by Greg Herren
“I know, Frank.”
“And I didn’t want to mess that up. I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I stood up. “I’m going to go get in the shower.” I leaned down and kissed him. “I love you, Frank. That’s not ever going to change, okay?”
He nodded.
I walked back into the bathroom and turned the shower back on. I climbed in and let the hot spray flow over my body. The hot water felt incredible. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the side of the shower. I mechanically went through the motions of soaping my body and washing my hair. It felt good, rejuvenating me. My mind was waking up, and all the tiredness was draining out of me. I turned off the water and grabbed my towel.
Poor Frank, I thought, it must have been rough keeping that from me all these years, feeling guilty.
There was a loud crash from the living room, and a howl of pain.
What the hell?
There was another crash, and a loud thump. I wrapped the towel around my waist and, still dripping, ran out into the hallway. What I saw in the living room stopped me dead in my tracks.
Frank and Colin were rolling around on the floor.
“Stop that!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.
They both looked at me. Frank was on top of Colin, his right fist cocked in the air. Colin’s hands were on Frank’s throat. His lip was swelling, and a trickle of blood was running out of the left side of his mouth. “Get off of him, Frank,” I demanded, my teeth clenched.
Frank punched him again, but Colin moved his head and the blow glanced off his cheek. Frank got up, and Colin got to his hands and knees, shaking his head from side to side. “Hell of a way to say hello, Agent,” he said, rubbing his jaw.
“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you,” Frank replied, crossing his arms angrily.
“There’s been enough killing,” I replied. “Colin, what the hell are you doing here?”
Colin got to his feet. A bruise from Frank’s last punch was forming on his right cheek. “I thought we could plan our next move.” He looked at Frank. “I wasn’t expecting to see Frank.”
“Our next move?” I shook my head. “There is no next move, Colin.” I plopped down on the couch. “It’s all over.”
“What are you talking about?” He looked at Frank, then back at me. “We need to solve the riddle and find the Eye.”
I couldn’t help it. I started laughing. “You’re a little behind, Colin. We’ve already found it, no thanks to you.”
Colin’s face was a study in shock. Damn, he’s a good actor, I thought to myself. He said, “What are you talking about?”
“Like I said, you’re behind the times,” I replied wearily. “I woke up from my nap, and you were gone. Frank came home unexpectedly, and we solved the riddle. We went out and found the damned Eye.”
“You found it? But that’s great.” He looked from me to Frank and back again. “I had a lead on the Pleshiwarians I wanted to follow up—a dead end, I might add—you were sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to wake you up…where is the Eye?”
“We don’t have it anymore. It was taken from us.” I waved my hand. “But we solved the riddle, and we did find it.” I rapidly went through the whole thing. “So, they have the Eye. It’s over.”
“Damn it!” he roared, slamming his fist into his leg. “It’s not over, Scotty—we’ve got to find them and get the Eye back.”
“Are you insane?”
“Scotty, the wrong Pleshiwarians have the Eye.” He started pacing. “Okay, listen to me. I didn’t tell you any of this because I thought—”
“I couldn’t handle it?” I glared at him, then looked at Frank, who wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“No.” He bit his lip. “Because it was on a need-to-know basis, and you didn’t need to know.”
“We’re listening.” This was Frank. I shot him a glance. That muscle was twitching in his jaw, and a couple of veins were pulsing in his forehead. This wasn’t a good sign.
“Okay.” Colin sat down on the couch. “I’m going to tell you the whole story.” He started talking.
In the early 1960s, a British anthropologist named Valerie Stratton had gone to Pleshiwar to study their unique culture for her doctoral dissertation. At first, the Pleshiwarians were resistant to her, but her knowledge of Kali and their religion—and her familiarity with their dialect—won their begrudging respect. She was there for three years, studying. But when she wrote her dissertation, a section about their sacred mountain triggered some interest at MI6. She was recruited by them, and she returned to Pleshiwar with two men—one an agent, the other a geologist. The three of them disappeared, but not before the geologist had sent a cable back to the home office in London: Sacred mountain suspicions correct.
