The SONG of SHIVA

by Michael Caulfield

  “Who the hell is General Wattanasin?” Lyköan asked, enjoying every second of this interrogation. Enjoying it far too much. Squeezing the youth’s corded neck muscles, he smashed Jimmy’s face roughly into the front seatback.

  “Thai military?” Fremont asked from behind the wheel as he drove down the deserted gravel road.

  “He patriot. Thai patriot,” Jimmy’s tiny voice gurgled. “Carry out quarantine orders.”

  Lyköan was breathing hard, his head surrounded by a blaze of sparkling fireflies, tracing brilliant phosphene patterns throughout the car’s interior, leaving in their wake the perfumed aroma of raw, sweat-soaked pheromones ― pure animal fear ― feral, pungent and loathsome. In his ears, he could feel his pulse pounding, tapping out a drum roll of urgency and anger.

  “What orders?” he demanded.

  “Contain epidemic. At all cost.”

  Holding the twig-like neck with one hand, he dragged Jimmy’s head forward behind both front seatbacks, kneeled hard into the boy’s back, forcing his face towards the floor. With the other hand he pulled taut a length of gaudy silken tie and hissed, “But that’s not how it’s working out, is it? So what’s next?”

  “This looks isolated enough,” Fremont interjected, pulling the car off the road in a cloud of dust.

  “Even if flu escape quarantine ― government must survive.”

  “Survive how?” Lyköan asked. “Anybody can be infected. You ― me ― the king himself. How did they plan to protect the government?”

  “I do not know.”

  Yeah, I’ll bet, Lyköan thought. Time for a strategy shift. Tapping Fremont on the shoulder he lifted Jimmy roughly by the scruff of his neck, pulled the little urchin’s face close so they were now nose to nose, saw his own enraged face reflected in the dark pools of Jimmy’s hugely dilated pupils.

  “What do you say we take a little stroll into the jungle?” he suggested in a raspy whisper. “Clear your head. Who knows? Maybe you’ll remember something.”

  Fremont cut the engine and, turning around in the front seat, idly rested a dark handgun on the passenger seatback so their captive could not avoid seeing it.

  “This is where it gets dicey, Mr. Sawadviphachai,” Fremont said with a nod towards the weapon. “Whether everything flows smooth and calm as the Chao Phraya from here on out or blows up in your face is entirely up to you. Please keep that in mind.”

  Exiting from behind the wheel, Fremont circled to the back door facing the jungle, where Jimmy sat trembling. Opening the door, he motioned with the weapon. Jimmy refused the invitation.

  “Don’t make this difficult,” Lyköan grumbled, shoving their reluctant captive out of the back seat and after exiting behind him, slamming the door. Jimmy jumped at the sound. Standing almost frozen, inches from the car, he began straightening his jacket nervously, wide eyes fixed on Fremont’s hand and the weapon it held.

  Pushing Jimmy away from the vehicle, Lyköan draped a comforting arm around the boy’s scarecrow-like shoulders and pulled him close. Reaching inside the gorgeously tailored Caraceni pale yellow suit jacket ― not some Pat Pong market knock-off, but the genuine article ― he emptied both interior pockets, dropped the contents on the ground and, after surveying the scattered items, crushed the double-bud with a heel.

  “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he said with a snicker. “What a relief. No more of those annoying interruptions. C’mon, let’s get away from the road.”

  Lyköan grabbed a handful of jacket at Jimmy's shoulder and the three men moved silently into the jungle. Arriving at a level clearing in the undergrowth a few minutes later, Lyköan pulled a thick black zip-tie from his pocket and twisted one of Jimmy’s arms behind his back. The boy resisted, blubbering in terrified panic.

  “Jee-zus, Jimmy. It’s just a precaution. We don’t want you running off and hurting yourself. Play ball with us ― answer a few lousy questions ― and you got nothing to worry about. We just want some information, that’s all.”

  “What information? I know nothing.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, pal,” Lyköan replied, pulling down the young man's other arm and strapping both wrists together with a tug. “You know a helluva lot more than we do.” He spun the boy around.

