Shiva

by Simon Sloane

  The golden card fell to the floor. Hugo felt like a teenager whose mother had stormed into his bedroom while he had been watching pornography.

  “I guess you won’t be needing that anymore.” Yogi triumphantly retrieved the access card and put it back into his jacket pocket.

  Upon a wave of Yogi’s hand, the guards dragged Hugo back to the elevator.

  It seemed like an eternity as they glided down.

  “Where’s Jyran?” Yogi demanded once they were downstairs. The head of the dynasty wouldn’t be pleased to be disturbed at such an hour, but he would realise why things couldn’t be delayed.

  One of the servants went to fetch Jyran, whose audiobook was still playing in the background. “And while homo sapiens mated with Neanderthals for millennia, genetic differences between the two species accumulated to a point that they could no longer produce joint offspring. The result is known. Homo sapiens edged out Neanderthals, mainly due its superior ability to hunt big game in a coordinated fashion, essentially starving his less advanced cousin. Now imagine the dynamics between homo sapiens and a superior humanoid species benefiting from genetic engineering.”

  Jyran walked in moments later, wrapped in a white towel. “What do you want, Yogi?” He glared at his diamond-studded watch. “Why do you send for me at this time of night?”

  “It’s Hugo. I caught him meddling with Shiva.”

  Hugo swallowed. He had ruined everything, having succumbed to Maya’s seduction. The daughter of the house was nowhere to be seen.

  Jyran shrugged. “Wasn’t he supposed to work on Shiva, sooner or later? You’ve said yourself that only someone like Hugo might be able to explain what—”

  “There’s something else,” Yogi said, caressing his phone, “something … more private.” He cleared his throat twice.

  Jyran motioned his servants to step back. When they had retreated, he examined the CCTV recording on Yogi’s handset. The heir’s pupils dilated, and his hands shivered in agony. The swelling of the vein on Jyran’s forehead told Hugo his time at the Singh residence was over.

  “Bastard!” Jyran tossed Yogi’s mobile phone onto the floor as if it was toxic. Then he seized the collar of Hugo’s gown. The guards held Hugo’s arms, preventing him from defending himself.

  “Jyran!” a shrill voice called from the other side of the lounge. “Let him go!”

  Diana rushed toward them, facing the wrath in Jyran’s eyes.

  Chapter 64

  Zoë

  Saturday, 2:15am CET

  “I’ve never had much to do with Etienne Saint-Clair,” Zoë de Valenciennes told the bald inspector when he shifted to interrogation mode after the introductory niceties. “He was a bit of a pest, though—always harassing me for appointments with Henri. But it’s my duty to keep the prime minister’s schedule clear.”

  Only then did she notice the bespectacled officer’s olive skin as he locked eyes with her in the bar’s sombre light.

  “So, you were just doing your job?” he asked as if he didn’t quite believe her.

  According to his badge, Philippe Plossignac was a mid-ranking inspector from the seventh district. Zoë wondered why he looked familiar. “I always do my job,” she stated firmly lest anyone doubt her work ethic. Normally, she wouldn’t have been reachable at such an hour, but the Elysée Palace was in crisis mode. And Plossignac’s cryptic text message had indicated he knew more than he should.

  “In any case,” Zoë bridged the gap in their conversation, “I have no idea why anyone would kill Etienne Saint-Clair other than for political reasons. The shooter must be a hired gun.”

  “He may well be,” the athletic cop said. “We’ll catch him, sooner or later.”

  Zoë smiled. Plossignac might have made an attractive companion in other circumstances. There was something animalistic about the way he surveyed every corner of the atrium, occasionally flexing his muscles, as if preparing for a fight. “Do you really believe someone tapped my phone?” she enquired, his reason for asking her to meet in a loud public environment without a mobile signal.

  “It would explain a lot. The suspect was deeply embedded in the secret service. I’m glad you’re being careful with your mobile.” He took the device she had placed on the bar and pointed at the encrypted communications app that featured prominently on her home screen.

  “Would you mind giving it back to me?” she asked, slightly unnerved when the officer scrolled through her list of recent calls and messages.

