by Rafael
“Well, I had to try. Thanks for taking my call. It was very generous of you.”
“Oh not all, Dr. Logan. I am always available to you. I will call you if I learn anything and if you’re in Washington I’ll treat you to lunch.”
“I’ll look forward to it, Dr. Bell. Goodbye.”
Miranda turned to Janesh. “Well, that was a dead end. No help there.”
“I didn’t expect much to come of it.”
CHAPTER 33 Paradise Lost
An angry three-inch, cross-stitched line filled the hand mirror. The plastic surgeon had assured him with time only someone inches away might see a scar. Nicholas frowned. The ugly thing on his forehead gave no hint of it. He cast the mirror aside, a low-level dread once again re-knotting his bowels. For the thousandth time he wondered why the damnable McKenzie had let him live. Psychological warfare? That the Mahān Śikārī would choose the time and place to leave him a white-eyed corpse drenched in blood? Damn him, Nicholas thought.
Having bypassed customs and immigration, Koh lazed 237 miles south of Chandrapur in India’s medieval “City of Pearls”, Hyderabad. His rented estate, nestled between two national parks, justified its $17,000 daily rent by the privacy and security it afforded. The late October sun produced enough heat to keep the four beauties lounging alongside topless. He’d already sampled the delicate favors of two and eyed the third. She brazenly stared back.
Behind him a gate rolled open, footsteps padded across the landscaped garden, a white-jacketed staffer stopped before him. “Your 2pm is here, sir. He’s in the parlor.”
Jithu Ong had been masterful in getting him to a doctor who asked no questions and clearing the mess at the research facility. Nicholas now had every confidence in him and conferring together had priority. Even over sex.
Donning robe and slippers, he followed the staffer to the gate and through glass doors that whooshed open into the cool parlor. Nicholas motioned for him to stay seated. “Something to drink?” A head shake confirmed the man’s austerity extended even to water. Koh matched it and motioned for Ong to wait until the staffer exited.
“Josh Timson has made contact. A CIA operative, Tilka Lon, is en route to meet with Janesh McKenzie. He will try to make a deal in which they’ll mutually cooperate to solve Dr. Ang’s project although the CIA feels it has legal ownership of it. He’ll also offer the services of a strike force to provide project security as inducement. Secondly, Janesh McKenzie has assembled a science team to examine the project but they are hampered by a lack of technical documentation. Third, Mr. Timson expects payment.”
Nicholas crossed his legs and sat back to absorb the information. Astronomers had a catalogue of over 17 million planets orbiting their sun’s habitable zone with confirmed oxygen atmospheres. Spectral analysis of their reflected light would identify the specific world’s that contained the natural resources essential to Earth’s industries. Ore, wood, gold, oil, silver, coal, water, and every element on the periodic table would travel through pipes or conveyor belts that terminated in a wormhole and into a processing facility.
Thereafter, all manufacturing would gradually move off-planet. Except for power generators and service companies, Earth would transform to a residential planet. Every one of the off-planet manufacturing sites would become proto-colonies seeding humanity’s expansion into the galaxy. He would collect a fee for everything that moved through a wormhole and establish the most powerful dynasty in human history.
By the time the CIA gained standing in a Singapore court to claim legal ownership, he’d turn over useless junk after duplicating the machinery. If America or any other world power moved to expropriate the device, he’d play one off against the other. The threat of granting one nation, Russia for example, exclusive use rights, would confer such a decisive strategic advantage, the others would have to desist. Josh Timson’s $5 million pittance proved no one had the slightest idea what they sought. Powerful forces hurtled toward each other. When the collision occurred, he had to be the one left standing.
“Tell Timson we need to know when and where this Tilka Lon will arrive. Put the very best men you have to track him. He’ll lead us to McKenzie. Give me your mobile.” Nicholas punched in a dial code and returned it. “Save the code and tomorrow at noon call it. Tell the person who answers to activate his team and return the call when they’re assembled. Their assignment will be to terminate the operative and the strike force. They are not to touch or interfere with McKenzie. He’ll panic and lead us right to the project and the science team.