  “Lyköan, we don’t have time for this shit,” Fremont inserted on cue. “On the ground, asshole.” Hooking one foot deftly behind the youth’s quaking knees, Fremont grabbed a handful of jacket at the shoulder as Jimmy fell forward, bringing their frightened hostage to a kneeling position on the ground.

  Pressing the barrel of the automatic hard against Jimmy’s forehead, he then forced the boy’s head back until their eyes met.

  “How deep does this cozy little genocide go?” he demanded, segueing seamlessly into the role of bad kidnapper in their previously scripted routine.

  “What you mean?” Jimmy rasped with a look of sheer terror.

  “Listen you little shithead,” Fremont swore, nudging Jimmy’s forehead with the gun barrel for emphasis, “you’re not fooling anybody. Either you spill something useful ― right now ― or I pull this goddamned trigger and feed this fucking jungle a little more biomass. Your choice.”

  “General Wattanasin receive Innovac promise,” Jimmy cried. “Infection not leave southern provinces.”

  “Innovac actually promised that?” Lyköan asked, standing at Fremont’s side. “How could they?”

  “Had vaccine.”

  “You inoculated?” Fremont demanded.

  No answer.

  “I asked you a goddamned question, fuckface.”

  Jimmy nodded, pushing the gun barrel backwards.

  “What was the point? What did they hope to accomplish?”

  “Defend Thai sovereignty.”

  “Against what?” Lyköan demanded.

  “Terrorists.”

  “What terrorists?”

  “al-Qabas-e-Allah. Firebrand of Allah.”

  Finally they were getting somewhere.

  “General Wattanasin control Army. Ministry of Health listen to Pandavas.”

  “And what about you? Who were you listening to ― you little piece of shit?” Fremont returned, spittle flying from his mouth.

  “I just middleman. Make introductions: Wattanasin ― Innovac ― Primrose ― Ministry of Health ― others. That all.”

  “I’ll bet ‘that all’,” Fremont said with a convincing sneer “How does ‘that all’ make anybody filthy rich, kiddo? Nobody pays millions ― baht ― dollars ― whatever ― for introductions. I’m getting a little impatient here,” Fremont said, turning to Lyköan. “You getting impatient, Lyköan? Think we got enough?”

  “He’s playing ball, Fremont,” Lyköan pleaded on cue. “You are playing ball, aren’t you, Jimmy? C’mon Felix, you said no murder if we got to the truth. So far, it sounds reasonable to me. We’re getting there. Give the kid a chance.”

  “Yes, yes!” Jimmy gasped, looking up at Fremont. “I tell everything.”

  “We’re listening,” Felix said, displaying a diabolical grin.

  “Innovac promise they can protect most of country from epidemic ― limit outbreak. General Wattanasin and Mr. Chaiprasit—”

  “Who?” Lyköan asked.

  “Inter-Provincial Health Minister,” Jimmy explained. “Want no link to questions. I am only negotiator. When first suggested—”

  “Questions? What questions?”

  “My questions. What illness kill most? Mutant malaria, SARS, Ebola, bird flu ― many others. How to contain. Can vaccine be made? At first I talk quietly to many companies ― look for information only. Promise ear of my uncle, husband of King’s sister. They all happy to pay. I even introduce some to my uncle.”

  “Is he part of this?” Fremont asked.

  “No. Is successful businessman. Work out for everyone. I ask more questions. Emergency quarantine ― how soon? How many die? Looking for—” Jimmy took a long breath.

  “Keep talking,” Fremont commanded. �
��Looking for what?”

  “Best solution to trouble in south.”

  “Solution?” Lyköan asked.

  “Stop uprising. End ― Mr. Chaiprasit call it ― ‘appeal’ of Firebrand of Allah.”

  “So during your diligent search,” Felix asked in a calmer voice, “did you find Innovac ― or did they find you?”

  “I meet Dr. Narayan when he come to Thailand to negotiate with Primrose. Later negotiate directly with Pandavas.”

  “How convenient ― for everyone,” Lyköan said with a sarcastic chuckle. “A match made in heaven. So what went wrong?”

