Vimal stared out of his office window at the streets of Port Blair, watching the street vendors pack up their carts, couples leave restaurants, and pedestrians walk to one of the few bars located in the city. Acting like nothing happened. Which was good, Vimal was glad that no panic resulted. The official explanation was that the sub belonged to the smugglers who killed Zakir and that the smugglers had been killed during a shootout with the military. Amazingly, the people seemed to believe it. The search of the sub had found nothing. No bombs, no chemical weapons or residue, no maps, just a small stockpile of food and water. According to the troops on the island, they found a bunker, out of which emerged an old man who was mumbling some nonsense about Nazis and time travel. Ajit had entered the bunker. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But brave. His bravery surprised him. He would nominate him for the Nausena medal. Despite his stupidity, he deserved it.
There was nothing he could do. Appeared that the island was inhabited by a group of crazies. Wouldn’t be the first time that happened in India. The land was teeming with lunatics. Take the Aghoris, the disgusting “Hindu” sect that pulled decomposing human bodies out from the Ganges and consumed the raw flesh. Or the dozens of religious gurus, such as Sai Baba and Rajneesh, who convinced thousands of the poor that they have magical powers and know the way to enlightenment, but in reality were nothing more than charlatans.
Vimal looked at the picture of his father. A young man, looking proud in his officer’s uniform. He would know what to do. But what could he do? Nothing. He had no description other than two light skinned men. Probably foreign. There were thousands of foreign tourists in the Andamans right now. It would be impossible to locate them. Their papers would most likely not be in order, but customs officials and police were easy to bribe. Probably not even in the islands anymore. They could be anywhere. They were probably harmless, just a bunch of loonies thinking Hitler will come back. He hoped Ajit would come back soon. No need to stay, let the cleanup crews do their job. The nightmare was almost over.
That was what he tried to tell himself. But he thought back to what the mysterious tantric had told him back when he was stationed in Kerala. He knew the nightmare had just begun.
Ajit followed Klaus down into the bunker. He knew that it was dangerous, but he had no choice. Klaus was an old man, he posed no threat. But the thought that the bunker was booby-trapped was disquieting.
After walking about twenty feet through a narrow tunnel, Klaus opened another door, leading into a wide room. On the right side was a row of eight beds. There was also a small kitchen unit and a long table. Electric lighting provided illumination.
Klaus rolled up beside a bed and motioned for Ajit to come to him. He picked up a photo off a bedside table and handed it to Ajit. It showed a young couple, the man in a military uniform, two young children, and an elderly woman, seated around a Christmas tree.
“This was taken at Christmas in 1942. That is my wife Hilda, my twins, Jan and Angela, and my grandmother, Gerda. That was the last time I saw them alive. On October 5, 1943, Gerda came over to have dinner with my wife and children. She often did that, lived just four houses down. That night there was an air raid. They … the roof collapsed, they all died.” Klaus started to tear up. “My oma … she was almost one-hundred. Saw so much, survived so much, to die like this. And my twins, just started school … my wife ... oh, my wife. I think of them every day. And I will see them again soon. That is what kept me striving, searching all these years.” Klaus took back the photo and put it down. “Let’s move on.”
Klaus led Ajit into a smaller room. Unlike the main room, it was cluttered. Papers lay strewn across a conference table, equations were scribbled on a chalkboard. On the opposite wall was a large map of the world, riddled with different colored pins.
“What do the pins represent?”
“Locations of Proto-Aryan archaeological sites, locations of minor temples, locations of major temples, and location of shifters, each further subdivided.”
“Shifters?”
“Things that allow us to change the active state.”
Ajit stared at the map. There must have been hundreds of pins, located on every continent, including Antarctica, and on most major bodies of water. He counted twelve different colors.
“You are not planning anything nefarious?” asked Ajit.
“Unless you count changing the active state nefarious,” responded Klaus. “Let us continue with our tour. Do you want to see the bathroom?”
