The Goddess Legacy (10 page)

“Thank goodness! Have a talk with these idiots. Where do they find them?” Drake said, and then with a dismissive wave, darted out the door and down the stairs, figuring that by the time the confusion he’d caused had cleared, he’d be long gone, leaving a perplexed staff and nobody the wiser.

Drake was panting, his forehead beaded with sweat, when he made it back to the café where Allie was waiting. He handed her the phone as they hurried to the cab line, and Drake chanced a look over his shoulder at the morgue when Allie reached for the door of the first taxi. A group of morgue staff were speaking with two policemen and pointing in his direction. Allie ducked into the car and Drake followed, giving the address of their favorite market before settling back in the seat as the driver eased into traffic with a honk.

Allie scrolled through the phone after changing the security settings to no longer require a thumbprint for access.

Drake turned to her. “Anything good?”

“Sat images. Websites. Links and email addresses.” She paused. “Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

“Yeah. Check this out,” she said, handing him the phone. He peered at the screen, where a picture of a golden knife rested against a black backdrop.

“That’s got to be the relic he told Spencer about.”

“Looks like it to me.”

“Not really all that impressive, is it?”

“That depends on what the clue is, doesn’t it?” She took the cell back and pulled her own from her purse.

“What are you doing? Can you transfer the data to yours?” he asked.

“No, but I can take pictures.”

“Why don’t you email everything to your account?”

“Leaving a direct trail to me for whoever cut Carson’s head off? No thanks.”

“Oh. Right.”

Allie zoomed in on the first screen and her phone clicked. She studied the photo and nodded. “Not perfect, but good enough,” she said, and showed Drake the image.

“It’ll do.”

She pulled a pen and small notebook from her purse and scribbled something, and then enlarged the picture so she could capture additional detail. When she did so, she could make out script running the length of the blade. “See this? Want to bet that’s why Carson was so interested?”

Drake eyed the lettering. “All Greek to me.”

“Which is why I’m here.”

Allie swiped the screen, enlarged the page, took another shot, and jotted more notes. She continued the process as they bounced along, the driver swerving and cursing at other motorists with the enthusiasm of a fan at a sporting event whose team was defending its championship title. Allie stopped at the satellite shot and frowned.

“This one’s going to be harder to do. I’ll have to wait until we hit a light. It’s shaking too much, and because of the size, we won’t be able to see all the detail.”

Drake squinted at the image. “Looks like mountains, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. Probably part of the Himalayan range.”

“Are there any coordinates?”

“I’ll zoom in further once I get the larger shot. Can you ask him to stop the car?”

Drake leaned forward to the driver. “Pull over here.”

The man glanced at the dwellings that lined the street and shook his head. “This is a very bad place. Dangerous.”

“We’re not planning on getting out. Just stop for a second so she can take a photograph.”

The driver shrugged, as if to say ‘You people are crazy,’ and did as instructed. Allie’s phone snapped again and again as she took as many shots while stationary as possible. Drake was about to tell the driver to get moving when Allie’s eyes saucered as she stared at Carson’s phone in disbelief.

Drake leaned into her. “What is it?”

“I…I don’t know.” She held the phone up to Drake. The screens were vanishing at high speed, in reverse order.

“What did you do?” he asked, his voice alarmed.

“I didn’t
do
anything. It just started going nuts.”

“You had to do something. Phones don’t go crazy on their own.”

“Get out of here,” Allie called to the driver, who was obviously nervous and didn’t need coaxing. He tromped on the gas and they roared away with a screech of rubber, leaving a dust cloud behind as the car picked up speed.

Once they were in traffic again, Allie returned her attention to the phone and eyed the screen uncomprehendingly.

“What is it?” Drake asked.

She held the device out for him to see. The display was black, with small white lettering across the center. He read it aloud, his brow furrowed.

“Data error? What does that mean?”

Allie fiddled with the phone and, after several minutes, shook her head. “There’s nothing on it anymore. It’s like it erased itself. Not even the operating system is left.”

“Part of a security app?”

