The Eye of Shiva (5 page)

"I'm convinced they plan to
attack the Americans," Khanna said. "There are rumors on the street. They're seldom wrong."

"
And you believe it's the embassy?"

"Yes. It's the
logical choice."

"Why would Abu Sayyaf pick such a high profile target? It would be like poking a hornet
's nest," Rao said.

"Washington wants to reestablish a military presence
in the islands. Manila is demanding help with a new offensive against Abu Sayyaf in exchange. That could be reason enough."

"Let me pose a question to you," Rao said. "Suppose ISOK attacked our Embassy? What would the Americans do?"

"They wouldn't do anything," Khanna said. "They don't care about us. There would be expressions of outrage and official condolences, nothing more."

"And if they attacked the American Embassy?"

"That would be a different story. But ISOK doesn't have any reason to target Americans here."

"What if there was proof ISOK organized an attack against the Americans with Pakistan's backing, using Abu Sayyaf as surrogates?"

Khanna paused for a moment. He was beginning to see where Rao was going. "It would make ISOK a priority terrorist group for direct action. The Americans would be very angry at Pakistan."

"I have an idea," Rao said.

"What idea?"

"I'm sending a message that will explain. It should be on your computer a few minutes after we're done talking. I'll use the cipher."

The cipher was only used for the most sensitive communications. Anyone who managed to intercept a transmission would mistake it for a more commonly used code. It would appear to be a normal message sensitive enough to encode. The real message lay within the outer one. The cipher's beauty lay in its transparent simplicity.

"Read it and you'll understand," Rao said. He ended the call.

Curious, Khanna put his encrypted phone away and went to his computer and waited for the transmission. He printed it out, deleted it and started to decode it. As the message within a message emerged, Khanna shook his head in admiration. Rao was a cold son of a bitch. If his plan worked, it would mean serious trouble for ISOK and for Islamabad. It meant the sacrifice of a few of his countrymen but sometimes sacrifices were necessary.

Khanna finished the message and smiled.

CHAPTER 7

Selena's surprise showed in her voice. "I thought we were going to have lunch."

She stood with Nick
in front of a jewelry store on 20th Street in Washington. It was just past noon. Smog had settled over the city in a noxious haze. The air smelled of exhaust fumes from the endless traffic.

"We are,
" Nick said, "but I thought we might stop in here first."

They stood in front of a jewelry store window.
Selena started to speak, then stopped.

"Lots of shiny things in the window," Nick said. "See anything you like?"

"I see lots of things I like," she said. "I know the store. People from the White House shop here, whenever they need a bauble or two."

"Let's go inside."

The store was a testament to chic modernity. Circular stools on elegant chrome stands were strategically placed for customers to sit on while they examined the goods. The goods were mostly diamonds, though Nick saw a lot of gold and a variety of gemstones in brilliant colors. Round, open front cabinets at eye level displayed special pieces under discreet lighting. An elderly woman and a younger man sat at one of the counters, looking at a man's wristwatch with a diamond studded band. Nick and Selena were the only other customers in the store.

A thirtyish man in a tailored suit approached them. "May I help you?" he said.
His tie was perfectly knotted dark blue silk. It rested over a light blue shirt that would have cost Nick a week's pay.

"We're looking for an engagement ring," Nick said. He looked at Selena and
suppressed a laugh.

"What?" she said.

"The look on your face. You thought I'd never get around to it, didn't you?"

"The idea had occurred to me," she said.

The clerk watched them, a small smile on his face. It wasn't a new situation for him.

"This way, sir
." He led them to a row of display cases filled with diamonds and gold and silver and platinum rings that gleamed under the lighting.

"
Let's get that one," Nick said. He pointed at an elaborate ring with a central diamond and a pattern of leaves worked in tiny stones all around a platinum band.

"Are you sure you want to do this
now?" Selena said. There was an edge to her voice.

"Why not? You want a ring, don't you?"

"Yes, but..."

"But?"

"But this feels rushed. It's not just another ring. I have to think about it, look in catalogs, visit stores, things like that."

Nick
felt a headache start. "This is a store. There must be a hundred rings to look at here."

"That's not the point."

"What is the point? I thought you'd be pleased if we got something today."

The smile on the clerk's face was starting to look strained.

"The point is that I want to take more time to think about it," Selena said.

"Think about what? The ring or whether you want to get married?"

"Both," she said. She turned and walked out of the store.

Nick
stood for a moment. He looked at the clerk and the man took a step backward.

"Don't say a word," Nick said.

He stormed out of the shop in time to see Selena get into a cab and pull away from the curb. He began walking toward Dupont Circle and then cut over to 19th Street, where there was an Irish bar he knew about. An Irish whiskey would be about right for his mood, maybe two or three of them. What the hell was it with Selena, anyway?

The bar was
a three-story establishment built to resemble an Irish pub. The ground floor featured wooden floors, pub food, a fireplace and comfortable couches and chairs. The bar was polished wood, with wooden stools for the patrons. The back bar had a brick wall, two flat screen television sets and an impressive array of beers, whiskeys and liquors. The mellow glow of wood and comfortable lighting made it a place for serious drinking, if that's what you wanted. The pub looked more or less authentic, in an American kind of way. Missing were the Irish and two or three hundred years of music, tobacco smoke and spilled whiskey.