  “Shall we discuss this at the station?” Plossignac asked with a menacing glance. “I’m on duty all night.”

  Zoë sensed she wouldn’t get far when referring to her civil rights. Instead she slowly uncrossed her legs and let her hand glide through her hair. “With you, inspector,” she whispered in his ear, “I’d be up until the morning—provided we wouldn’t be disturbed.” If her forwardness didn’t intimidate him, nothing would.

  She felt amused when Plossignac returned her phone. All men were the same. Zoë’s efforts at the Elysée Palace had been in vain until she shed her dull worker bee image and offered something more tangible.

  The detective didn’t hesitate. He caressed Zoë’s hair and pulled her closer. If he persisted with his interrogation, the sexual harassment suit would be on the Home Secretary’s desk by Monday. Cops faced severe penalties for lewd behaviour with witnesses. Buddha Bar’s CCTV would support her claim.

  Zoë licked her lips to encourage him when he leaned in for a kiss. But then the detective put his finger on her lips. “Not here,” he said with a stern face. “But the Sofitel is just across the street.”

  Chapter 65

  Out

  Saturday, 2:30am CET pm (6:00am Indian time)

  Hugo stared at Diana. I’m sorry, he longed to tell her. I’m so sorry.

  She must have guessed what had happened. His philandering had ruined everything. Jyran would never trust him again. Worst of all, Hugo had disappointed the woman who had saved him—the only one upon whom he could truly rely.

  “Slut!” Jyran shouted. He had summoned Maya to the lounge, but his servants had failed to reach her.

  “It’s not Maya’s fault,” Yogi said with a satisfied grin. “Hugo seduced her. I tried to warn her about him, but—”

  “To no avail,” Jyran said. “I forgot Maya’s an adult on paper only.”

  “It’s clear you want me out, Yogi,” Hugo said, jerking his head at the manager while the guards held back his arms. “You can’t afford Jyran to realise that Shiva’s out of control.”

  Diana’s eyes opened wide, but she didn’t say anything.

  “See how he lies?” Yogi protested in a melodramatic sing-song voice. “Hugo defiled your sister, Jyran! Who would believe a single word out of his mouth?”

  Hugo laughed. He still didn’t understand why Maya had sacrificed her prized virginity. She had a wild streak, but she wasn’t stupid. Was it her way of rejecting the male-dominated conservatism of the House of Singh? The fact that she hadn’t shown up meant she didn’t plan to even try to rescue her lover from her brother’s wrath.

  “Just throw him out!” Jyran growled, his index finger pointing at Hugo like the barrel of a gun.

  “I can’t believe your family’s honour depends on your sister’s virginity,” Hugo said. “You’re twenty years old, for God’s sake! Why do you keep living in the Dark Ages?”

  “Bastard!” Jyran slapped Hugo’s cheek so hard it burned. “You’ve never learned to stay away from what’s not yours.” His hand moved toward the door.

  Hugo didn’t know what to make of the statement, but he couldn’t imagine he had ruined Maya’s marriage prospects. She was still young, beautiful and rich.

  “Bring him back to where Alexander picked him up!” Yogi told the security officers. “Let those starved outcasts feast on him.”

  Jyran laughed. “They’ll hunt him down the moment they see his smartwatch.”

  Hugo made sure not to reveal his satisfaction that they hadn’t ta
ken it from him.

  “No!” Diana shouted, putting herself between Hugo and the corridor. “Hugo works for … for me. It’s not up to you to decide what’s happening to him.”

  Hugo realised how desperate Diana felt. She had almost let slip why they had really come to Mumbai.

  Jyran looked as unimpressed as he usually did when a woman shared her opinion. “You’re welcome to join your lackey,” he said. “It would be a pity though.”

  Diana shrank back from the evil glare in his eyes.

  It was obvious that Jyran possessed what psychologists called the dark triad: vanity, sadism and deceit. But Hugo knew that if Diana lost her nerve now, she would also be removed from the compound. The mob would devour her with even greater delight.

  “Let me deal with her,” Yogi implored with a nod at Diana. “We might still need her when the bastard is gone.”