“The suspicion, of course, was that the sacred mountain was a source of uranium,” Colin went on. “As you can imagine, that created quite a stir among the Western nations. At that time, India had not become a nuclear power—nor had China, and right here on their borders was a tiny country that had a source of uranium. And no one was sure what had happened to Stratton and her team.”
It was determined that control of Pleshiwar and its uranium source was of vital interest to the Western nations. The United States, however, was currently involved militarily in Vietnam; and any other Western venture into south Asia was a card that could easily be played by the Communist powers. It was determined that deniability was crucial.
“So, they came to Blackledge, and hired us,” Colin continued. “We assembled a team. Five of our best young agents—one of them a native Indian who spoke Pleshiwarian. We sent him into the country to prepare the way. The other four—one a helicopter pilot, the other three trained agents—were to wait for his signal. He infiltrated the cult of Kali and determined that the current high priest was unfriendly to the Western powers. He wasn’t exactly friendly to the Communists, but the American presence in Vietnam wasn’t viewed with favor. The undercover agent determined that the best way to bring about a regime change in Pleshiwar was to steal Kali’s Eye. Our undercover operative inside the country would spread the word that the Eye was stolen because Kali was displeased with Her high priest.”
“That’s disgusting,” I replied.
Colin shrugged. The three agents—Larry Moon, Marty Gretsch, and Matt Hooper—went to Saigon to wait for the operative moment. When the whispering campaign against the high priest had reached critical mass, they got the signal to move. The undercover priest drugged the temple guards, the three agents went in, stole the Eye, and got out. Once the alarm about the Eye went out, there was a bloody uprising that resulted in the priest being killed, and his replacement was someone more friendly to the West. But unfortunately, something went wrong. We weren’t the only ones with agents operating in the country. When Matt Hooper was murdered in Saigon—and the helicopter pilot disappeared, we pulled Larry and Marty out and hid them inside the United States. We gave them new identities.”
“What I don’t understand,” I interrupted, “is why you let them keep the Eye. Why wasn’t it put in a bank vault somewhere? I mean, seriously, Colin. Blackledge certainly took a risk there.”
He shook his head. “I don’t make those decisions, nor do my superiors tell me why they do things the way they do, Scotty.”
“It does seem kind of stupid,” Frank said. “In fact, this whole thing sounds like a goddamned fairy tale.”
“I know, I know,” Colin replied. “When I was briefed on this whole thing, I said the same things. Need to know, and I didn’t need to know.” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, there’s a new movement in Pleshiwar, to try to unseat the high priest who is friendly to the West and replace him with one who isn’t. What better way to do so than to find the Eye? This is why we needed to retrieve it, to return it and show that Kali favors the current leadership. The Pleshiwarians here now, they are the enemy. They tracked down Marty Gretsch and Ben Garrett, and killed them both. The Wolf was also working for them.”
&nbs
p; “Well, it doesn’t matter now,” I replied. “They took the Eye from us, and it’s probably already on its way back to Pleshiwar now.”
Before Colin could respond, my cell phone beeped. I picked it up and flipped it open. I had a new text message. I clicked it open and my eyes widened in horror.
A picture of my parents, bound and gagged, filled the window.
The phone rang. “Hello?”
“Meet me in the coffee shop downstairs, alone,” an accented voice said. “Or your parents die.”
Chapter Fourteen
TEN OF SWORDS, REVERSED
Overthrow of evil forces
The phone dropped out of my hand.
“Scotty?”
I didn’t know which one of them said it, and didn’t really care.
I got up and tossed my phone at Colin. “Thanks for keeping an eye on my parents,” I snarled and ran down the hall to my bedroom. I tossed the towel into the bathroom. I didn’t bother with underwear, pulling on a pair of discarded jeans from the floor. I was pulling my Saints sweatshirt over my head when I heard Frank say, “Scotty, what are you doing?”