“I want to see everything.”
Klaus opened a door at the far right of the conference room and wheeled himself into it. Ajit followed. The bathroom wouldn’t be out of place at a luxury home. A small sink, a porcelain bathtub, a toilet, and marbled floor.
“How did you get plumbing in here?”
“If we have discovered how to alter time do you think we have problems getting plumbing?”
Ajit looked around for several seconds, before following Klaus out of the room.
“Now on to the archive room.” Klaus opened a door directly across from the bathroom.
The room was about thirty feet deep, lined with three rows of metal shelves. Ajit strolled around, admiring the myriad of artifacts. Golden statues of strange reptilian creatures, large sea shells, animal skulls, decorated pottery, spears, bronze swords and shields, dozens of rotting parchment manuscripts, oil paintings on canvas, a silver chalice, amber, carved crystal, marble statues, animals preserved in jars of formaldehyde, gemstones, carved rocks with what looked to be lizards on them, wooden masks, Nazi uniforms and memorabilia, an engraved golden tablet, and a variety of other objects that Ajit could not identify.
“What is all of this?”
Klaus laughed. “A lot of junk. But others are objects that were collected from all around the world that we used to determine how to successfully perform the shift. Come on now, I have something very important to show you.”
Klaus began to wheel himself out when he stopped, turned around, propelled himself to the back corner, picked up an object, and returned to Ajit, handing him a small jar. It was about an inch in height, containing a tiny insect suspended in liquid. Ajit stared at it for a few seconds.
“What is this?”
“The beetle that Zakir found before he died. I thought you might like it.”
“Thank you.”
“Now for the grand finale. Follow me.”
Klaus opened a door at the far end of the room. The walls, ceiling, and the floor changed from smooth concrete to rough limestone. Klaus propelled himself slowly through the dark, narrow tunnel. After several minutes, they emerged in a large open cavern, partially filled with water. Klaus wheeled himself out to a large wooden deck, where a small motorboat was docked.
“This is where we docked the submarine. There is an underwater pathway out to the bay, we were able to get in and out unnoticed. There is also a narrow channel leading in here. That’s how we got the motorboat in here. But that is not what I came to show you. Stand at the edge of the dock and look down.”
Ajit headed for a second. What was the harm? Unless there was a school of sharks hiding beneath the water, he would be fine. And he doubted Klaus would push him in. He walked to the edge and looked down.
God. Underneath nearly thirty meters of crystal clear water, were the ruins of an ancient edifice. Intricately carved stone marked the foundation, nothing the primitive natives of the Andamans could do. Arranged in geometric precision. God. Klaus wasn’t lying. He suddenly felt sick. He looked back for Klaus, but he was already wheeling himself back up. He hurried off the dock, back onto the rocky path, and started walking towards Klaus. After a few steps, he heard footsteps behind him. Klaus? No. He was in front of him and in a wheelchair. This was a trap. He was going to die. No. He was just imagining things. It had been a long day. Ajit started running. He felt someone tap his back. He turned around. Behind him was a tall thin man, over nine feet tall. He wore white robes and a red-and-white-checkered keffiyeh, with a black rope on top
. Ajit pulled out his sidearm.
“Who are you?” he yelled, backing away from the mysterious man.
The man showed no reaction.
“Tell me who you are!”
The man began slowly advancing. Ajit raised his pistol and fired. As the bullets neared him, he transformed into a cloud of black smoke, rose up towards the ceiling, before plummeting into the water.
Ajit staggered back to Klaus.
“What happened?” Klaus asked.
“You didn’t see.”
“I saw you fire your gun, nothing else.”
“You didn’t see any tall Arab man?”
Klaus shook his head.
“Don’t lie to me. What the fuck is going on?”
“It was probably a Jinn.”
More likely, he was probably going crazy. He needed to get out of this place as soon as possible.
The Last Sentinel Page 4
