The SONG of SHIVA (19 page)

At least his name wasn’t followed by a dreaded “Deceased.” But if all the names and lives that preceded his were any indication, that little oversight couldn’t be far off. 

He looked at his watch. It was 4:23. Outside his window, dawn’s dull gray was muddying the eastern sky. Folding the keyboard and shoving it into the main unit, he broke his connection with the Innovac server backbone.      
 

This was crazy! Utterly, absolutely, howl-at-the-moon fucking nuts. It wasn’t possible. His mind racing in sweat-dripping panic, he fought for an explanation ― some avenue down which he might escape. Anything.

First impulse? Run. Down the hall and wake Nora. And tell her what? That he thought he might be the object of some secret Joe Mengele-style Innovac experiment? Would she believe him? Hell, it was even possible she was part of the conspiracy. Whitehall too.

Sun Shi was the only person on earth he could possibly trust with such a revelation. But what could
he
possibly do from twelve thousand miles away? What could he do even if he was sitting in the next room? Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Run.

Tearing off his boxers, he ran to the dresser naked. Pulling on a jockstrap, compression suit and socks, he jumped into his trusty RB25s with no more thought than to escape the confines of this terrifying place immediately. Rushing out of the room, he headed for the stairs intending to break out into the dawn, maybe think his way through this thing. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he feared.

Downstairs he quietly exited through the first door he found and then tore off towards the creekside bridle path he had taken on horseback the day before. Twenty minutes at an equestrian walk became twelve minutes on the downstream slope in full adrenaline-fueled anaerobic panic. When he reached the horseshoe bend where he and Nora had begun their race for the hilltop oak, he took off cross country, uphill. Agonizing with a mixture of fear and fatigue as the silhouette of that same oak beckoned, he vaulted stone walls and, weaving along hedgerows, found crooked stiles that he carried in three steps, falling twice and skinning a knee.

The morning half-light was just beginning to infuse the landscape with color when he reached the crest of the hill. Running up to the standing stones, he cast a glance back across the miles, catching Cairncrest’s windows glinting in the first rays of dawn. Turning back, he moved around the dolmen and peered down into the valley on the farther side. The view to the horizon was barren of any movement. He sat down on the dewy grass, his back wet against one of the bluestone pylons, arms wrapped around his knees. It had been his first run since being shot and it hadn’t done him a damned bit of good. Certainly no communing with the Buddha.

What was he going to do? What
could
he do? What were Pandavas and Innovac really up to? Were they behind the shooting in Bangkok? If they really wanted him dead why had they taken such pains to protect his life after the attack? Something just didn’t add up. Fuck, nothing was adding up. You hire a guy just to off him? Why? He hadn’t a clue.     

Thoughts racing, he leaned his head back against the cold stone. It was humming. Was the vibration he felt coming from the stone or was it just his pounding heart? No, this time he was certain he could feel something. Neither panic nor his imagination. It was something else. The earth was definitely trembling. A guttural rumbling. Not like the rolling of an earthquake temblor, but regular. A mechanical whir of gear-driven hydraulics followed, then a rush of escaping air like distant surf. With an unnatural groan, a huge flap of boulder-covered earth seized from the landscape and opened its gaping maw. Low over the horizon a black dot appeared, approaching with the recognizable thrum of rotor blades, baffled but still audible – a helicopter following the rolling contours of the countryside coming in low and fast. The great sod and stone-clad door stood rigidly open at a forty-five degree angle, its huge lip hanging a good dozen meters above the dry creek bed at the base of the hill.

Lyköan pulled back into the shadow beneath the dolmen’s capstone, falling flat on the ground behind a pylon. The chopper hovered briefly and then disappeared into the entrance. Muffled rotors ceased and the opening began closing. The whole operation hadn’t taken forty seconds.

With an enormous sigh of expelled air, the door closed tight, returning the landscape to its original configuration. The vibrating ceased. After a brief silence, a different hum took its place, higher pitched and much fainter, a barely perceptible tremor in the earth. Hardly noticeable, it faded rapidly into nothingness.

Jesus! Like some screwy plot device from a creaking Matt Helm movie! He looked into the sky. Clouds were rolling in. A stiff breeze was blowing. The bucolic scene had returned to its former tranquility. It didn’t seem possible.