  “Wattanasin worry. Not trust Pandavas. He want proof of Innovac promise. Want Primrose plans and ― your computer files. I agree. Primrose easy. Buy everything from old owners. But you ― I know you already ― know you would not just turn over files to me ― know how important you think Innovac-Primrose deal is. So I hire thieves from Laos.”

  “Incompetents.”

  “But they succeed. They get your Ōkii tablet.”

  “That they did. And all I got was a fucking belly wound.”

  “But general could not break coded files. So I ask Pandavas for more assurance.”

  “And the old boy was only too happy to oblige. Anything the general wanted. Am I right?”

  “Yes. Very, very satisfactory.”

  “No doubt.”

  “He provide map. Pinpoint outbreak source from computer model. Show path from Vietnam to Thailand. Provide vaccine for outbreak. Many doses.”

  “As little good as it’ll do you,” Lyköan laughed ruefully, shaking his head.

  “Flu already do job,” Jimmy countered. “In south. Kill troublesome element. Soon army reestablish order. Ministry of Health now savior of Thailand. Look for many years of peace.”

  “And what did Innovac want in return?” Fremont demanded.

  “Freedom to manufacture in Thailand. Purchase land for new research centers.”

  Fremont was almost apoplectic. “And that didn’t seem even remotely unbalanced a bargain to you geniuses?”

  “Innovac and Ministry of Health sign twenty year exclusive contract. Many drugs. Import and manufacture. Many billions of baht guaranteed. That no small matter.”

  “Do you have any idea where Pandavas is now?”

  “Army and police looking. No one knows.”

  Jimmy was probably telling the truth. As he knew the truth anyway. As the clandestine elements of the Thai government believed it to be. And surely just as Pandavas had so attractively packaged it. The truth is beautiful. But lies have a compelling beauty of their own.

  “That’s all of it?” Fremont asked. “Anything else?” To make certain, he cocked the weapon with a resounding click.

  “Same-same. All I know. All I know. All I know...”

  Jimmy’s pleading voice trailed off in a flare of fading ignis fatuus and the scent of decaying tropical fruit. Lyköan suddenly felt claustrophobic. The surrounding foliage was thick and exerting a wavering pressure as though he were in an undulating kelp forest, swimming thirty feet below the surface of an ocean.

  Lowering the gun, Fremont stepped back, pulled out a phone and keyed in a three button message. In the center of Jimmy’s forehead a small, raw circular impression retained the image of the gun barrel. Beads of sweat, beginning at the plastered hairline, ran down the glazed forehead and around the mark. Collecting first in the eyebrows, they then continued around the outside of each ocular orbit, mixing with tears at the sunken cheekbones and from there trickled down the angular plane of each cheek. At the point of the chin each glistening droplet fell, disappearing one by one into the kaleidoscopic expanse of Jimmy’s sad, rumpled necktie. Lyköan watched, enthralled by this slow-motion ballet until the fluttering staccato of rotors interrupted. Through a storm of blinding chartreuse and roseate moiré damask he pushed Jimmy towards a larger clearing in the jungle canopy.

  “C’mon, rabbit-heart. Time to scurry off for a well-deserved vacation. Give you a chance to cool your heels.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Two Journeys

  The minds of the everlasting gods are not changed suddenly.

  Homer : The Odyssey

  “That’s the last of it, John,” Nora called from across the lab. “Once you get those antigen sequencers out of here, I’ll call Nettinger ― let him know he can have the space for MRT transcriptor culturing. So as quick as you can, okay?”

  “Thirty minutes, max, doc,” the young man replied without looking up. “Two trips to plasminogen binding and this lab is all his.”

  Walking over to the technician, who continued busily transferring electronic components into boxes on a rolling cart, she asked in a much lower register, “When you’re finished here, can you stop by my office for one last unofficial assignment?” They had been working together in the otherwise deserted laboratory since early morning; it was now nearly two in the afternoon.

  “An unofficial assignment?” Newhouse echoed tentatively. “What kind of assignment?”

  “Something personal. I need somebody who I can trust to keep his mouth shut and follow instructions, no questions asked. You willing to do that?”

  “Sure doc, anything.”

  “Okay,” she sighed, looking past him, “then I’ll see you before you leave.”

  “Why not now?”

  “No questions ― remember?”

