by J. F. Penn
Morgan leaned over to see the images more clearly. "I think people in the West associate Calcutta with Mother Teresa, but it seems quite a different place these days as a hub of technology and culture."
Jake pulled up pictures of India's oldest port, situated on the banks of the Hooghly River.
"The capital of West Bengal, the third biggest city in India behind Mumbai and Delhi. How the hell are we going to find Marietti here?"
As the announcement came over the tannoy that the plane was descending, Jake's phone vibrated and he pulled it out to find a text from Martin. "The tracker has stopped moving."
He clicked the link and a map opened up, zooming in to the detail of the city.
"That's Kalighat." he said. "A temple to the goddess Kali."
"She's an aspect of the goddess Durga," Morgan whispered. "A black goddess, representing the forces of time and destruction. She's usually portrayed with a garland of human heads and she holds a freshly decapitated one. Her hands are bloody from sacrifice and her tongue is red with the blood of the demon Raktabija whose blood she spilled and drank."
"Oh, great," Jake said, and took a final swig of his beer. "This should be fun."
They landed as night fell and jumped in a taxi from the airport. Marietti's tracker had gone dark soon after it had stopped moving, so they could only hope he was still being held at the Kali temple.
"I'm sure he's been taken underground or something. There's nothing to worry about." Morgan's voice was confident, but Jake could hear her concern. He reached for her hand and she let it rest in his.
"Definitely," he replied. "That's the only explanation."
They drove through the city and arrived at the Kalighat temple on the bank of the Tolly canal, which ran down from the Hooghly River further north.
"Some say that the name Calcutta stems from the word Kalighat," Morgan said, as they looked up at the imposing structure. "The river once ran past here but over time it moved north."
The temple was attractive from the outside, with cream domes and archways highlighted in terracotta paint. It was busy with pilgrims come to pay respect to the goddess. Many Indians treated the goddess Kali as a mother figure, bringing her the problems of domestic life and asking for prosperity. A woman bustled past, a wreath of marigolds in her hand, and Morgan and Jake followed her inside the temple through a dark corridor towards an open courtyard.
The sound of bleating made them stop and turn. A goat stood tethered in front of a sacrificial altar, rust red with faded bloodstains. A priest lifted his scimitar and with one quick stroke, he sliced the head from the goat. Fresh blood spurted out onto the altar as the lifeless corpse slumped to the ground, still twitching. Jake understood that animal sacrifice was still common across the world, and if he was honest, this manner of death was more humane than many Western abattoirs. But it still made him shiver a little as worshippers dipped cloth into the blood as a blessing.
They walked on towards the idol, a portrayal of the goddess at the heart of the temple. They moved with the crowd of pilgrims, the smell of bodies and incense and smoke creating a heady atmosphere, until they finally emerged in front of Kali herself. The sound of whispered prayers filled the chamber as pilgrims paraded past the statue of the goddess. It was unusual, with three eyes on black skin and a golden protruding tongue. In two hands she held a golden severed head and a sword while the other two hands were curled into the mudra prayer position.
"There's no way Marietti is here," Jake whispered. "Look at this crowd. It's just another temple full of the faithful."
"But the tracker went dead here," Morgan said as they exited the chamber. "So where else could they have gone?"
Chapter 19
Marietti heard chanting as he regained consciousness, a repetition of a mantra that vibrated through him. The smell of incense lay heavy in the air and underneath it, the metallic tang of blood. He was bound upright against a pillar of some kind, ropes holding him tight.
He opened his eyes.
He was in an ancient temple with a low ceiling and walls painted with aspects of the divine. Before him, next to a bloodstained altar, was a huge statue of Kali, the black goddess of time and change, creation and destruction. At the feet of the goddess, a dreadlocked sadhu sat cross-legged, his body covered in ash, his dark eyes dilated as he sipped from a human skull. His eyes were fixed at some point beyond the physical realm. Rows of devotees knelt facing their goddess and their bodies swayed as they chanted a hymn of death and blood.
A man was bound to the pillar on his right. His old face was turned away, but Marietti recognized Father Ben Costanza. What was he doing there?
"Elias." A soft voice spoke to his left. A voice he hadn't heard for many years.
Marietti turned his head.
Nataline was bound to the pillar next to him, her face still beautiful, her eyes bright even though they looked hollow in the flickering candlelight.
A sudden realization stabbed through him. The sculpture. The bomb. It was all his fault.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "I didn't mean–"
"Young love, it's so sweet." A woman stepped out of the shadows behind them. She untied Nataline, releasing the nun from the bonds. "There, go to him."
Nataline rushed to Marietti, her soft lips on his after so long. He closed his eyes and the years fell away. They were back on the beach in Goa, laughing together in the blue waters of the Arabian Sea – before he had chosen another path. Nataline's fingers found his and she began to work on the knots that held him.
The woman pulled her away. "That's enough."
Two bodyguards stepped forward from the shadows and forced Nataline to her knees in front of the altar, their heavy hands on her shoulders. Marietti wanted to shout for them to stop, to take him instead, but he held his tongue. He needed more time to figure out what was going on.