“Not one that I’ve ever heard of.”

“But it has a sim chip, right? Maybe something’s wrong with the chip.”

“Maybe,” she said, unconvinced. “But I’ve never seen a phone do that before, have you?”

Drake cleared his throat and spoke to the driver. “Do you know any shops that service cell phones?”

“Cell phones?” he asked, as though he’d never heard the term. “No, not really. When they break, most just get a new one. Too expensive to fix.”

Allie nudged Drake with her elbow. “Never mind. We’ll find someone later. Maybe Roland will know. Or maybe Reynolds has some black magic he can access.”

The driver glanced at them in the mirror. “You still want to go to the market, yes?”

Drake nodded. “Yes.” He turned to Allie. “How much did you get?”

“There was still a bunch more on there. How much more, I don’t know, but I’d guess I got maybe…a little more than half of what I skimmed through.”

“Maybe that will be enough.”

She gazed through the window and squirmed on the hot vinyl seat before turning back to Drake.

“Yeah. Because luck’s been on our side so far.”

“We’re here and in one piece, aren’t we?” he tried.

Allie sat back and closed her eyes. “I’d quit while you’re behind.”

Bhiwani, Haryana, India

A warm breeze stirred the trees surrounding Swami Baba Raja’s Ashram of Eternal Bliss as the morning devotional broke up and the faithful began their day’s tasks. Up at first light for meditation, followed by group yoga and a light meal, the swami’s acolytes spent two hours chanting his name in order to reconnect to the essential matter of which all things are composed. Then, as part of their spiritual awakening, adherents were expected to serve the less fortunate, which often meant performing as gardeners, cooks, janitors, and maids for the swami’s entourage, or creating the merchandise that the ashram sold to visiting truth seekers – T-shirts, robes, meditation cushions, scented oils, incense, statuettes of the swami, even bottle openers with the swami’s likeness gazing thoughtfully into space.

Inside the jasmine-scented chambers of the holy one, the swami paced with his hands on his hips, his belly protruding through his white silk chemise, as it did when he wasn’t wearing the girdle he reserved for his public appearances. His assistant, the bespectacled man from the prior evening, stood before him, his head slightly bowed.

“You idiot. I have shown you how to coil the chain beneath the trophy a hundred times. I practically had to use both hands to get the damned thing loose. What kind of miracle would it be if I had to jerk the thing from the bottom?” Swami Baba Raja fumed.

“I did it as I always do. I don’t know what the problem was.”

Baba Raja sighed and cast his eyes heavenward. “The problem is I’m surrounded by incompetents. I entrusted a simple task to you, and you managed to screw it up. Is that not true?”

“Perhaps the compartment hatch should have been lubricated more?”

“The chain caught on something, you dolt. Do you not understand? The compartment opened fine, it was that the chain was inserted incorrectly, coiled wrong or something. Which means you didn’t do it right. I trusted you, and you failed me.”

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Baba Raja shook his head. “Must I find someone else to assist me? Would you like to return to your village and work in the fields from dawn till dusk? I could snap my fingers and make that happen. Do not test my patience.”

“Of course not. I meant no disrespect. I suspect that trophy might have been inadequately finished. The compartment might have had some rough edges the chain caught on…”

“It is up to you to inspect every one, is it not? If the base is inadequate, you’re as responsible as the craftsman who made it. Who, incidentally, I don’t want to use anymore. Once is enough.”

The loss of the business for the carpenter who had created the award would mean starvation for his family during lean times, and the last few years had been one of near famine in the region. But the swami had spoken, and as a deity in the flesh, his word was law, as harsh as he believed necessary. Nobody at the ashram presumed to question his wisdom, or they would quickly find themselves back in the world, which would have little use for them in a country with over a billion people scrabbling to survive.

