The Eye of Shiva

by Alex Lukeman

  After that there'd never been anyone serious. Not until Nick.

  Selena glanced at the clock on the counter. It was time to get going over to Virginia for the morning briefing. She and Nick could go out for coffee together afterward. They needed to talk.

  CHAPTER 11

  Elizabeth looked over her team and felt a vague sense of unease. Selena and Nick were sitting together but they might as well have been in different rooms. Something was off between them.

  Lamont looked tired. His coffee colored skin was pale. The scar crossing his face seemed more vivid than usual. Elizabeth reminded herself to ask him if he was still taking meds. This wasn't a good time to have things getting in the way of the team's usual high level of performance. At least he was back in the mix. That counted for a lot.

  Ronnie sat next to Lamont. He wore one of his many Hawaiian shirts, an endless scene of surfers at Waikiki done in unnatural colors that looked dreamed up by a mad chemist on an acid trip.

  Elizabeth began. "There's been an attack on the Indian Embassy in Manila," she said. "They cut the night guard's throat, planted Semtex and did their best to blow up the building. The ambassador and his wife were killed in the explosion."

  "Who did it?" Nick asked.

  "Nobody is certain, yet. Possibly ISOK."

  "That could explain why Abu Khan was on Mindanao."

  She looked at Nick. "President Rice is trying to get new base agreements in the Philippines. With the Chinese claiming islands right off their coast and building bases in the China Sea, Manila is getting nervous. It's important that nothing disrupts those negotiations."

  "The Filipinos kicked us out and now they need us," Lamont said. "Why am I not surprised?"

  "American bases and our nuclear weapons are a sensitive subject over there," Elizabeth said. "There's a demonstration scheduled two days from now to protest any new agreement, with a planned march on the Embassy. Demonstrations like that have turned violent in the past. After the Indian Embassy bombing, Rice is worried the terrorists may use the march to create an incident. He wants me to send the team to Manila."

  "What do you want us to do there?" Nick asked.

  "Think of it as a preventative mission. See what you can find out. If Abu Sayyaf or ISOK is planning an attack, head it off at the pass."

  "You want us to go in blind, sniff around for terrorist activity and then prevent an attack that might or might not happen?"

  "Is that a problem?"

  Nick sighed. "Anything else?"

  "That's about it. Try to stay out of the way of the demonstrators."

  "Mob, you mean. How do we get there?"

  "Clark Air Force Base is open to us again. You'll go in on military transport. That puts you about forty miles from Manila and avoids the complications of civilian travel. Take weapons but keep it light and easy to conceal. We don't want to upset anyone. Take a comm package for the satellite uplink back here."

  "When do we leave?"

  "Wheels up at 0200 tomorrow from Andrews. "

  "What about Langley?" Ronnie asked. "They've got to have a man in the embassy looking into the same things we are. Do we let them know we're there, or keep our distance?"

  "Keep your distance," Elizabeth said. "I don't see any need to involve the agency. I'll decide if we need to bring them in."

  "I know the U.S. Ambassador in Manila," Selena said. "Not well, but she attended a series of lectures I gave at Stanford a few years ago and we got to be friends. I could arrange to see her. She might be helpful."

  "Good," Elizabeth said. "Definitely, go see her." She turned to Lamont. "How are you feeling, Lamont? Are you ready to go back in the field? You haven't had an easy time of it the last few months."

  "I'm fine, Director. I'm going crazy sitting around doing nothing. Yeah, I'm ready."

  "All right then," Elizabeth said. "Any other questions?"

  No one had any.

  "I'd better get going on the gear," Ronnie said. He got up and left the room and headed downstairs to the armory.

  "I'll give you a hand," Nick called after him. He stood and went after Ronnie.

  So much for a quiet talk over coffee, Selena thought.

  CHAPTER 12

  Selena decided where they would stay in Manila. Most of the time they were in places where accommodations were lousy or nonexistent. She tried to upgrade whenever they had a choice. She had the money and she was damned if she was going to be uncomfortable just because they were on a mission in some foreign country.

  She'd picked one of the large chain hotels with a five star rating, a modern businessman's hotel within easy walking distance of the American Embassy. There was nothing particularly unique about it. It was clean and you could drink the water. It was a slice of commercial America set down a block and a half from Roxas Boulevard and the waterfront on Manila Bay.

  She was sharing a luxury suite on the twentieth floor with Nick. It had two bedrooms and separate bathrooms, which would come in handy if things didn't smooth out between them. There'd been no opportunity to talk when they were getting ready for the mission and trying to hold a conversation in the aluminum belly of a C-130 was a lost cause.

  Ronnie and Lamont were down the hall. Nick looked out the window at the impressive view of the bay and the eight lanes of Roxas Boulevard and thought the wide, modern highway along the waterfront made a perfect route for marchers and protesters. It would also work well if the government had to bring in the tanks and water cannons.

