The SONG of SHIVA

by Michael Caulfield

  * * *

  Well, that settled that. No cab company in the vicinity had taken a fare to London in the past week. If Egan hadn’t gone by limo, train or cab, then he probably hadn’t gone at all. He had simply vanished ― undoubtedly been abducted or murdered.

  Alright, sister, what’re you going to do with that? Can’t just walk up to Pandavas and announce your suspicions, now can you?

  If he wasn’t dead, her quarry had to be secreted away somewhere, probably close by. The nearest obvious hiding place was the Shiva Node – which left Nora in a quandary. Should she continue on her own, alone, or run for help and approach Whitehall? The British government was supposedly already hot on Innovac’s trail.

  The alternative was to proceed with the sketchy plan she and Egan’s Bangkok mentor had slap-dashed together during yesterday’s two brief phone conversations. Ning Zhòngní, the Harnham temple abbot would contact her as soon as that plan could be put into action. All Nora had contributed so far was her credit card number. Even if the hoped-for little bundle arrived today, running to Whitehall might still be a good idea. Adding another operative would certainly improve their odds. Relying solely on her ability to pull off an inside job, particularly before she was completely inside, might prove to be a very bad idea indeed.

  She could fail, be discovered, or killed ― all very real risks inherent in Master Sun’s plan ― but operating alone ruled out any chance of treachery. And while extremely perilous, the plan did offer the prospect of success. But without Whitehall in the mix, her only support would be the abbot’s long-distance direction and what little aid she might be able to secure from the tiny Salisbury Buddhist community ― surely no more than a handful of local people. She had the rest of today, half a dozen hours, to weigh her options, but after that she would surely have to make some kind of decision ― and act.

  Master Sun had assured her that Egan was still alive. How could he possibly know that? He had also insisted that there was still enough time to avert the impending plague. What had he said? “Time enough to test your courage and succeed.” But there had been something else, something cryptic.

  “Listen carefully, Nora. I haven’t time nor do I need to offer you any more than this: Even the most beautiful blossom in all of creation must bud before it can bloom.”

  It didn’t seem like much. Inscrutably Zen, but hardly enough to save a life ― even her own.

  * * *

  “Are you about finished with your cross-examination?” Pandavas asked from under hooded eyes. “We really must move on. Make a decision ― any decision ― so we may.”

  “I don’t know if asking questions from here to eternity is going to be enough, but I’ve still got a few.”

  “Then proceed, counselor,” Pandavas said wearily.

  “How do you know so much about me anyway? Enough to direct my otherworld travels right to that particular spot in that specifically perfect alternate reality? From the minute we started these friendly little conversations you’ve referred to ― seemed to know all about Karen and every detail of my life. Want to start by explaining that?”

  “We’ve known everything we’ve needed to know for a very long time,” Pandavas explained. “Once we identified you as an interesting target ― from our serum canvassing effort ― remember, this was more than three years ago ― we went back and worked up your entire personal biography.”

  “What a waste of time and money that must’ve been.”

  “On the contrary,” Pandavas said with an amused grin. “If we hadn’t, we would never have uncovered the personal tragedy that drove you to Bangkok. With that knowledge, we felt reasonably certain we could offer you something truly valuable, in exchange for what we wanted ― the ultimate win-win scenario.”

  “But you’ve already gotten what you wanted ― access to my DNA. What else is there?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is one other thing ― and it’s something you have to relinquish voluntarily. We can’t take it from you. To be perfectly honest, if it were possible we would already have done so.”

  “Oh? And what might that be, doc, my immortal soul?” Might as well say it. This screwy conversation already seemed to be headed in that direction.

  “Not quite. All we want is the mortal coil ― once you decide to shuffle it off for us that is. Ask yourself, what actually went to that other place? It wasn’t your physical body.”

  “You’re asking the wrong guy, doc. Wasn’t I inside your holding tank?” Pandavas shook his head. How long would he tolerate this stubborn reticence before meting out a consequence ― or two?

