Shiva

by Simon Sloane

  Diana gasped when Hugo deactivated their transponder, disconnecting MECCA from the global navigation system. “You can’t be serious!”

  “Vauxhall will see the explosions on their satellite surveillance system,” he said as they rose into the sky. “What if they assume it was MECCA burning down there?”

  Diana shook her head. “If they find us, we’ll be charged with treason. Look, I know Control’s probably wrong to send us to Paris, but—”

  “All our crewmen died down there.” Hugo pointed to the desert beneath them. “No one can tell them that we escaped. And if they can’t find the plane through electronic means …” He gave her a wink while switching off all communications channels.

  Diana took the co-pilot’s satellite phone and switched it back on. “Don’t worry,” she said. “This one has been made for special ops. It’s built so that it can’t be tracked.”

  “How is that possible?” Hugo asked. “Doesn’t it connect to one of your satellites?”

  Diana gave him a smile. “We’re the secret service, after all.” The more she thought about it, the more Hugo’s proposal made sense. MECCA was stealth-proofed against radar. They needed more time to figure out what was going on instead of flying down a giant rabbit trail to Paris. And in case it all went wrong, she imagined standing in front of an ATF audit committee, telling them it was all Hugo’s fault.

  Once again, the inventor derided Control’s theory about a “magic triangle” that connected him with the principal actors on the French political scene. Then he fell silent. To Diana, it confirmed they were at a dead end.

  At first she felt relieved when Hugo managed to contact his former colleague at the underground news site through the satellite phone. But then Diana found that Sarah Parker looked quite clueless on the screen.

  “Geek-o-matixx has learned that even opposition leader Jean-Marc Tanguy heard of the food shortage only recently,” the purple-haired geek revealed.

  “That would surprise me,” Hugo said. He seemed to attribute all sorts of evil powers to Casimir-Perier’s would-be successor.

  Since they had spoken, Sarah had mulled over villainous investors having stockpiled crops or bought financial derivatives that rose twentyfold when corn prices doubled. However, her network of online informants failed to corroborate anything.

  When stuck, retrace your steps, Diana thought, remembering her training as a special agent. Why had she been sent to Dubai, only to find Hugo? The godfather of artificial intelligence seemed just as clueless as everyone else.

  Then an idea hit her. “Have you ever seen this man?” Diana asked Sarah as she touched the replay button to share the video that the ATF had picked up from Hugo’s apartment in Dubai. “You identified Hugo despite recent changes of his appearance. So, who’s this guy? He isn’t showing up in any of our databases.”

  “Let me see.” Sarah applied photo filters and neural-network-based algorithms to the image of the sheik who had repeated Darwin’s pessimistic forecast. “He isn’t moving, so I can’t identify him from the way he walks.”

  Diana saw the slender face sharpen, but the red cross in his name field revealed Sarah’s failure to identify him.

  Replaying the video, Diana noticed something she hadn’t seen before. “Look.” She studied the wall of monitors behind the man in the white thobe. “What’s that?” She pointed at a reflection of three objects on the screens’ glossy surface.

  Hugo zoomed in on the shadows, which seemed to come from a triangle of statues in front of the dark figure. “They look like ornamented heads. And I think I recognise one of them.”

  Chapter 29

  The Three Gods

  Friday, 5:30pm CET (7:30pm local time)

  Ten thousand feet above the Indian Ocean, Hugo stared at the satellite phone’s screen, trying to identify the deity. He felt safe with Diana in control of the plane, although they still hadn’t decided on a destination. For the moment, their aim was to get as far away from the Gulf of Arabia as possible while trying to identify who was in control of the countdown of cataclysmic events.

  The series of accelerating catastrophes was due to end in exactly twenty-four hours. Nothing focused Hugo’s mind like the approaching milestone. “The Room of the Three Gods,” he whispered, repeating the phrase uttered by the man who appeared to be a high-ranking Arab. He replayed the video again.

  “Someone must have sent the video to incriminate you, Hugo,” Diana said. “It’s like an electronic trail of crumbs to your penthouse in Dubai. But who laid it?”