Nick took a seat at the bar and ordered a double Jameson neat, with a soda back. It was early in the day. He had the bar to himself except for a corporate
-looking guy in a dark blue three-piece suit at the other end, drinking a martini. Nick sipped the whiskey and felt the mellow heat of Ireland descend into his stomach. The pub wasn't authentic but the whiskey was.

He'd thought Selena would be happy, surprised. She'd been surprised, all right, but she sure as hell didn't seem happy about it. What did he do wrong? He finished his drink and signaled for another. The whiskey
made a soft bed for his anger. Maybe he hadn't done anything wrong, he thought. Maybe it was just that age-old disconnect between men and women, the impossibility of either sex understanding the other. Why should he expect it to be any different between him and Selena? He was damned if he was going to let it spoil his day completely. But still, it pissed him off.

It hadn't been that way with Megan, back when he was almost done with his
first tour in the Marines and ready to make the move into civilian life with her. It might have gotten that way after a while but he'd never had a chance to find out. She'd died in a plane crash as he watched, unable to do anything to save her. A piece of him had died that day as well, until it came alive again after he met Selena.

The whiskey helped.
He debated having a third and decided against it. He paid for the drinks and left a five dollar bill and walked out into the fall afternoon.

I guess the ring is on hold,
he thought.
Maybe it's a good thing.

CHAPTER 8

It was the evening of the same day.
Nick sat with Ronnie and Lamont at a table in The Point, a bar popular with current and former members of America's Special Forces. For a while the three of them had been barred from the premises, after a wild brawl provoked by a patron who'd taken exception to a song they were singing. Since then, all had been forgiven. The joint had a jukebox loaded with rock 'n roll.
Sweet Home, Alabama
played in the background.

Ronnie had a glass of club soda with a lime in front of him. Lamont and Nick
were drinking beer. Lamont had lost weight in the hospital. The corded muscles that lined his wiry frame seemed more prominent than usual. His coffee colored skin was pale from being indoors. The scar he'd picked up in Iraq stood out like a thin, pink snake running across his forehead and the bridge of his nose. But the blue eyes he'd inherited from his Ethiopian forebears had lost none of their intensity.

It was early and the place wasn't crowded. It made conversation easy.

"How you feeling, Lamont?" Ronnie asked.

"Better with this beer."

The last few years had been rough on Lamont. He'd been badly wounded in Jordan. He'd almost died in Cuba. Now he was ready to come back and Nick was glad to have him. But he could tell Lamont had something to say.

"Better spit it out, Shadow," Nick said. Lamont
's mother had named him for Lamont Cranston,
The Shadow
of radio fame. His Navy SEAL teammates had dropped the nickname on him. It was a natural.

"What do you mean?"

"Come on," Ronnie said. "You've been sitting there like you're hatching an egg, all quiet."

Lamont grinned at him. "Hey, I'm a quiet guy, you know that."

"Not when you've got a beer in front of you," Nick said. "Not usually."

Lamont fooled with his beer bottle, making rings of condensation on the tab
le top.

"I've been thinking," he said.

"That's dangerous for someone like you," Ronnie said. "You ought to be careful about that."

"At least I can think, which is more than I can say for some people I know."

Nick signaled the waitress for another round. "So, what have you been thinking about?"

"I had a lot of time in the hospital to do nothing but think."

"And?"

"And I think it's about time for me to hang it up."

Nick and Ronnie looked at each other.

"Hang it up?" Nick said. "What would you do?"

"There's a dive shop for sale down in Florida. I called the real estate agent. It'd be perfect, just what I'd always dreamed of. I'd have to upgrade some of the gear but the price is right. I've got enough money saved up to take care of the down payment and I can borrow the rest."

The waitress came and set
a new round of drinks on the table.

"You sound like your mind is pretty well made up," Nick said.

"Yeah, I think it is."

"There you go with that thinking stuff again," Ronnie said.
He was joking but Nick could see he wasn't happy about what Lamont had said.

I should've seen this coming
, Nick thought. Lamont had taken a lot of hits in the past two years. It would be enough to make anyone think about getting out. Hell, he had his own thoughts about getting out, and he hadn't been hurt as bad as Lamont. Sooner or later, everyone got out. The only difference was whether you went out on two feet or in a box with a flag over it, if there was enough of you left to put in a box.

"When were you
planning on leaving?" Nick asked.

"
It'll take time to replace me," Lamont said. "I don't want to leave the team short."

Nick
knew that if Lamont had made up his mind to go, nothing he could say would change it.

"
You'll stay until we find someone to take your place?" Nick said.

"
Yeah. Until the end of the year, anyway. Harker ought to find someone by then. Then I'm gone."

"Ah, shit," Ronnie said. "Who's going to jump in the water if you're
not around?"

Because of Lamont's time with the
SEALS, anything involving boats and water on  missions had fallen to him.

"
Didn't they teach you Jarheads to swim in Recon? Course, that's kind of like the YMCA. I guess you're finally going to have to learn how," Lamont said.

"
Marines are smart enough to stay out of the water. Fish crap in it." Ronnie sipped his club soda.