Pay Timson his money. Tell him I’m impressed with the information. If it continues there’ll be a bonus. Any questions?”
“None at all, sir.”
* * *
Across the eons, tiny marine organisms building their coral reef homes atop mountains, breached the Indian Ocean and became the Maldives. They formed a north/south, 500-mile, double-stranded archipelago astride ancient trade routes first plied by 12-century Arabs. The long-departed desert Semites left behind their religion and lush, tropical atolls that became the playgrounds of Asia’s wealthiest. Smugglers and pirates took over the abandoned sea lanes that terminated among the more than 1,000 uninhabited islands. The idle rich allowed the Maldivians to build the facades modern civilization required. Black marketing allowed them to eat.
“Umm, these are delicious.” Reflected sunlight made the crystalline waters sparkle. Tilka Lon reached for another masroshi. ‘What are they made of?” Janesh remained fixed on the distant atoll looming larger.
He found it no surprise the operative had asked to meet on Malé, the Maldivian capitol. With Africa and the Arabian Peninsula to the west, India and Pakistan to the north, and Australia to the east, the remote islands had become a hotbed for area agents to exchange intelligence, data and rumors. He himself had often arrived here carrying large cash sums to purchase rare jewelry and priceless art objects for private collectors but had always viewed the clandestine world with skepticism and distrust. “Smoked Yellowfin tuna with lemon juice and coconut flakes baked inside a flattened dough. It’s a local favorite.”
They sailed aboard a dhoni, an ugly, ungainly craft that resembled a brown box jammed between a prow and a stern. Its diesel engines chugged against the strong currents, synchronized to the slow passage of Maldivian time. But once the craft slipped from the open water to a quiet lagoon, its deft agility allowed passage along narrow sea channels into island interiors. Anchored amid lush, tropical flora the dhoni shined. Its luxurious, well-appointed accommodations provided every convenience for couples or small groups visiting an Eden-like paradise. In the Maldives, vacationers provided perfect camouflage.
“I saw in your dossier you hunt tigers with a spear. Is that true?” Janesh turned from the dining room’s large view window to face Tilka Lon. The agent sitting across the table had tried to frame him for murder. From Malé’s arrival gate to here the clandestine shadow had presented a friendly, approachable face. Had missed no opportunity to gain Janesh’s confidence. But the operative relishing masroshi snacks personified deceit, deception, and dishonesty. His kind used every imaginable form of treachery and betrayal to accomplish their ends. How could he engage in even a simple conversation with this man? When did the lies begin and did they ever end?
“No. The stories are wildly exaggerated. Perpetuated by simple villagers enamored of their myths and legends.” Deception’s blade had a double edge. If their future brought them face-to-face, Tilka Lon would be unprepared for the Mahān Śikārī.
“Mr. McKenzie, I’m aware our first encounter might have been an unfortunate one. Let me then be the first to offer concessions and be frank. The CIA sponsored and financed the project Dr. Ang developed. We hold legal title to his work.”
“For the record, Agent Lon, I had access to Dr. Sara Brown’s case files. Your agency’s need for secrecy may have hamstrung their position. Your contract is with the National Science Foundation. The NSF hired Dr. Ang to develop a quantum encryption device and ha
s legal title to all related work. Unfortunately, Dr. Ang never developed an encryption device. But since I suspect you like I have no desire to be a lawyer, let’s leave the legalisms aside.”
“As I said, Mr. McKenzie, let me be the first to offer a concession. In return for dropping any legal pursuit we want full access to the device as well as an examination of all notes and papers regarding the underlying technology.”
“And the reason I should agree, is?” Annoyance flashed across Tilka’s face before it disappeared behind a steely gaze.
“It’s the reason I brought you out here, Mr. McKenzie. We are aware you have enemies who would like nothing better than to relieve you of any further involvement in this case. We can provide security. I have a team ensconced on an island. When you see them I’m sure you’ll agree they can insure our mutual goals.”
Janesh reached for the last masroshi, savored the delicate blend of island spices. He had no intention of letting a CIA security team anywhere near the project. At gunpoint they’d be happy to engage in their own relief party. Still, it would be wise to see first-hand the threat level they posed. “Well then, Agent Lon. Let’s have a look at this security team of yours.” Tilka glanced at his watch.