Jadhav, the assistant, had been with the swami for a decade, having earned his position as Baba Raja’s closest confidant through unwavering loyalty and a willingness to carry out the swami’s orders without hesitation. The drugged tiger, the hidden trinkets, all were to preserve the swami’s energy – it was heresy to suggest that he couldn’t perform the miracles with regularity. It was just that it took so much from his essence that he would require long periods to recover, which would deprive the needy of his presence. In the interest of safeguarding the swami’s precious life force, a harmless bit of trickery was necessary. The faithful saw what they wanted to see, the ashram prospered, and most importantly, the swami’s fame continued to grow, ensuring that his vital message of harmony and benevolence spread, offsetting the pervasive forces of evil that threatened the universal balance, and with it, life on Earth.

Jadhav had made peace with his conscience, reconciling that he had been entrusted with the swami’s secret because his faith was strong. A lesser man might have thought less of Baba Raja, but Jadhav was unwavering in his devotion. Still, it was difficult when the swami was on a tear, and he was obviously furious at how the prior evening’s ceremony had gone.

“I will do as you say, Swami,” Jadhav assured him. “Again, I apologize for my stupidity. It was unforgivable, and that you are willing to afford as lowly an insect as myself an opportunity to make amends is further proof of your divinity – not that any is required.”

Placated by Jadhav’s groveling, Baba Raja waved him away with a disgusted frown. He had important matters to attend to, dignitaries waiting for an audience, and he hadn’t slept well after the chain incident.

Jadhav backed away from him, head bowed, and only looked up at the last second so he didn’t trip over one of the priceless Persian carpets that blanketed the swami’s chambers, which were lavish beyond the dreams of a maharajah of old – wood-paneled walls with carvings that had taken a skilled craftsman’s lifetime to create, priceless relics and icons from the past, jeweled vessels crusted with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and pearls. And his most prized possessions, locked behind the thick glass of a custom-built display case that stretched ten feet off the ground: an elaborate gold chain, each link the size of a man’s fist, a legendary symbol of power from the sixteenth-century Mughal Empire; and above it, a statue of a dancing woman, a supplicant at her feet, her eye a translucent ruby the size of a walnut, through which light was rumored to bend so its possessor could see the future.

The swami had managed to become wealthy beyond measure in his fifty-seven years, thirty-five of which he had spent as a spiritual guide and the last twenty one of the most renowned in India. While he never solicited offerings, it was well known that he would gladly accept them, and through his followers’ beneficence he spent generously to provide rudimentary health care for the peasant population from which he drew much of his support. In the process, if he elected to store some of the gifts for quiet contemplation, who could begrudge him, given his selfless charity?

Jadhav pulled the chamber door closed with a soft snap. The carved peacock on it seemed to glare balefully at him, as if even the inanimate carving was condemning him for his failure. He sighed and straightened, resolved to deliver the unfortunate news to the trophy maker before the day was through, and crept on sandaled feet from the holy place, all thoughts but those of the swami’s greatness banished from his awareness.

New Delhi, India

When they returned to the houseboat, an ebony-topped Spencer listened as Allie recounted the episode with the phone. After inspecting the device, he shrugged.

“Beats me. I know less than nothing about iPhones,” he said. “Sounds like something got messed up.”

“That’s the technical term,” Drake added.

“But let’s see what you got,” Spencer said.

They gathered around the little dining table as Allie brought up the first photo she’d taken – the golden dagger. Next came the satellite image, and Spencer nodded.

“That’s the one I saw. He never showed me the knife.”

She zoomed in, but the resolution wasn’t sufficient to make out much detail. “Did he say specifically where this is?”

“All he said was Kashmir.”

“That’s a big area.”

“He was looking for a temple. Carson believed that if you could find the temple, you’d find the treasure.”

“Did he mention why?” Drake asked.

“Based on his research.”

“That’s pretty specific,” Allie mocked.

“Hey, I’m just repeating what he told me. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Allie continued through a list of websites and stopped at a screen with a long string of numbers and letters. “You ever see anything like this?”

Drake shook his head. “Not really.”

“Wonder what the significance is?” Spencer asked.

“IP address or something like that?” Drake speculated.

“No. Too long for an IP. Maybe coordinates? Latitude and longitude?” Allie said.