Emerging from the shadow, he looked around nervously and then raced for the brook and the trail back to Cairncrest. He couldn’t chance being caught out in the open. The entrance might be under surveillance. After what he had just witnessed, better safe than discovered.

He still had enough residual fire, or fear, to maintain a full throttle pace all the way back, stumbling only once more. How could he possibly place all he’d just seen into some reasonable context? He couldn’t. Not now anyway. Not here. Just a nauseating jumble of nonsense filling the territory normally reserved for introspection.

Reaching the manor house at last, he glanced at his watch. 5:36. He tried one of the side doors, but found it locked. Damned servants. He was forced to use the main entrance. The wind was blowing harder, cold and damp out of the west. A bank of clouds had overtaken him in the last mile and the misting precip had already begun beading on the compression suit fabric. Ascending the broad front stairway, he stood at the tall double doors, took a deep breath and entered.

Cairncrest’s marbled foyer wasn’t empty. With a turn, Atma Pandavas and ― Harry Whitehall, of all people ― stared back at him from one of the curving grand staircases they had been climbing together. Their expressions indicated that his entrance, at the very least, had come as something of a surprise.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Oscar Wilde :
The Importance of Being Earnest

Looking down from the stairway, Pandavas spoke first. “Out for a morning constitutional, Lyköan? Why, it’s barely dawn.” The edge in his voice and glint in his eye froze Lyköan for an instant. Pandavas was too perceptive not to have noticed.

“Yeah, my first time out after a month on the DL,” Lyköan answered. He might very well be standing in the gallows’ shadow, but he’d be damned if he’d let the hangman catch even a whiff of terror. “Thought I could sneak out and be back before anybody else got up around here.” Shifting to a bluffed offense while his interior landscape was collapsing, he added, “From the look of things I got back just in time.”

“How’s that then?” Pandavas asked, his dark expression deepening.

Maybe the executioner was rattled too. It was sort of a noir solace and didn’t last. But Lyköan had sensed the fulcrum of the conversation shift and felt he could afford to give a little ground.

“The rain, it’s just starting,” he said by way of explanation. Brushing a spray of beaded droplets from his shoulder he looked directly at Pandavas with a steadfast, innocent grin.

Turning his head towards Whitehall, he pressed on. “Harry Whitehall! I sure wasn’t expecting to run into you.” That covered his startled expression. “Is this a scheduled visit?”

Pandavas and Whitehall turned and descended the stairway together. Whitehall, carrying a small grip in one hand, walked over and stopped inches from Lyköan’s nose. Placing a hand on Lyköan’s shoulder, he smiled broadly with a glimmer of their former, familiar camaraderie. Lyköan tried not to flinch. Could Whitehall feel his heart pounding? Whitehall’s breath was hot and antiseptic.

“The car must have dropped me off while you were out braving the elements, my boy,” he said. “I was just getting reacquainted with the doctor here, before heading for my room. It was a beastly long flight from Bangkok, as you well know.”

Lyköan tried to force his question. “Business here in England then?”

“A couple of manufacturing liability issues have turned up. My area of expertise,” Whitehall answered with a shrug indicating it was only a trifle. “Atma thought it might be better if I came in person to negotiate directly with the government. I’ll be running a bit myself, I’m afraid.”

It’s Atma now, is it?
Lyköan reflected. Through the filter of his paranoia that sure sounded cozy.

Smiling politely at Pandavas now standing next to Whitehall, he was thinking:
Seems you’ve suddenly become
everybody’s best buddy. If this problem’s no big deal why not just have one of your local boys handle it? Why fly in Whitehall all the way from Bangkok?

Pandavas seemed to be leering back at him. Looking at Lyköan’s scrapped and bleeding knee he asked, “Did you stumble in the dark? A hundred yards into the countryside at night and the Cairncrest lights disappear.” 

The little mystery about Whitehall’s unexpected appearance could wait. Right now it was much more important to allay Pandavas’s suspicions about where he’d been and what he’d been up to.

“Ran to the Roman mile marker at Haldon Heath ― where the road crosses that creek ―”

“Haldon Stream,” Pandavas offered blandly. The doctor’s face lost a little of its strained tightness.