  “Your consciousness, Lyköan ― though if you consider consciousness and soul to be the same thing, then perhaps you’re correct ― conceivably it was the very thing you suggest. But does it matter? Where would you rather be? Here, in this vacuous present ― this experiential prison ― absent the woman and the life you already know still exists, elsewhere ― or with her in a place, while certainly not paradise, superior in almost every respect to this backwater?”

  “And you’re asking me to vacate this mortal coil ― yeah, yeah, willingly, I understand ― because...?”

  “Because we cannot compel you to make the journey,” Pandavas replied hurriedly. “You have to be conscious, completely desirous at both departure and arrival, to successfully make the transition. For example, we couldn’t successfully transfer you if you were unconscious ― not even in your sleep. And once you arrive, you must be cognizant and intent, aware of your surroundings, otherwise dire consequences result ― I needn’t go into them, but take my word. Simply put: It has to be a transfer of desire.”

  Pandavas looked out the cell door’s small window into the hallway as if he were expecting someone. “I’m at a loss, here. Were we wrong to assume that you’d gratefully accept such a proposal? Most people would jump at an opportunity to live a life they’d loved and lost. It’s almost axiomatic of human nature. We’re offering you a second chance, in fact, a second life.”

  Yeah, a second chance. Sun Shi had even warned him to prepare himself ― expect any day to be smacked upside the head by one. It couldn’t have been mere coincidence that Pandavas had chosen that expression. There were no coincidences, right? How many second chances could there be?

  “Without our help, Lyköan, you haven’t a prayer of leaving here alive.”

  There was just too damned much considering and deliberating going on here. Stop overanalyzing. Toss the suspicions, you moron ― just go for it. What did he have to lose by leaving or gain by staying? Nothing, if only…

  Across the great expanse of a few leaves of the multiverse, infinitely closer than the atoms in the familiar physical universe, Karen’s sweet, doe-like eyes were still bright and alive. Here, where his own eyes viewed only with imagination, those same eyes had long since dimmed. How many such second chances could any man expect ― or refuse?

  * * *

  “Marty, we’ve worked together for a long time, been friends for some of it, right? Wouldn’t you agree I’ve earned your respect, at least a hearing?” Nora had finally raised Kosoy in Atlanta. The sun was hanging heavy in the evening sky, casting long shadows across the pathways as she walked along the outer edge of the Cairncrest privet maze.

  “What is this, Nora?” Kosoy asked. “You’ve saved lives, saved the CDC and rescued my damned ass from the fire. I can’t think of anyone I respect more.”

  “So if I were to tell you something completely crazy,” Nora went on, “something that sounded like fiction ― science fiction at that ― but coming from me ― how much credence would you give it?”

  “Hypothetically? Or are you about to spring something on me?”

  “In total seriousness.” Nora had come to an opening in the privet and, brushing the foliage with her shoulder as she turned, stepped into the maze.

  “I’d have to hear it first, but I’d consider anything you told me to be credible. Why? What is it?”

  “There’re some things going on here a
t the Innovac labs, Marty. Things I’ve learned ― things I’m convinced are true ― but can no longer prove. For now, can you get the CDC to look into Innovac’s research with the precursor H5N1 avian influenza virus before the TAI mutation?”

  “What’re we looking for?”

  “Whatever you can find. Any sequence of events that, when followed, point to Innovac’s fingers in Bangkok’s avian virus research pool – however far back you can find anything ― months ― maybe years before the first confirmed case.

  A short rapid sequence of tones interrupted the conversation. “Just a sec, Marty, I have to take this call.”

  * * *

  “You still here?” Lyköan asked in mock surprise as he emerged from the stall. Plumber number one didn’t answer, failed to display even a glimmer of comprehending any humor in the remark. Lyköan shrugged and, walking over to a row of washbasins, purposely brushed against the man, who took a step back either out of deference or caution. Standing and staring into the bathroom mirror, Lyköan took the comb from his back pocket and, after running it under the faucet, dragged it haphazardly through his hair. Standing back to admire the presentable excuse for a part that resulted, he grinned coldly at his reflection. Was it just his imagination or did the ungainly slant of his deviated septum appear decidedly less severe in the bathroom’s soft florescent light? The flesh of his face too, looked more vibrant and less slack in some indefinable way, clearer than he remembered, or he thought it did.