  Hugo tried to draw Diana’s gaze upon him. Maybe she could still find him in the urban jungle. He turned his wrist so that his watch reflected the light from the recessed spotlights on her face.

  “What are you waiting for?” Jyran shouted to his security staff as Yogi grinned like a fat cat. “Get that scoundrel out of my sight!”

  Hugo gave Diana a final nod before they pushed him down the corridor.

  “So, that’s done,” Jyran said. “Yogi, Diana—have a good night! We’ll talk at brunch.”

  Hugo cursed through his teeth. Little more than one hour remained until the next catastrophe.

  Chapter 66

  Sofitel

  Saturday, 2:45am CET

  Khaled smiled. He was so close to unveiling the traitor.

  “So, that’s why you contacted me in the middle of the night,” Zoë said with a playful smile. She put her hand on his bulging biceps as they left Buddha Bar. “But you still haven’t told me how you found me, Inspector Plossignac.”

  Khaled swallowed. “Call me Philippe!” He had skirted around the subject all evening, but Charenton’s assistant wasn’t easily fooled. “It’s our duty,” he said, putting his hand on his heart, “to investigate anyone whom Saint-Clair talked to during his final twenty-four hours.”

  “And then you searched my name and found my photo,” Zoë said flirtatiously, “and you thought, ‘That’ll be the one for the night shift.’”

  Khaled laughed. “The Elysée Palace switchboard said you’re working late.” Zoë didn’t seem the type who checked the logs to see if he had actually called them.

  He led her across the street. The sandstone façade of the Sofitel Paris La Faubourg was illuminated by white beams. The night porter opened the door with a nod of appreciation at Khaled for having pulled a woman of Zoë’s class.

  “No wake-up call,” Khaled instructed the receptionist when he checked them in, using Philippe Plossignac’s ID card and his remaining cash.

  Zoë played with her necklace, leaving no doubt what was going to happen once her companion locked their hotel room door.

  The concierge guided them to the elevator and sent them up with a friendly nod.

  Having arrived on the fourth floor, Khaled opened the door to the Opera Suite.

  “How wonderful!” Zoë cooed. “I like your style.”

  Khaled could tell from the knowing manner in which she moved around that she hadn’t entered the suite for the first time. In particular, she seemed to appreciate the expansive lounge, the walk-in closet and the marble-tiled bathroom with its Hamman shower and Hermès toiletries.

  When he turned his back, he watched the ornamented mirror and saw Zoë put her phone on the walnut desk. She didn’t seem to have noticed that he had seen her push the record button. She was probably gathering evidence of inappropriate police behaviour to discredit the investigation. She must have been ignorant of the fact that he was recording their interaction through his smart glasses as well.

  Zoë kicked off her high heels and lowered her head as Khaled walked toward her with a determined gaze. He twisted her around, making her believe he was about to help her out of her business suit.

  A glance at the fabric reminded Khaled of where he had seen her before. Zoë was the young blonde who had rushed away from the Louvre Pyramid, talking on her phone, moments before Casimir-Perier had been blown to pieces.

  Surely, she must have known the bomb was about to go off.

  “What have we got here?” Zoë asked with a satisfied nod at the semi-transparent fridge and its selection of Dom Perignon. “What about a bit of bubbly?”

  “You’re right,” Khaled said, twisting her arm behind her back. At first, she playfully struggled against his grip, apparently considering it part of his foreplay. Arab men enjoyed a reputation with French women that Khaled found a blessing and a curse.

  “Zoë de Valenciennes,” he hissed while making Philippe Plossignac’s handcuffs click on her wrists, “I’m arresting you for conspiracy of murder.”

  The cry stuck in her throat.

  Chapter 67

  Underwater

  Saturday, 3:00am CET (6:30am Indian time)

  Hugo took a deep breath as he rose to the surface of the Indian Ocean. He looked around. On his right was the Marine Plaza Hotel, half a mile up Marina Drive.