I sat down on my bed and pulled on my sneakers. “Whoever has my parents is waiting for me in the coffee shop downstairs.” I tied the laces, but my hands were shaking so hard I messed up and had to start over.
“I’m coming with you.”
“He said to come alone,” I replied, finally getting the laces tied. “It’s a public place, so I guess I’ll be okay.”
“What does he want?”
“I guess he’ll tell me when I get down there.” I got off the bed, but Frank was blocking the doorway. “Get out of my way.”
“Scotty, think,” Frank pleaded. “You can’t go down there without backup.”
“Get out of my way, Frank,” I said in a low voice. “I’ll go through you if I have to.”
Frank bit his lip and moved. I ran out the back door and took the stairs at a breakneck speed. There was a back door to the coffee shop underneath the stairs, and I unlocked it with my key. I stepped inside and walked past the bathrooms, the office, and the storeroom. The coffee shop was empty, other than the girl working behind the counter and a man sitting in a booth with his back to me. Obviously, he was expecting me to come in from the front. I wished I’d brought a gun with me.
I don’t know what it says about me, but I wanted to put a bullet through his head.
Since I was unarmed, I walked up behind him and said, “You wanted to see me?”
He didn’t jump. Instead, he swiveled his head and looked up at me. “Have a seat, Mr. Bradley.” He gestured to the other side. “Or would you prefer a drink first?”
“I’m not thirsty,” I said, sliding into the booth across from him.
He was tall and thin, with dark skin and hair. His brown eyes were narrow, and in the center of his forehead was a small tattoo of a third eye—a blue eye. He was wearing a three-piece brown suit. The jacket was open, but the vest underneath was buttoned. He was wearing a white button-down shirt with a red tie. His hands were long and spidery, free of jewelry. His nails were long and manicured. His lips were narrow and thin. He held his right hand across the table to me. “I am Rajneesh Abhwesar,” he said, pulling the thin lips back into a smile, revealing crooked yellow teeth. “It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”
I didn’t offer my hand, keeping them both flat on the table. It was all I could do to not grab him by the throat and choke him. “I wish I could say the same,” I replied after a short silence.
He didn’t stop smiling, but put his hand down. “So it is going to be like that, is it? I was hoping we could negotiate like gentlemen.”
“Gentlemen?” I narrowed my eyes. “It’s not exactly gentlemanly to hold my parents as hostages.”
He closed his eyes and inclined his head. “Touché.”
“If anything happens to my parents, I will hunt you down like a dog,” I said pleasantly. “There’s no place on this planet you’ll be able to go where I won’t find you.”
“Tut, tut, there’s no need for that.” He held up his hand. “I understand your distress, of course. I assure you your parents are quite well, and in good health. Nothing will happen to them. I will take very good care of them.” He smiled. “Your mother is quite spirited, I must say.”
“You’re lucky she’s tied up,” I replied evenly. “And your men better hope she doesn’t get loose—she’ll make them sorry they were born. What do you want?”
“I need your assistance,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Just a few hours ago, you discovered this in the cemetery.” He held out something wrapped in a handkerchief to me. I took it from him. “My men took it from you. Go ahead, unwrap it.”
I carefully unfolded the handkerchief and found myself looking at a beautiful blue stone in the shape of an eye. There was a fault in the center that looked like a retina. I stared at it. “I don’t understand.”
“It was inside the small box you found,” he went on. “It looks like Kali’s Eye, does it not?” He reached over and picked it up. He held it up to the light for a moment, and then set it down on the table. He pulled out a small pocketknife, flicked it open, and then ran it over the surface of the stone, leaving a deep groove.
“What are you doing?” I stared at him.