  Turning on the hot water and plugging the sink, he leaned over the basin and, cupping water into his hands, splashed it in his face. Pandavas had allowed him to come here and use the bathroom, shave, and prepare for the next phase of the ongoing inquisition. Lyköan was ready to face the music, feeling himself becoming stronger with every passing minute. It couldn’t all be attributable to that one hot meal. His entire body felt energized, electrified, as if he were shedding years as the hours shuttled by. Spreading shaving cream over the wet stubble, he began to whistle, dragging the blade across his face.

  Minutes later, while being escorted down the corridor back to his cell, the plumber now humming the same melody he had picked up from Lyköan in the bathroom, Lyköan took the opportunity to reconnoiter. What little there was to see. A long unadorned empty hallway broken periodically by closed metal doorways, his cell behind one of them. Overhead, recessed incandescence painted the length and depth of the hallway absent a single exit sign.

  Before arriving at the doorway where the other plumber stood, he made a mental note of an obvious elevator doorway and, next to it, another door with a simple black and white stairway symbol upon it. If he decided to run, this would be where he’d head first. If he ran right now he wouldn’t get far. All of the doors, both the standard hinged variety, like his cell, and the sliding elevator types, required access key cards. What other security features were positioned between this hallway and freedom? What direction was freedom? He didn’t even know what floor he was on. If he were lucky enough to gain the out-of-doors he’d still be many kilometers of open country away from the nearest surface habitation, and that was Cairncrest. Even if escape were possible he wasn’t sure he wanted to run at all.

  Plumber number one stopped outside the unmarked door. “Thanks for the escort, mate,” Lyköan said, turning the knob as plumber number two slid the access card across the reader.

  “Ah, our resurrected hero ― returned safely to the stockade...” Pandavas announced. That irksome verve never seemed to dim.

  “And runs into an old acquaintance,” Harry Whitehall added.

  “Christ,” Lyköan muttered under his breath, lowering his eyes and shaking his head. First I turn over the yíb to Innovac ― free and clear ― a goddamn open book. And now the proverbial bad penny turns up ― here.

  Raising his head after a rough breath, Lyköan tried his damnedest to transfix Whitehall with what he hoped was a blistering glare. Through clenched teeth he hissed, “I don’t suppose you’re the Light Brigade come to my rescue, are you Whitehall?”

  The older man leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, fingers intertwined, and beamed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Parousia

  When the wide world dissolves and every creature is purified, all shall be hell that is not heaven.

  Thomas Beaumont : Persepolis

  Leaning forward in his chair, Whitehall drummed the fingers of one hand rhythmically upon the tabletop. “We’re worried about you, Lyköan,” he explained in a soft voice. “We really are. By this point, dear boy, we had hoped that you’d be taking our offer much more seriously.” Off to the side of the room, Pandavas leaned impassively against the wall, arms folded across his chest, eyes fixed expressionless on the polished floor.

  “You’re right, Whitehall. But running into you down here might change my attitude, that’s what you were thinking, right?” Lyköan suppressed a sudden urge to spin around and dash full stride towards the cell’s steel door. He imagined himself diving headfirst at the tiny rectangular window and driving his entire body through the narrow opening. It obviously wasn’t wide enough to admit even his head, but he was willing to shave off both ears, and more, if it meant freedom. For an instant he almost gave into the impulse, irrationally believing he was capable of such a feat. How could he ever have believed Whitehall was anything more than Innovac’s shill?

  “That was the general idea. If I visited personally and explained what you were really up against ― that I was already on this side of the fence ― perhaps you’d find the doctor’s offer, well ― more compelling. It’s high time we dashed any foolish notion you might be harboring about my coming to your rescue. Have we succeeded in that much at least?” The last sentence was delivered with a sheepish grin, a sinister echo of the old Whitehall.