The woman came to stand close to Marietti and looked up into his dark eyes.
"You think you're untouchable, but I was the one who took the sculpture piece from your vault."
"Just one piece," Marietti whispered, a smile playing about his lips. "There is no worth in that and you know it. You don't have all the pieces or I wouldn't be here."
The woman smiled, but he saw the flash of anger in her eyes.
"Do you know of Kali Yuga?" she asked.
Marietti frowned. "The age of vice, or the age of the demon Kali. Supposedly the last of four stages the world goes through as part of the cycle of time."
"When the people are far from the gods and human civilization degenerates," the woman continued. "Then the end will come and Lord Shiva will judge us and the end of time will be upon us."
Marietti raised an eyebrow. "That is not my faith."
"You Christians have a similar apocalyptic vision in the tribulation, a time of great trouble before the end times. So we are not so different. But I believe we can hold this time back by offering a great sacrifice that will make the gods see we are still faithful." She spun around, indicating the devotees chanting behind her. "We are the faithful." She turned back to Marietti. "But I need that sculpture intact. I need the Brahmastra. Tell me where the other pieces are or …"
She nodded towards Nataline, her eyes narrowing.
Marietti stared back at her, his face implacable. But inside, he was screaming. Not Nataline, please God. It was only one life against the possibility of mass slaughter, but it was her life and he had sworn to keep her from trouble. He wanted Nataline to die an old woman in the golden light of Goa after a life of service that made her happy. The thought of her there had kept him at peace for many years, and now she was threatened because of him.
The woman spun to the altar and picked up a kukri, the sharp blade reflecting the light of the candles lit around the temple. A low hiss came from the devotees and their chanting doubled in intensity, their eyes fixed on the blade. Marietti could sense their excitement and bile rose in his throat at what she threatened.
&
nbsp; The bodyguards pushed Nataline forward onto the altar, pulling her long hair away from her neck to expose the paler skin there. Skin he had kissed long ago.
"The goddess demands her sacrifice," the woman said. "Now, where are they?"
Marietti hung his head, eyes closed as he prayed for a way out of this, for some sign of what he should do.
"Elias." He looked up into Nataline's eyes as she lay on the altar. He saw love and forgiveness in the depths, and an unshakeable faith that made his own a poor reflection. "Don't let her win."
At her words, the woman turned.
"Hold out her hand."
The bodyguards stretched out Nataline's arm as she struggled against them. The woman raised the kukri and with one swift stroke, she severed Nataline's hand.
It fell to the floor, a pale offering in a growing pool of blood.
One of the devotees cried out as if in ecstasy. Nataline paled, her eyes fixed on the severed limb as her lips moved in prayer. Marietti knew the shock would prevent pain for only a second and she would lose a lot of blood quickly. Desperation rose within him.
The woman went to the sadhu and picked up his skull bowl. She held it to the end of the spurting wrist until it filled with blood. She handed it back to her guru and he drank deep, crimson staining his lips.
Marietti retched, coughing as tears ran down his cheeks.
"The next blow will be her head." The woman's voice was a sick caress, an offering from the dark and Marietti felt like he was on the edge of the abyss. The devil's choice to save a woman he loved and let the rest of the world be damned.
"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me." Nataline's voice was strong in the temple, loud enough to echo around the walls above the heads of the chanting devotees. Marietti let the words of Psalm 23 wash over him and he was shamed by Nataline's faith.
The woman's face filled with anger and her fingers tightened on the handle of the kukri.
"I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."
Marietti spoke the final words along with Nataline, their voices joined in prayer.
"So be it," the woman said, and raised the blade above her head, adjusting her position for the final blow.
The bodyguards held Nataline down and one pulled her hair tight so her neck was at the right angle. Marietti wanted to turn away but he had to witness it. He had to see the death he had caused.
The blade flashed down and in one clean stroke, Nataline's head was severed from her body. Blood ran down the altar as a collective gasp rose from the devotees.
Marietti slumped in his bonds, all strength leaving his body as he wept for Nataline, the love he had lost once again, this time forever. Her blood was on his soul, another stain to add to his many sins.
The woman bent to the corpse and dipped her fingers in the pool of blood.
She reached up and forced her bloody fingers into Marietti's mouth. The salt tang made him retch once more.
"Taste it," the woman said. "You could have saved her."
"She gave her life to stop you finding that final piece," Marietti spat. "Nataline believed in God and she is with Him now."
"Then we may as well send another to your God, and my goddess can drink her fill today."
The bodyguards untied Father Ben from the pillar and thrust him forward onto his knees at the altar. He stared down at Nataline's body as her blood soaked into his clothes. He clutched a hand over his mouth and his eyes filled with tears.
"One more chance," the woman said, her eyes fixed on Marietti.
Chapter 20
Morgan and Jake moved away from the inner sanctum and stood watching the faithful as they crowded in to see the goddess. What were they missing?
"At some rural places in India, it's reported that human sacrifice is still carried out to honor the goddess Kali," Morgan said. "The severed hands and heads are left in exchange for her blessing. Maybe there are some here who still believe in such extremes?"