  “The Three Gods!” Hugo almost jumped from his co-pilot seat. “I should have seen it!” He didn’t take time to appreciate that Diana had dropped her suspicion of him. Once again, he processed the image to sharpen the statues’ shadows. “Despite the presence of the Arab, we mustn’t assume he’s referring to an Abrahamic religion, such as Islam or Christianity.”

  “What are you thinking about?” Diana asked. “Greco-Roman gods?”

  “This one could be the outline of a Brahma statue—the Hindu god of creation,” Hugo said as the still image crystallised into a high-resolution photograph.

  “Then this is Vishnu.” Diana pointed at the second shadow. It was slimmer than the first one and stood at a slight angle. “Could this have been recorded in a Hindu temple—a high-tech one, to say the least?”

  Hugo identified the third statue. “And this is Shiva! The god of destruction.” Again, he wondered why a Muslim might pose against a backdrop of the trimurti—the holy trinity of Hinduism.

  Something clicked in Hugo’s mind, something about the countdown that matched their discovery of the Hindu statues. But even if he knew what it was, would it be wise to inform Diana?

  Hugo didn’t feel at ease with how quickly she had agreed to go rogue. It wasn’t like her to defy her superior in Vauxhall and her order to fly to Paris. Maybe Diana was supposed to earn Hugo’s trust to collect evidence and build a case against him.

  “What’s the small circle above Shiva’s head?” Diana pointed at the upper area of the image. “Is there a fourth deity? Some sort of Hindu holy ghost?”

  Hugo cradled his head in his hand as he ran the image-processing software once more. “It’s not a face,” he said. “It’s a symbol.”

  Diana spread her thumb and forefinger to zoom in on the sharpened image. She gasped when the shape came into focus. “It’s a swastika!”

  Chapter 30

  Etienne

  Friday, 5:45pm CET pm

  “That’s your idea of bipartisanship?” Henri Charenton asked Jean-Marc Tanguy as he dissected an apple after returning from their afternoon break. “Blackmail?”

  Tanguy shrugged, readjusting the rimless glasses on his long nose. “You reap what you sow, Henri. It wasn’t me who kept parliament in the dark about our dwindling food stocks.”

  “I assume you won’t support our counterterrorism bill then?” Having ingested the apple, the stress compelled Charenton to reach for a bowl of peanuts. He really couldn’t afford a legislative defeat amidst all this chaos.

  Tanguy smiled as if he knew Charenton couldn’t get his party to vote for the proposed law. “What would you give me in return, Henri?” Tanguy asked with an apparently generous extension of his hand.

  “We won’t investigate your past conduct.” Charenton grinned vindictively. Surely, there was a lot more dirt on Tanguy than what had been unearthed when the geek had been forced to resign as prime minister.

  “Ha!” Tanguy snapped his fingers. “I’ll stop that nonsense myself—on Monday.”

  “Assuming you win. But then, a national emergency like this might swing millions of voters back to us.” Bluffing wasn’t Charenton’s strength, but what else could he do? A glance at his assistant revealed that even she didn’t seem to buy his strong-man tactic.

  “It’s good you’re confident,” Tanguy said. “As for my party, our reps would never vote for any of your bills. But I can tell you how to get your renegades in line. Let’s be honest, Henr
i: this counter-terrorism law is George Orwell on steroids.”

  “Enlighten me,” Charenton said, although he dreaded the response.

  Tanguy gestured at the door. “You need a fixer. I had him in mind for something different, but in light of the current situation—”

  “Bring him in.” Charenton sighed, hoping Tanguy wouldn’t sense his desperation.

  The presidential guards unlocked the door, and a tall, wiry man walked in, stroking his thinning hair. He carried a small package that he deposited behind the laptop of Charenton’s assistant.

  “No!” The acting president said. “Not him!” If there was one species Charenton detested in the pond of politics, it was the spineless lobbyist.