“Sure, Haldon Stream,” Lyköan eagerly agreed. “Anyway, at the bridge I took the Tilsbury fork.” His heart was racing, but his delivery remained nonchalant. A believable ruse might draw Pandavas off the scent.

“Ran towards Tilsbury for maybe another three klicks and turned around. First time out since the shooting ― didn’t want to overdo it. On the return leg I did manage to slip on the bridge and skin my knee. Nothing serious.” He thought the explanation might have just enough detail to sound convincing. It also placed him miles from where he had actually been.

“Guess I must have followed you up the drive,” he added as a believable embellishment.

“We must have
just
missed each other,” Whitehall said with a strange emphasis. “Don’t suppose you would have accepted a ride though, what?”

Lyköan had observed the few landmarks he’d included in his deception from the backseat of the limo coming to Cairncrest the day before. The driver had explained, when Lyköan had asked about the crossroads at the tiny hamlet of Haldon Heath, that the road to Tilsbury was little more than an unobstructed ten-mile country track of winding monotony.

“Saturday morning and both your noses to the grindstone already?” Lyköan asked.

“The wheels of industry need to be oiled constantly. I’m sure you’ve learned that in your own line of work,” Pandavas replied. His expression had grown dark again ― that worrisome furrow had crept back onto his brow. Exactly what was puzzling him? There were plenty of possibilities. Lyköan didn’t like thinking about any of them.

Time to zip it, Lyköan
, he thought,
and hightail it for the tall grass.

“Well, I’ll let you gents get to your business. Any chance we can get together later, Whitehall? All work and no play you know...” A conversation with Whitehall might prove useful. If he discovered something valuable it could double his chances of survival. From one in a million ― to two.

“I might have some time tomorrow. I’ll let you know.”

“I’ll look for you later, then,” Lyköan said. “Will you be back today?”

“Much later. I really can’t say how long we’ll be in London,” Whitehall explained.

“Sure. Whenever. Right now I plan to get out of this wet suit and into a hot shower. Nurse my wound. Good luck with your meeting.” He nodded his head to both men and headed for the other stairway. Once his back was turned he rolled his eyes hard into his head, gritting his teeth.

No way that exchange improved my odds.

“Until then, Lyköan. Cheerio,” Whitehall called behind him.

Springing up the stairs, legs shaking, he thankfully didn’t stumble in the ascent. The hallway turned away at the head of the stairs, bringing cover and relief. As he disappeared down the empty corridor, the full impact of his naked solitude overtook him. He let himself be swept along, shoulders and head slumped ― a derelict vessel captured in a treacherous current.

Still in the compression suit ten minutes later, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, head in hands, elbows on knees, staring blankly at the hardwood floor. He hadn’t slept all night, buoyed by an adrenaline-filled bloodstream denying even a hint of exhaustion. He certainly wasn’t thinking straight, nor had he been acting rationally.

Was he still operating under the dictates of the fight or flight mechanism? That was the only explanation for his bizarre tear into the twilight zone. Only to run right into another mystery. What the hell
was
that buried facility? Obviously part of the Innovac operation. He’d wasted precious time. Time that he might have better spent... doing what?

Perspiration was dripping onto the floor from his nose and chin. He was a mess.
What to do right now? Take my own advice
.

Forcing himself from the bed, he unzipped and pulled off the running suit. Crumpling the soggy mass into a ball, he threw it violently into a corner and headed for the shower.

Only after he was standing under its spray, the water beating hard and hot on his shoulders, streams rushing down the contours of his body, did the frantic pace of his wild thoughts finally begin to slow. Steam rose, filling the shower cubicle. The walls of the bathroom beyond the glass enclosure disappeared in thick fog.
Too bad I can’t disappear into the night as easily as I fade into this steam
, he thought, realizing immediately that if he was going to survive he’d have to do a helluva lot better than that, better than the irrational thoughts of some little kid with his head pulled under the covers.