  There were signs the protest was going to be a big one. Thousands of people were coming in from the countryside and the outlying districts of the capital. Temporary campgrounds had sprung up everywhere in the parks along the bay, complete with cooking fires, makeshift shelters, and a nervous police presence. The demonstration was scheduled to begin early the next morning.

  There was a feeling of tension in the air, a kind of unpleasant, electric anticipation, like the way things felt before a big storm. There was going to be trouble.

  "I have a bad feeling about tomorrow," Nick said.

  Selena came over and stood next to him at the window. "So do I."

  They looked out at the fabled waters of Manila Bay. A large tanker was heading away from the port toward the distant entrance of the bay, where the island of Corregidor stood silhouetted against the most amazing sunset Nick had ever seen. The broad bowl of the sky was filled with colors of flaming orange, gold and red. Billowing black clouds taller than Everest scudded across the horizon, forcing the light of the setting sun into a kaleidoscope of fiery golden rays that spread across the sky.

  They stood in silence looking at the spectacle. Selena felt Nick take her hand. She glanced over. His eyes had a distant look in them as he watched the sunset. As the sun vanished on the horizon, there was a brief, brilliant green flash.

  "Did you see that?" he said.

  "Yes."

  "I've heard about the green flash but I'd never seen it," Nick said. He turned to her and took her other hand. "We need to talk."

  "Yes, we do."

  "I'm sorry about the other day. I shouldn't have surprised you like that."

  "I'm sorry too." She paused. "It's just that...things seem to be moving too fast."

  "Too fast?"

  "We're talking about getting married," she said, "but we don't know what it would be like to live with each other all the time."

  "We already spend most of our time together," Nick said. He kept his voice neutral.

  "A lot of that is in the field," Selena said, "like right now. It's not the same."

  "No, I suppose it isn't."

  "I mean, why aren't we living together? My condo is more than big enough for two people."

  "So is my apartment," Nick said. "Well, not in the long run. But I like it there. I like the privacy, doing things my way."

  "And I like my place," Selena said.

  Nick looked out the window again at the growing tropical twilight. "I meant it when I asked you to marry me," he said.
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br />   She heard an unspoken but in his voice. She wasn't sure where he was going with this. Was he backing out? Was she pushing him away?

  "Have you changed your mind?" she said.

  He looked at her. "No, I haven't changed my mind. I was wondering if you had."

  If she were honest with herself, she definitely had second thoughts. Why else had she reacted like that in the jewelry store?

  "Because of the ring?"

  "That was a pretty strong message," he said.

  "I told you, it took me by surprise."

  "Yeah, I get that, but I think most women would have at least looked at the rings they had in that store. It wasn't like I was trying to force you into making a decision right then. It makes me wonder if I'm pushing too hard."

  "So what are you saying?" Her heart was beating hard in her chest.

  "I think we need to back off a little. Like you said, we haven't tried living together. It might be a good idea. See if it works."

  "What about our engagement?"

  "Nothing's changed," Nick said. "That jewelry store will still be there when we get back."

  Nothing's changed. That's easy for him to say.

  Selena took a deep breath. "I think I'll give Ambassador Cathwaite a call."

  CHAPTER 13

  Omar Madid was a small man, even for a Filipino. His eyes were deep brown, with large, black pupils. They should have been beautiful eyes, but there was something about them that made people turn away, as if someone you didn't want to meet lived inside him.

  Omar had grown up in the poverty-stricken slums of Manila, a lawless collection of shanties, makeshift houses and desperate people. He had never known his father. As a boy, life had revolved around his mother and days spent playing along the banks of the polluted creek that ran through the shanties. Then his mother was trampled to death by a mob running from the police as they made one of their periodic sweeps through the district.

  After that, life held no joy for Omar except for one thing; death. Death was always interesting. He began to torture and kill small animals unfortunate enough to cross his path. He killed his first man when he was eleven, a drunken Chinese tourist who'd been looking for a male prostitute but who had found Omar instead. The older criminals used him to carry drugs and guns, sometimes as a lookout for one of their operations. His small size meant he could get into openings no adult could climb through.

  When he was seventeen, he was arrested and beaten by the hated police, then taken to Navotas Municipal Jail. The police threw him into a cell crowded with filthy, desperate men. When three of them came for him, Omar killed the first with a blow to his throat. He crippled the second with a knee to the groin and stomped on his chest. He broke the knee of the third with a vicious kick. After that, no one bothered him.

  In the jail he was recruited by Abu Sayyaf. That had been eight years ago. He'd become devout in those years, a true Jihadist. It was why he'd been chosen to lead this mission.

  Omar sat in the bow of a small boat piloted by one of his comrades as it bounced across the choppy waters of the bay. He kept his binoculars trained on the American Embassy passing to his right. The grounds were protected by a curving sea wall. A high, black barrier rose from the sea wall and extended the length of the embassy grounds. All that could be seen beyond the barrier were palm fronds and the tops of trees rippling in the breeze coming off the water. In the middle of the sea wall was a glassed security tower with a commanding view of the bay.