  Tanguy shrugged. “Like him or not, Etienne knows everyone in the Assemblée Nationale as well as the Senate.”

  “We’ve spent years trying to flush the likes of him out of the system!” Charenton protested. Still, he faced a dilemma. Parliament was bound to reject his law to combat terrorism, making him look impotent. Hiring Etienne Saint-Clair to lobby on behalf of the bill might get the legislation through, but it would make a mockery of Charenton’s promise to usher in a new, honest kind of politics.

  “Tough luck,” Tanguy said with a twisted smile. “Let Etienne make a few calls and offer some favours. You’ll have your majority tonight.”

  “I’m not sure it’s a good idea, sir!” the SSI director cautioned, but Charenton waved him to shut up.

  It was obvious how certain Tanguy was of his triumph. The pretender took a surreptitious glance at the long legs of Charenton’s assistant. Clearly, she was the only thing his challenger deemed worth keeping in the Elysée Palace.

  Charenton conceded with the grunt of a captured animal. He was so anxious not to lose the vote that he didn’t even ask Tanguy what was in it for him.

  Etienne Saint-Clair bowed obsequiously. “The usual terms and conditions apply.” Then he slowly walked through the massive oak door.

  “I think we’re done here,” Charenton told Tanguy and his own staff. As he adjourned the meeting, he saw a small package that Saint-Clair had left behind on the mahogany table. “We should get rid of it,” Charenton told his assistant. “Anything coming from this man must be toxic.”

  Chapter 31

  Swastika

  Friday, 6:00pm CET (8:00pm local time)

  Diana flinched when Hugo showed her the satellite phone’s screen. She would have preferred flying according to MECCA’s inbuilt navigation, but it would have revealed their location to ATF headquarters.

  Her decision had not been easy, but now she felt sure that Hugo was right: going back to Paris would be useless. Based on what they knew, the man, woman or machine who was ravaging agricultural value chains around the world was likely to be a Hindu who had camouflaged himself—0r itself—as an Arab.

  For too long, Diana had doubted her own judgment. She remembered the feeling of rejection when her parents refused to pay for her studies, investing all the family funds into Cynthia’s fledgling career. And when her sister beat the odds and became a pop star, Diana felt as if her mom and dad had been clairvoyant all along.

  “In about two hours,” Hugo said, checking the clock on sat phone, “we’ll reach Gujarati shores.

  Diana had put MECCA on autopilot, letting the A400 fly straight east since they had discovered the hidden Hindu deities on the video. “Ready to hunt some brown-faced Nazis?” she asked Hugo, who looked in need of cheering up.

  “They’re not Nazis,” Hugo said. “During my exile, I read a lot about the religions of the East. ‘Swastika’ means ‘good fortune’ in Sanskrit. You see the infamous motif pointing clockwise? It’s meant to show the movement of the sun through the sky.”

  “So, instead of scaring Jews,” Diana said, “pious Indians are drawing swastikas on their walls in the hope that their gods will make them rich.”

  Hugo stopped laughing when Sarah’s smiling face reappeared on the satellite phone’s display.

  “It’s Mumbai or New Delhi,” she told them in a self-assured manner. She pointed at her online map and drew a red ellipse around the two cities.

  Diana sighed. “We can’t rule out that the video was sent by a Hindu who lives in the UK or in the US. They have temples and statues there too.”

  “No,” Sarah said. “The time delay in the header of the data packets reveals that the video originates from India—from inside this area, to be precise.” She pointed at the ellipse from the west coast to New Delhi.

  Diana nodded, impressed by Sarah and Hugo’s deductive skills. “Why didn’t ATF analysts uncover this as well?” But then it wouldn’t be a surprise that the secret service lagged behind the private sector in such things.

  “You’d find the delay only if you were looking for it,” Sarah said diplomatically. “The man on the video wore a white thobe with golden embroideries. That was sufficient for the ATF to send you to Dubai. Remember the Iraq invasion in the early two thousands? It was approved on even scanter evidence.”