  “Totally,” Lyköan replied with an interior shudder. “How long have you been part of this? When did you first sell out? Before the Primrose deal?” Fidgeting uncomfortably inside his wrinkled clothing, Lyköan felt powerless. Like a trapped animal, his eyes darted rapidly back and forth between Whitehall and Pandavas. The room’s glaring overhead lights cut sharp, angular shadows on the floor and walls, bleaching everything into a film noir black and white.

  “The answer to all those accusations is ‘no,’ Lyköan. First of all, I never sold out. And it wasn’t until much later ― this is not semantics ― that I was persuaded by force of argument that Innovac possessed the better hand.

  “But initially, my role was exactly as I described it that Saturday morning at the Ayutt Haya. At that time, my allegiances were still equally divided between Innovac and British Intelligence. I was monitoring Bangkok’s handling of the TAI epidemic for His Majesty and shadowing you for Innovac. Not even a conflict of interest back then. Things simply evolved from there. Here, wouldn’t you be more comfortable sitting down, then?” Whitehall gestured, indicating another chair at the table.

  “No, I’d rather stand. But please, continue ― it’s such a fascinating story.” Lyköan shoved both hands into his pockets, riveting himself to the floor where he stood, two steps inside the locked door. He wasn’t moving another inch and resented being even politely coerced ― danced to some mark like a goddamned marionette. Refusing Whitehall’s offer to sit down was about the only freedom he still possessed.

  “As you will,” Whitehall accepted with a raised eyebrow. “Actually, it wasn’t until much later, while you were in hospital after the shooting at your apartment, that the opportunity to broaden my relationship with our mutual employer first presented itself. Even then I was only trying to determine if Innovac had a role in the attack on you ― understand, I was still only collecting information.”

  “But you did eventually uncover the whole story ― and long before I did, didn’t you?” Lyköan wondered aloud. “How did your other employer react when you told them about Innovac’s role in the outbreak? Or haven’t you?”

  Although he was still capable of putting a bold face on his anger, he f
elt completely deflated, near panic. All at once the opportunity to bid good riddance to this particularly venial, irredeemable uchronion, where amoral shitheads like Whitehall and Pandavas pulled all the strings, held all the cards, and called all the shots, had suddenly become far more appealing. Why not just accept their exit offer and forever be done with them all? He made a mental note to demand that no doppelganger Whitehall exist where he would be headed either.

  “Oh, my other employer. Well of course, they never learned more than would serve the greater purpose ― that Innovac’s viral model was predicting an even more virulent TAI outbreak in Southeast Asia’s future. So when it strikes, well, let’s just say they will neither be surprised ― nor suspicious.

  “But please, let me return to my original tale. By the time I had sussed Innovac’s role in the original outbreak, Gordon and Narayan were already courting me in earnest ― and promising quite an eye-opening dowry!”

  Lyköan stared at Whitehall with a wrinkled brow, confused by the reference.

  “Why, these miraculous little fountain-of-youth engines!” Whitehall exclaimed, touching his chest with fingertips and then flipping his wrists outward in display. “Once I was able to personally experience their wondrous effects, why, any developmental costs, including human lives, became entirely irrelevant.”

  Oh brother, is it that easy to rationalize murder? Lyköan thought.

  “At sixty-seven, dear chap, such alteration was an irresistible temptation.”

  “And this gibberish about an Artifact and some need to open the eyes of God, you bought into all that too? I can’t believe it.”

  “Why not, Lyköan?” Pandavas interjected, pushing away from the wall. Apparently Lyköan’s last remark demanded direct intervention. “How can you malign what you personally experienced only yesterday? Gibberish? Hardly. Anyone else would have found that experience to be a prima facie proof. Anyone, that is, who preferred reason to obstinacy ― who wasn’t constantly out to pick a fight.”