He returned to the central mystery. What was Pandavas up to? It seemed doubtful he would have Lyköan murdered here at Cairncrest, so why had he brought him here? Why would Pandavas want to kill him at all? It didn’t make any sense. He had never been a threat to either the man or his business. Before today’s revelations, Lyköan hadn’t even borne Pandavas any ill will. In the very beginning, before Lyköan was ever aware of the Innovac connection, they had come looking for him. Now that he knew the score, however, he was determined not to give in without putting up a fight, but what could he use as a weapon?

Better start doing something
, he thought, turning off the water.

He toweled off and stepped from the cubicle. It was a little after six. Maybe if he fired up the yíb and dove back into the Innovac database...

Walking over to the bed and picking up the device, he unfolded the keyboard. Propping the pillows against the headboard behind him, he turned on the power.

There was a knock at the door. Lyköan opened his eyes, slightly disoriented. He looked at his watch. 10:43. Then he looked down at the yíb. It had lapsed into deep hibernation. A quick keystroke and it began reanimating.

My God! How could almost five hours have passed?
Did I fall asleep? Jesus!

The knock came again.

“Who is it?” he asked, rubbing his face. He was still wearing the shower towel.

“It’s me, Nora. You decent?”

“Depends,” he managed. “Give me a minute.”

The screen came up displaying his logon query window. He hadn’t even gotten to his password.

Unbelievable. My life depends on every precious second and I fall asleep?

Dropping the yíb on the bed, he rushed to the dresser, shouting at the door, “Be right with you, Nora.”

In the hallway he could hear her whistling a familiar tune, not impatiently. Easy for her. A pair of wrinkled cargo pants and tattered khaki shirt later, barely presentable, he opened the door. It wasn’t even locked.
So much for being in fear for your life, genius.

Nora looked at him, the corners of her mouth creeping into a smile. “Did I catch you in the shower?”

“Uh, no, no,” he put his hand to his head, “though I guess I fell asleep after taking one. Here, c’mon in. Let me grab a comb.” He closed the door after her.

“You been up long?” he shouted from the bathroom. “Pandavas was working today. Aren’t you?”

“No. We’re wrapping up. Winding down, I mean. Only the regular Innovac crew in the lab.”

“The WHO researchers?”

“No. Chen and her people left for London around nine. They should be at Heathrow by now. Atma and that insurance agent, Whitehall, went with them. You missed all the action, sleepy head.”

Lyköan smiled at the familiarity. The first name reference to Pandavas, however, was a different matter.

“I stayed up after we said goodnight,” he explained. “Took a breather around dawn. Even went for a run.” The face in the mirror staring back at him looked far less panicked than he felt. Is this what Pandavas had seen? He hoped so.

Should he cave and tell Nora everything? Did that make sense? Lyköan didn’t believe she was involved, but wouldn’t even possessing such knowledge put her in jeopardy?

“Nora, do you still have access to the Innovac labs on-site?”

“Uh huh. Why?”

“I thought maybe you could give me the cook’s tour before you left for Atlanta.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in the science, but sure, say the word and I’ll be happy to show you around.”

“How about now?”

“Why the sudden interest?” she asked. “You seem awfully eager.”

“Oh, nothing special ― just curious.”

“About?”

“What other research, besides the TAI virus, is Innovac working on these days?”

“If that’s what you’re looking for you’re going to be disappointed,” Nora explained. “Except for our specific project, I have no access to the Innovac R&D database. Sorry. You know, intellectual property, patent protection, that sort of thing.”

Lyköan had to make a quick decision. There was barely enough time to trust the Fates and take the required leap of faith. Pull Nora in and risk everything that might entail: a double-cross, doubtful; her life put at risk, more likely; or discovering what the L-9 Genome business was really all about
and
placing her life in jeopardy, most likely of all. How could he protect her if things turned ugly? He knew he couldn’t.

“What if I could
get
you access to Innovac’s other projects?”

“How?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be with permission.”

“You’re thinking of hacking into the Innovac LAN?”

“Already have.” It was all about to come rushing out like water through a crack in the dike. Way past the point of simply sticking a finger in to staunch the flow.

“Why?”

“Originally? Just curiosity. Almost happened by accident.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet it did. How’d you mange it?”

“Can we head for the lab? If you find us an isolated workstation where we won’t be seen or overheard I’ll spill the whole sad story.”

“This doesn’t sound good. What kind of trouble are you trying to get me into?”