  “I thought you were just being rhetorical.”

  “No ― I wasn’t. Look, John, I want discretion. Don’t be obtuse. It’s something important ― and private. Isn’t that enough?”

  “And I shouldn’t ask what it’s all about.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “That’s right. You should just agree. Because you owe me. You know why you owe me, don't you?”

  “For getting me a seat on the last plane out of Dodge?”

  One by one, airports around the globe were shuttering their gates. Suvarnahbumi International had announced it would be suspending operations after five o’clock today. If not for Nora’s intercession, John Newhouse, low man on the CDC’s Thai influenza response team, would have been stranded in Thailand, unable to return to a pregnant wife about to deliver their first child. Nora had selected her target with considerable forethought.

  “Getting you a ticket home was only a means to an end, John,” she explained. “And it’s not the most important reason you owe me anyway. Not by a long shot. You owe me far more for saving your life. If you had never come to Thailand ― had never been inoculated ― what do you think your prognosis would be right now?”

  The young man’s gaze dropped.

  “If not for me,” she explained, emphasizing her words by poking his chest with an index finger, “you’d be just another poor slob about to learn firsthand that no church pew ― no soon-to-be overcrowded hospital room, anywhere on earth, is capable of protecting anyone. The shit’s about to hit the fan, Johnny boy. You and I both know that. If not for my vaccine ― you tell me ― where would you be?”

  “God, doc ― okay. You’ve made your point. Why are you acting like this?”

  “Just looking for a little genuine gratitude,” Nora replied, ignoring this latest violation of her no question rule. “Put you in the right frame of mind so you will willing do what I ask, become my mule and carry something important back to the States for me. And I think you’ll do it once you recognize the golden opportunity you’re being handed.

  “Tell me, John,” she went on, “besides your wife ― do you have any close family ― anybody you really care about?” She was giving the young man more than a hint of what she had in mind. If he was sharp, and she knew he was, he’d pick up on it soon.

  “My parents are still alive. I’ve got an older brother in Memphis with a wife and three kids.”

  “Would you like to protect them?”

  “Of course…”

  “I can’t believe you haven’t considered the possibility yourself ― already.” She paused, recognizing the glint of un
derstanding ― or was it shame? ― in his eyes. “Oh I see. You have. Hey listen; I’m not faulting you, in fact, I’d doubt your humanity if you hadn’t. I just want the same chance for my own family ― you understand?”

  Newhouse nodded.

  “With multiple outbreaks now confirmed in North America, there isn’t much time. I know it sounds callous ― even selfish ― but I didn’t risk my life ― beat my head against the wall these past weeks ― only to leave my own kids defenseless. Not when I have the power ― right here in my hand—” she raised a box of vaccine vials “― to save them.”

  “Then just give that to me now,” Newhouse suggested. “Why do we have to meet in your office later?”

  “More questions? You know, Johnny, I’m beginning to worry. Maybe you’re not the right burro for this job. Not right at all.”

  “No, I’m your boy, doc. Really. I am,” Newhouse insisted. “I’m more than happy to do whatever you say. Because ― like you said ― I really do owe you.”

  “I hope you really believe that,” Nora sighed again.

  “Look doc, I wasn’t trying to be difficult.”

  “And you’ve got to promise to deliver them personally,” Nora continued, ignoring the interruption. “Do you understand? Even before the baby’s born. Within twenty-four hours of landing at HJA. Can you promise me that?”

  * * *

  The sun was about to plunge below the western skyline as Lyköan broke stride in front of Wat Tee Pueng Sut Taai. Finding the ornate cast-iron main gates thrown open against the temple’s outer masonry wall, he hurried inside. Greeting him as he passed into the inner courtyard was a startling scene, like something out of ancient history ― or scripture.

  Across the sunlit grounds in every direction stretched a blinding sea of white canvas litters, hundreds of them, each holding a single forlorn occupant, some moving, moaning, coughing or crying out, others still and silent. A forest of fiery serpents’ tongues rose from the brilliant expanse, like flaming whitecaps tossing on a sunlit, storm-swept sea. Polarized and chromatic, each forked flame burned brightly above the living. Above the dead hung only barren and still air.