“We have a good half hour yet. Do you fish, Mr. McKenzie?”
“Only when I’m hungry.” smiled the Mahān Śikārī. “Otherwise the fish cause me no trouble.” Amid the dhonis moving in and out of the atolls, hosting diving groups and pleasure seekers, neither noted the one toiling in their wake.
Forty minutes later, as he had done all his life, Janesh admired the skill of professionals plying their craft. He stood on the dhoni’s small bridge, watched the larger waves fleck white foam when they crashed against the reef surrounding the island. The Captain, pilot, and boat had become a seamless whole. “Slow ahead, Mr. Ayudh.”
“Slow ahead, aye Captain.”
Neither man raised their voices or betrayed the slightest nervousness. An ill-timed maneuver however and the reef would tear away the boat’s bottom. The ship’s remaining crew lined the prow ready to raise an alarm. Pole extended off the starboard, Tilka Lon continued to hope his luck would change. “Dead slow ahead, Mr. Ayudh.”
“Aye Captain, dead slow ahead.”
The dhoni bobbed between waves rushing toward the white sand beach two hundred yards beyond the reef. Some rolled over the coral. Others died against it.
“Slow astern, Mr. Ayudh.”
“Slow astern.” The Captain turned to starboard, watched the wave motions.
“All ahead full, Mr. Ayudh.” The pilot didn’t respond. He waited for the micro-second to sense the sea up through the planks his feet stood planted on. The moment came. He rammed the throttle open. The boat lurched forward, rode a swell that crested the reef and dropped gently into the island’s lagoon. “Slow ahead, Mr. Ayudh. Make for the sea channel.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Despite their outward calm, Janesh felt the tension melt away. “Very nicely done, Captain. My compliments to you and the crew.” The Captain wore a wide grin.
“We were just passengers. The boat knows what to do. Come, Mr. McKenzie. Let’s see what kind of bait your friend is using.”
Leaving no perceptible wake, the dhoni slid into the narrow, half-mile channel bisecting the island. Thick, leafy overhang shaded the sun’s hot blaze. Dense foliage, undisturbed by trails or paths, grew to the waterline. Long accustomed to all manner of furtive activity, neither the Captain nor the crew blinked when Janesh and Tilka boarded the ship’s dinghy and paddled toward the bank.
They oared it onto shore not bothering to make it fast with the dhoni anchored thirty yards away. Janesh stepped off with simian agility while behind him the oars clattered as the boat wobbled. He breathed deep. Raw, earthy air washed by the ocean welcomed him. Jungle foliage danced and waved in the gentle breeze. No horns or shouts, rumbles or trundles marred the silence. Surrounded by the island’s flora, he listened to its own rhythms. Primal instincts awakened, a dim alarm sounded.
Like a nesting bird feigning injury to lure away a predator, Janesh had not wanted Tilka Lon and his people anywhere near the project. But now he realized the danger he’d placed himself in. If the CIA concluded it served their best interest, they would assassinate him right here. Miranda and the scientists would be left exposed and vulnerable. Nicholas Koh would show no mercy. “Why did you place your team here?”
“Somewhere nearby there’s a submarine on station. They’ll use it to penetrate India. But without at least a secret clearance you could not come aboard. The team saw an opportunity to hone their survival skills.” Indeed, Janesh thought. Where did the lies begin? And where did they end?
“Do you know where they are?”
“Well, it’s an island. They can’t be too far.”
“Then lead the way, Mr. Lon.” Besides wanting to keep everything before him, forging a trail would further sap the agent’s poor physical condition. A tired body made for slowed reflexes.
Twenty minutes had the trailblazer covered in sweat and muttering to himself. “Where the hell are these guys?” Janesh said nothing. Five more yards and the agent would trip over one. Janesh had already identified him and four others spread out in a half-moon arc. The remaining seven had to be somewhere rearward lined across a fallback position. Before Tilka could trip, rising leaves and limbs startled him.
“Jesus, is that you Major Bentley? Did you have to do that?”