  Hugo must have spotted the flicker of insight rushing across Diana’s face as he reclined in the seat next to her. “What is it?” he asked, holding her gaze.

  “The ATF has a secret data centre in Vauxhall,” Diana said after a moment’s hesitation. “They compiled a list of all quantum computers in operation around the world. That was the ambition, but I’m afraid Control let things slide.” If there was anything Diana had learned in the last few hours, it was that the ATF required new leadership. If only she had a bit more experience …

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Sarah exclaimed. “If I had access to that database for only a few minutes, I might find out where the perpetrator operates from—even his street address!” She stood up and grabbed her phone.

  “Could you hack in?” Hugo asked.

  Diana shook her head. “Our data centre is secured by quantum encryption. You’d have to be there physically—but wait!” Fear seized her when the video call was cut.

  “Sarah’s gone,” Hugo said, the blood draining from his face.

  “I hope she isn’t thinking about going there,” Diana said, wondering whether she had just seen the would-be investigative journalist for the last time.

  Chapter 32

  Rebalance

  Friday, 6:15pm CET

  Khaled stepped off the bus near the opera, having slipped his mobile phone into a traveller’s backpack. One couldn’t rule out that the SSI had tracked him through the device. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to know about the smart glasses. Khaled had received them from the president’s office directly.

  He walked down Rue Reaumur toward the river, passing by the metro station Bourse, close to the French stock exchange. He passed a cluster of bankers in suits, and one of them cast him a weird glance.

  Khaled cursed himself for having lost his ability to remain unnoticed. He remembered how easily he had manoeuvred the streets of Rome and Alexandria the year before, although the authorities had put an excessive bounty on his head.

  Khaled turned the corner of Rue de Richelieu. Only then did he realise he was walking back toward the Louvre. It wouldn’t be long before he ran into one of the policemen who was patrolling the area of the bomb attack.

  He was about to unmask one of the most powerful men in the republic as a traitor who had conspired to murder the president. He couldn’t afford to be caught until his work was complete, or they would silence him before he revealed the shadowy figure who had escaped to the Elysée Palace.

  Sarah had assured him that she would find a match for the man’s blurred visage or even his gait, but then their connection was interrupted.

  Not sure how to avoid the cops, Khaled entered Rue Colbert. He waited in the courtyard of an office building, turning his back when a police car passed.

  He would feel like a failure unless he managed to expose the conspiracy. He had wasted most of his life with nothing to show for it. The Egyptian state still blocked the assets that were rightfully
his after his adopted brother’s death. If something good was to come out of Nassor Sharkhor’s legacy, it would be Khaled distributing the spoils of Nassor’s crimes to his victims. Although he didn’t feel at home in Alexandria anymore, he felt a strange pull toward his deceitful family’s origins. He could forget neither Nassor nor their father before he had made up for their sins, rebalancing the family’s account with the Almighty. The only way to do so was to hunt down the man who had killed Christian Casimir-Perier and to bring the entire web of deceit to justice.

  Once again, he whispered a few words to call up the encrypted communications menu of his voice-and pupil-controlled eyewear.

  Hello, Sarah had texted him from London. Her message scrolled along the upper edge of his field of vision in bright red letters.

  “So, who’s the suit?” Khaled whispered. It was sufficient for his spectacles’ microphone to pick up his words and translate them into text.

  I found him, Sarah wrote back. His name is Etienne Saint-Clair.

  Chapter 33

  Short Term

  Friday, 6:30pm CET (10:00pm Indian time)

  Hugo let the darkness sink in. Diana was an experienced pilot, and he felt safe when she steered them into Indian airspace.

  Both had changed clothes, knowing it wouldn’t be smart to leave MECCA in Royal Air Force uniforms.

  Hugo let his hand glide over the dark suit they had found in the captain’s quarters. The white shirt and the cormoran-coloured tie gave him an aura of respectability that might be required when they faced whoever was depriving the world of food.

  Diana also looked striking in her white blouse, the pinstriped knee-length skirt and matching jacket. Her blond hair remained bound into a ponytail.