“Sapphires are hard stones, Mr. Bradley.” His smile faded. “A knife cannot cut a sapphire. Sapphires are as hard as diamonds. This stone is a fake. A very good one—its resemblance to the real thing is extraordinary—but it is a fake.” He closed the pocketknife and slid it back into his pocket. “The real stone is hidden somewhere else.” He reached inside his jacket pocket and removed a folded piece of paper, which he slid across the table to me. “This was also inside the box.”
I opened it. It was in the same handwriting as the riddle.
To whom it may concern:
You have made it this far, but your quest still has another step before you find what you truly desire. The stone in this box is but a clever reproduction; it is not the holy stone that you seek. Consider this a reward for a job well done.
But where is the real Eye, you are asking yourself. Where, indeed, could it be? It was taken for a reason. It was not stolen to be sold, or given as a gift. It was not stolen for power, it was not stolen for riches. Rather, it was stolen in order that a people might be able to be free.
Freedom is something to be fought for, to spill blood for. It is not something to be held in your hands, but something intangible to always strive for. It is a state of mind, but even should the shackles be taken away, it is not a guarantee that other shackles will not take their place.
The Eye should not be returned until there is more than a promise of freedom. Promises can be empty words spoken.
The Eye will not return to Pleshiwar until the shackles are gone for good.
Slowly, I looked up at him. “What does this mean?”
He shook his head. “It makes no sense to me.” He waved his hand. “You knew this man. You know how his mind worked. Solve this, and return the Eye to me, and I will let your parents go, unharmed.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“I swear to you on the sacred Eye of Kali.”
“Not good enough.”
His smile faded a bit. “You have no reason to trust me, and you are wise not to trust a stranger. The Mother was right when She sent me to you.” He closed his eyes and leaned back against the back of the booth. “There are those in Pleshiwar who would kill you rather than try to bargain with you.” He waved his hand again.
“Like the assassins you sent to the cemetery?”
“They were not ordered to kill you.” His eyes flashed angrily. “But as I said, there are Pleshiwarians who look at you and see unbelievers who defile Kali. Their instructions were to simply liberate the Eye from you and to leave you alive. The Great Mother can be bloodthirsty, but too much blood has been shed already in Her name. Their deaths were regrettable, but their comp
anions knew what to do when they started shooting at you.”
“I don’t understand.” I looked at him. “Are you saying—”
“The two fools who disobeyed orders and shot at you were exterminated by the others, who know better than to disobey me.”
If that’s true, Venus is going to swear a blue streak when the ballistics reports come back, I thought.
He went on. “I regret the inconvenience of having to take possession of your parents, but I—and the Pleshiwarians like me—have had enough of killing.” His lip curled. “We do not wish to move our back into medieval times as those in power believe. We no longer see the Great Mother as a creature of darkness who swims in rivers of blood and demands death. There are those who think that any of the modern changes that have been brought to our country since the Eye was taken are abominations, that our country must be returned to what it has been for centuries—backward, isolated, and superstitious. But the modern innovations—could they not be seen as gifts from the Great Mother, to ease our lives and make them more comfortable? But I, and those who follow me, do not believe that the Great Mother should be ignored, treated as a relic of our superstitious past.” He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “With the Eye’s return, the veneration of the Great Mother can begin again. There is room for the modern world and for Kali both in our nation.”
“You are backed by evil men,” I replied, not caring if he got angry. “Evil men who want to plunder the natural resources of your country in order to destroy the rest of the world.”
“Bah.” He waved his hand. “We take their money, but once we are back in control of our country we will then decide which the right path to take. For our country, and for Kali.”
“So, you’re telling me you’re one of the good guys?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “I find that rather hard to believe.”
“It is immaterial to me what you, an unbeliever, believe.” He gave me a sad smile. “What do you think happened when those men originally stole the Eye and defiled Kali? Do you think that the transition was peaceful and bloodless?” He shrugged. “Pleshiwar swam in blood for years.”