From beneath green camouflage paint, eye-white and teeth shone. “Welcome to Camp Maldives, Agent Lon.”
“Jesus, it is you. I’d recognize that drawl anywhere. Give me some water, will you. Bad enough you scared me half to death, I’m burning up out here.” A Cheshire cat grin accompanied the passed canteen.
“Where’d I see you last, Agent Lon, Tajikistan? Damn. Another five years down a hole.” The commando stuck a half-smoked cheroot in his mouth and scrapped a match against his utility belt. “I have to start getting my papers ready. Turn it over to these young guns.”
“Meanwhile I got another job for you, Major. This is Janesh McKenzie. We’re trying to convince him you can provide all the security he needs for a project he’s running inside India.”
“Is that so? Well, come along young man. We’re set up a little farther in.” Janesh fell in alongside Bentley as they moved deeper into the interior. “Don’t let the paint and fatigues fool you, son. We’re equally at home in an urban or any kind of setting.”
The Major droned on about personnel and capabilities. Janesh’s ears pricked up. Surrounded by insect chitter and buzz, some fell silent before resuming their chirps. Silence, chirps. Silence, chirps. Janesh turned his head. The familiar pattern denoted movement, speed, and direction.
“You shouldn’t have any worries that we’d be able…” Janesh stopped.
“Someone’s coming. Closing on our position.”
Everyone froze. Bentley glanced at his team. They shrugged and shook their heads but clicked their safeties off. Trained commandos watched in astonishment as Janesh dove into the underbrush. From the channel, only he heard the whoosh of rockets knifing through the air. A booming explosion shook leaves and limbs. Followed by another, birds took to flight and insects quieted. Foliage and dust floated to the ground.
Training and reflexes recovered as the commandos dropped into defensive positions but not before a red dot found Major Bentley’s head and splattered his brains all over Tilka Lon. A ferocious return barrage erupted as metal shrieks pierced the air searching for unseen targets. Empty clips dropped. While the team slammed fresh ones home, one commando with a belted machine gun rose behind a tree. Rotating across their front, short, steady burps laid down a withering cover fire. Two by two, the commandos began to drop away from their vulnerable, exposed position. One hoisted a near-headless Major onto a shoulder before melting into the dense flora.
Janesh turned his head and snaked away from the fire zone. The commando team had no chance. They had landed on a
n empty, isolated island to sharpen their survival skills. No one had thought to bring enough ammunition for a sustained fire fight. The unknown attackers would continue their guerilla ambushes until the CIA strike force ran out of bullets. The end would come quick.
Janesh’s mind cycled through options. It selected, processed, and dismissed in microseconds. On an island, unarmed and targeted, alternatives quickly ran out. The explosions must have reduced the dhoni to splinters floating on the tide. He prayed no crewmember had survived. They’d suffer a worse fate. He harbored no illusion the attackers would tire and leave. Not before they accounted for his body. Only the window between now and the commandos running out of ammunition provided a chance.
Janesh stopped. Hidden within the forest’s bosom, he closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. Deeper and deeper he plunged. Instinct’s wellspring gurgled before him. A gentle breeze cooled glistening sweat beads. Beneath him ants toiled and tunneled. A bird’s wings flittered overhead. The Mahān Śikārī rose and turned his gaze toward the channel. Whatever options an enemy removed one always remained—attack.
Like a silent wraith Janesh moved through the forest leaving no sign of his passage. He circled wide of their landing point moving into the wind where scent could enter his arsenal. All the while keen eyes scanned the coconut saplings growing amid the plants and bushes until he spotted one about his height. Coconut tree roots grew along the surface not into the earth, needing only a sharp tug to pull it out. Snapping of the top and root stem left him with a four-foot flexible rod. Whipped through the air, the blow could leave a man senseless—or dead.
Behind him a distant pop, pop, pop swelled to a crescendo. He had no doubt the CIA team would sell their lives dearly but sell they would. He had to hurry. His nostrils flared as the air thickened with salt. He slowed then crouched. Still as a stone he peered between two fern leaves. A hundred yards to the right, amid the flotsam of its dead cousin, prow pointed toward him, another dhoni sat anchored in the channel.
