Jagadev wasn't really a soldier, even though he wore a jaunty beret and uniform and carried an Indian made 5.56 mm INSAS rifle that put out six hundred rounds a minute. Security guards for India's embassies abroad were civilians. It was a job, like any other security job. In difficult areas like Jammu and Kashmir, security fell on the shoulders of specially trained commandos. But Manila wasn't Kashmir. The main requirements were that the applicant be an Indian citizen, have had the proper security or military training and be able to deal as required with the constant stream of people visiting the Embassy.

  He looked again at his watch. Another minute had passed. A three-quarter moon cast pale light on the tropical flowers and trees of the embassy grounds. A few stars glimmered in the night sky, flickering in the smoggy haze thrown off by the city.

  There was a garden bench tucked away in the far corner of the grounds, under the trees. Jagadev decided not to wait until he went off duty to grab a cigarette. The bench and the overhanging branches of the trees were a perfect spot to take a minute and handle the nicotine edge that kept him looking at his watch. No one would see him there and no one would know that he'd taken a short break from his perimeter duty. He reached the spot, stepped into the shadows and took a cigarette from the pack concealed under his shirt. He lit it and took a long, satisfying drag.

  There was a faint sound behind him. A gloved hand covered his mouth as he started to lift the cigarette to his lips and pulled his head backward. There was a terrible, hot pain across his throat. Blood fountained into the night, spraying over the bench where the ambassador liked to sit for his afternoon meditations. Jagadev's last thought was only a confused, unspoken question.

  The man who had just slashed Jagadev's throat was dressed all in black. He had been born in the slums of Mumbai, back when the city was still called Bangalore. His name was Ijay. His ski mask concealed the discoloration of large, dark spots on his face. The spots had earned him the nickname Tendu'a, after the silent and deadly leopard that was feared throughout India. The elite unit of black op commandos he led was known as the Leopards.

  Ijay had three kilos of Semtex high explosive in a backpack. He signaled the others. Four men in black with identical packs emerged from the shrubs and trees and fanned out at a run toward the back of the embassy. No one would miss the guard for several minutes. There was more than enough time to plant the charges and melt back into the trees before anyone saw them.

  They worked quickly, placing enough high explosive to take out most of the building. When the Semtex detonated, the wall and the back of the embassy would cease to exist. The ambassador's quarters were on the second floor in the back, directly over one of the charges. Only a miracle would save him.

  As he worked, Ijay thought about how all that Semtex was going to make one hell of an explosion. He wondered why an embassy of his own country had been chosen for the target, but it didn't matter. It wasn't his place to question orders. As long as he was creating chaos, Ijay was happy.

  The others finished setting charges. Ijay gave the signal to arm the detonators. In a movement they had practiced over and over, all five men knelt and triggered the timers at the same instant. All five rose as one and headed back for the cover of the trees. In seconds they were gone from sight.

  Prakash Khanna had watched the entire operation from his hiding place in the shrubbery on the side of the grounds. He waited until the quiet of the early morning was shattered by the explosion. The back of the Indian Embassy rose toward the sky in a geyser of fire and stone. A billowing cloud of smoke and dust rolled out over the green lawn as bits and pieces of the building fell back to earth. The cloud thinned and Khanna saw that more than half of the embassy was gone. The remaining floors and rooms gaped at him like an open mouth with crooked teeth.

  The ambassador never could have survived that, Khanna thought. His lip curled in unconscious contempt. The man had been a pawn of the Americans, a weakling, just like the Prime Minister. Unwilling to do what needed to be done, to take the steps necessary to eliminate the Pakistani threat once and for all.

  In the distance, Khanna heard the first siren. Time to go, he thought. He walked to where the crumpled body of the guard lay by the secluded bench. The stench of voided bowels filled the night. Khanna held his finger under his nose, reached in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of Pakistani cigarettes. He tossed the cigarettes into the bushes near the guard. He'd already filed false intelligence reports to New Delhi about a possible ISOK incident in Manila. Along with the Filipino report about ISOK's involvement with Abu Sayyaf, it should be enough to point the finger at them and at Pakistan.

  Before the Partition of 1947, Khanna's family had lived in Lahore, now part of Pakistan. The family had lost everything, choosing to leave rather than live under Muslim rule. His grandfather had died a bitter man. His father had taught him that Muslims were evil and Khanna had seen nothing to make him change his mind. Pakistan was the enemy, a thief that had stolen his ancestral home. If what had happened here tonight pushed India into striking a first blow, Khanna would be cheering every missile.

  Fire was climbing the broken wall on the side of the embassy. The sound of sirens was closer. Khanna lit a cigarette and walked away into the night.

  CHAPTER 10

  Selena finished her morning workout in the exercise room in her condo, went into the bedroom, dumped her sweats and headed for the shower. Usually the workout and shower helped her relax, but it wasn't working today. She shut off the water, grabbed a thick, Turkish towel, and dried off. She rubbed steam off the bathroom mirror with the towel, stood before the mirror and gave herself a critical look.

  Still pretty good, she thought, resting her hand on her hip and turning her head slightly. She touched the scar left by the bullet she'd taken in Mexico and felt a faint memory of pain. There were shadows under her eyes. Were those new lines at the corners? She leaned forward and stretched the skin a bit, trying to see. She hadn't slept well, not after leaving Nick standing in the jewelry store. She was still sorting out why she'd acted on impulse like that.

  She'd been on edge that morning, annoyed with Nick and the way he was taking her for granted. Assuming she'd just go along with what he wanted. But that wasn't it. It was deeper, some fundamental doubt the engagement was a good idea in the first place. In hindsight, if she tried to be objective, she could see Nick had meant well and was only trying to su
rprise her. Somehow her objectivity kept slipping away, lost in a mix of conflicting thoughts and emotions about the whole damned relationship.

  Why was she thinking about getting married anyway? She was self-sufficient, able to do whatever she wanted on her own. She had her own money. She didn't even need to work unless she wanted to. She could go anywhere she wanted, do almost anything she wanted to do. She could have her pick of intelligent, handsome and educated men from about any walk of life. So what was so damned attractive about a battered, stubborn man whose principal goal in life seemed to be jumping in where angels feared to tread and whose primary skill was shooting at people and blowing things up?

  When Nick asked her to marry him, she'd barely hesitated. Maybe it was the context of a Caribbean night, the moonlight, the afterglow of sex, the warm strength she felt radiate from him as he stood next to her. Maybe it had been the knowledge that the next day meant one or both of them had a good chance of getting killed.

  Or maybe you're just a closet romantic, she thought. Moonlight, flowers and guns.

  She smiled to herself. Not too many people would put those three things together and think of romance. Nick would. Things like that were why she loved him.

  The thought rippled through her. It was true, she really did love him. She wasn't sure that was enough of a reason to marry him. Too much had happened over the last few years.

  She walked from the bathroom to the closet and picked out a bra and panties, then a pale lavender silk blouse that went well with her eyes. She added black slacks and low heeled, comfortable black shoes. She dressed, went into the kitchen and made herself a cup of coffee and sat at the counter.

  Love. Once before, she'd thought she was in love. His name was Ted. He was rich, educated, and sophisticated. They'd been on vacation in Greece, spending a week on Mykonos. He'd gotten drunk and they'd gone back to their room overlooking the harbor. An argument had started and he'd hit her, hard enough to send her staggering backward. She hadn't even thought about it. She'd decked him and kicked him where it hurt. It hadn't taken long to pack the few things she'd brought with her. She'd walked out and never looked back.