"Worth a try," Jake said. "Maybe if Martin can get information on unusual deaths in the city, especially those with missing hands or decapitations, we might be able to narrow down the area to search."
He started to text on his phone, and Morgan continued to scan the crowd. Then a man walked past, looking around furtively. He was thin and he limped, his clothes were ragged and threadbare, and one of his hands was missing.
"Look, Jake. Perhaps he knows something."
Jake nodded and silently they slipped into the crowd after him.
The man stopped at the altar to dip his handkerchief in the blood that still dripped from the goat's body, then he walked to the corner of the compound. He suddenly looked around, away from the crowd, and Jake and Morgan could no longer remain unseen. Jake quickly walked up to the man, his tall physique overshadowing the smaller figure.
"Where are you going?" Jake demanded. "Is there another part of the temple?"
"Please, sir, I don't know of what you speak." The man's English was stumbling but his eyes betrayed a greater knowledge.
Morgan pulled out a wad of rupees, enough to keep the man's family for several months. She hoped it was enough.
"We just want to pay our respects to the goddess," she said. "Will you take us?" The man reached out a shaking hand for the money but Morgan held it back. She handed him a few notes as a promise. "The rest when we're inside."
The man nodded. "Then you must approach with care or the goddess will be displeased. Come, you must prepare."
He dabbed his still-bloody handkerchief on his own forehead and then indicated that they should lean towards him. He pressed the blood against their heads in turn, leaving a scarlet mark.
Morgan could smell the metallic tang of the goat's blood and it sickened her in a way. But another part of her, the ancient side that descended from Jews who worshipped in the temple at Jerusalem, understood the need to sacrifice to a deity.
For what offering was more potent than blood?
The man led them away from the crowded temple and through a labyrinth of corridors, each one angling off the next in a dizzying array of twists and turns. Morgan soon lost her bearings. The walls shifted from the cream and terracotta of the main temple to plain stone as the corridors narrowed and at some point they crossed from the nineteenth-century temple to somewhere far older.
Suddenly they heard voices ahead. The man's steps slowed.
"It is usually quiet here," he said with a frown.
Hope rose inside Morgan at his words.
Jake indicated that the man should go ahead and they walked a few paces behind him, hiding in the shadows of the corridor as he approached a huge ceremonial door. It was decorated with severed heads, each with a different expression of anguish, but all dripped with blood.
The man approached the two guards on the door and they had a brief conversation. Then the man turned away and walked back down the corridor.
"We cannot enter the inner temple today," he said. "There is a special sacrifice for the goddess. I will come back tomorrow."
Morgan handed over the rest of the rupees and the man walked away down the corridor.
As his footsteps faded, she felt the familiar rise of adrenalin in anticipation of a fight. These people had taken Marietti, Ben and Sister Nataline. She and Jake were going through that door. The question was whether these men would stop them.
They both pulled their weapons.
There was no need for words between them and Morgan appreciated that. She trusted Jake, and she could see the excitement in his eyes.
He indicated that he would go left and she could take the one on the right.
They walked out of the tunnel with confident steps.
The guards on the door turned and reached for their weapons.
Morgan and Jake aimed and fired in unison, body shots to bring the men down. The guards fell back against the wall, clutching at their chests. Jake stepped closer and finished them both off.
The godd
ess had her sacrifice for today.
Together they pushed open the huge double doors. Inside was an empty anteroom, but they could hear chanting through a great arch ahead. The low sound vibrated through Morgan's chest, the repetition of sacred sound a mantra to the goddess.
They continued on, weapons outstretched before them, and walked into the inner sanctum.
A crowd of devotees swayed in prayer, some with hands raised as they chanted. A magnificent statue of Kali towered above them in her Destroyer aspect, her body made of polished black basalt. In her outstretched hands she held a bloody sword and a newly severed head, still dripping crimson drops onto the altar below.
Morgan gasped.
The head was Sister Nataline's.
"No," she whispered and desperation filled her, all caution forgotten in her concern for Ben. She pushed through the crowd. Jake followed close behind until he grabbed her, right on the edge of the altar area, holding her back as they witnessed the tableau before them.
Marietti stood bound to a pillar, his face ragged with sorrow.
The decapitated body of Sister Nataline lay at his feet, one hand cut off as well as her head. A woman stood with a kukri in her hands and behind her sat a dreadlocked sadhu painted with ash.
A bodyguard shoved another bound figure forward.
Father Ben fell to his knees before the altar. He moaned as he saw Sister Nataline and his dusty habit darkened as it soaked in her blood.
"One more chance," the woman said, her eyes fixed on Marietti.
"I'm sorry, Ben," Marietti whispered. "You know I can't. There are too many lives at stake."
The woman raised the kukri above her head.
"No!" Morgan shouted.
She tore out of Jake's grasp and scrambled onto the altar stage. Jake leapt up behind her, gun out. Bodyguards surrounded them, weapons pointed at the intruders.
The woman stopped, her blade hovering above Ben's neck.
"I have the piece you want," Morgan said. She pulled the wrapped sculpture piece from her bag. "Let them go."