  He was lucky to be alive. The ruffians in front of the Singh residence had been sleeping when he appeared at the leaden gate. Hugo was running for the coast when one of them realised who he was. Hoping they wouldn’t pursue him across the jagged rocks, he jumped into the sea and dived until he could no longer hold his breath.

  His fingers hurt when he pulled himself up the slippery surface. Panting, he climbed up to the shoreside walkway. If only he could get back to Singh Tower and inform Diana about what had to be done! All he could do now was walk along the brightly lit coast and think about how to stop Shiva for good.

  Soon the artificial intelligence might find a way around the hurdle that Hugo had placed in its path before they had tossed him out. He shook his head when he thought of Yogi. It was clear why the rotund executive had instigated Hugo’s removal: he was in love with Maya too. Yogi would slap himself if he knew how he had inspired Hugo during his final moments with Shiva.

  Minutes before his arrest, Hugo had issued a simple voice command. He had raised Shiva’s level of accuracy from 99 percent to 99.9 percent. More braids would be added to Shiva’s topology for the purpose of boosting its accuracy. The side effect, as Hugo intended, was to slow down Shiva dramatically. Now it would take the AI ten times as long to complete the same task, because it had to be ten times as certain of its result.

  Hugo expected this to delay singularity by a few days, giving Diana enough time to find all the Shiva backups. Although the computer nerd within Hugo revolted against the destruction of the most impressive AI ever built, he saw no alternative. The prospect of a machine of godlike omniscience was too terrifying.

  His Hindu cloth soaking wet, Hugo walked down the avenue that ran parallel to the Indian Ocean. In the distance, Singh Tower glittered in a dazzling spectacle that distracted from the mayhem of the city, where dishevelled youths cruised around on rusty mopeds. A few yards down the road, two of them bullied an elderly woman.

  Hugo walked toward the scene. He kicked one of them in the back while punching the other. They dropped their victim’s purse and prepared to retaliate, but Hugo had already gained ten yards on them, running away as quickly as he could.

  When he heard their engines roar, he took possession of an auto rickshaw parked on the pavement. Its driver was taking a nap, and Hugo tossed him out of the three-wheeled vehicle. He started the engine and floored it, diving into Mumbai traffic. The swirling chaos of pedestrians, rickshaws, cars and motorbikes reminded him of the braids of Majorana fermions slithering through Shiva.

  What did Sorokan Singh’s creation aim to accomplish? Singularity for its own sake was an empty endeavour. The patriarch must have imprinted his aims and desires on the AI—a physical conduit for the spiritual concept of his reincarnation.

  Racing through the si
mmering crowd, Hugo couldn’t help thinking about the mayhem to be unleashed at the moment of singularity. He had to get back to the Singh residence as soon as possible. But who would let him in? Maya had left him to fend for himself. Diana hadn’t been able to protect him either. Alexander would be asleep at this hour. Maybe the Russian had yet to hear of Hugo’s ouster.

  Thinking of his former colleague, Hugo was struck by an insight. He slowed down as he passed by the Oberoi Hotel. Again, he spotted a cluster of emaciated youths. They looked even more ragged than the ones who had tried to rob the old lady. One of them stood close to the street. He texted on his mobile while the others seemed enthralled in debate, possibly about the distribution of their loot.

  Hugo extended his arm and reached out for the device. He accelerated his rusty vehicle as he ripped the phone out of the gangster’s hand.

  Chapter 68

  Behind The Throne

  Saturday 3:15am CET (6:45am Indian time)

  Diana noticed Yogi’s contented expression. He had just finished his breakfast of shark fin curry and was preparing to withdraw to his suite.

  Still thinking about the loss of Hugo, she felt the urge to punch Yogi when they stood alone in the lounge when the last one of the servants retired. Jyran had also retired to his chambers, leaving Diana alone with his trusted lieutenant.

  “Get some sleep, Miss Holborn,” Yogi said with a bow. “We’ll talk at brunch. It’s Mumbai’s social event of the week. I’m sure you’ll like it.”

  “Why wait?” She asked bluntly. “I won’t be able to sleep after all that.” She was careful not to mention Hugo, knowing how much Yogi despised him.