  Through his binoculars Omar saw a Marine guard in the tower looking back at him through his own set of lenses. Omar lowered his binoculars, smiled a toothy grin and waved at the guard. The man was too far away to see that the smile never reached Omar's eyes.

  The Americans thought their walls, their fences and their security forces would keep them safe.

  They were wrong.

  CHAPTER 14

  The American Embassy was a three-story, flat roofed, federal style mansion, built early in the twentieth century to house the United States High Commission. It had always been a seat of power. In World War II the building had served as the residence of the commander-in-chief of the Imperial Japanese Army, then as the Embassy of Japan in the puppet Republic set up by Tokyo in 1943. After the war, the building became the center for the Japanese war crimes trials. After independence in 1946, it became the U.S. Embassy.

  A ten foot high wall and a black iron fence separated the embassy grounds from Roxas Boulevard. A large guardhouse sat to the right of the main entrance. Double-gated passages for vehicles were placed on either side of a central wall bearing the sign identifying the embassy. The gates operated electronically from the guardhouse and opened and closed one at a time. They formed an iron cage.

  Once through the gates, visitors turned onto a continuous drive lined by a row of three foot high iron bollards. A car or truck bomb would never reach the front doors of the building. Internal security at the embassy was covered by a small detachment of Marines commanded by a Staff NCO. Filipino security forces were responsible for external security.

  A building to the right of the embassy housed numerous offices and living quarters. The Chancery complex was directly behind the original structure. Several more buildings were under construction on the embassy grounds. The U.S. presence in the Philippines was growing.

  A growing crowd of demonstrators had already gathered in front of the gates. Selena showed her ID to the Marine guard and passed into the compound. Inside the embassy, a security desk manned by a Marine Corporal faced the double doors of the entrance. A second Marine manned a metal detector and x-ray machine by the doors, screening everyone who came into the building.

  Selena showed the Marine her credentials. Not many people had ever seen that particular badge with the presidential seal. She wore a light weight linen jacket. She lifted it away to show the Marine the pistol at her hip.

  "I'm armed," she said. She kept her hands where he could see them.

  "You'll have to leave your weapon with me, Ma'am."

  "I would prefer not to."

  "I'm sorry, Ma'am. It's regulations."

  Selena unclipped her holster and handed it to him.

  "It's de cocked, loaded and ready to go," she said.

  "I see that. I'll take good care of it for you," he said. He took the Sig and locked it in a small safe. "You can go through now."

  "Thank you."

  Selena looked around. The embassy had been built during America's colonial era, designed to impress visitors as the outpost of a nation on the rise as a world power. A stairway with a wide, mahogany railing led to the upper stories. Selena spotted an elevator to one side. A wide hall that doubled as a gallery ran to the back of the building and a large ballroom used for events.

  Two muscular Marines wearing spotless white hats with the globe and anchor, short-sleeved tan shirts and dress blue trousers stood at parade rest by the entrance, observing the crowd forming beyond the gates. They were armed with pistols and radiated alert tension. Selena had seen that look before, when Nick and Ronnie and Lamont expected trouble. She touched the radio transmitter in her ear that kept her connected to the rest of the team outside the embassy. It felt reassuring.

  Like other presidents before him, President Rice had rewarded generous donations to his political campaign with ambassadorships. But Rice wasn't a typical politician. When it came to posts he considered critical for the security of the United States, he picked qualified people he knew to be competent. Rice considered the Philippines too important to entrust to a rich amateur with no diplomatic experience.

  Ambassador Margaret Cathwaite was a career veteran of the State Department's diplomatic corps. Cathwaite looked out the windows of her office and wondered if the day would bring violence. It was nine o'clock in the morning. The main demonstration had not yet begun and protesters were already parading in front of the gates with signs denouncing the United States, President Rice and the Philippine government.

  Today wasn't the first time o
r the first country where she'd looked out an embassy window at angry people who blamed the United States for all their problems. America was the perfect scapegoat when foreign politicians with an agenda needed a distraction.

  She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose, stretched in her chair and rotated her head from side to side, trying to free up the stiffness in her neck. She put her glasses back on and looked at a picture of her late husband, displayed in a prominent position on her desk. She wished he was here with her. The pain of his death would never go away, but after three years it had dulled somewhat. A second picture next to the first was of her daughter and two smiling children. Her daughter lived in Seattle and was happily married.

  This was Margaret's last post. She was sixty-two years old and had decided to leave the service at the end of the year. She was tired of the constant pressure that went with her job and dealing with the egos and turf wars within the State Department. Margaret Cathwaite looked forward to retirement and spending time with her grandchildren.

  A knock interrupted her reverie. Her secretary entered the room.

  Helen Martinson was the kind of woman people called willowy. She was tall and supple, with straw colored hair pulled back in a tight bun, a pleasant looking woman in her late forties. Margaret thought she was one of the most efficient people she'd ever met.

  "Doctor Connor is here to see you," Helen said. "She's your only appointment this morning. I haven't scheduled anyone else because of the demonstration."