Shiva

by Carolyn McCray

  “I am not going to remind you of the incredibly tight timetable we are on,” Prenner said as they climbed up to the second floor.

  “Yeah, thanks for trusting me so much. You didn’t have to remind me of that.”

  Stark grabbed a chair, stood on it, and pulled down the staircase to the attic. Obviously intrigued, no one asked where they were going. Once in the attic, Stark turned on a light to reveal a techno-geek’s wet dream. If the basement had been a command center, this was the mother of all command centers.

  Computer after computer booted up.

  “I don’t understand,” Bunny said, trying to count the number of screens lining the walls.

  “It’s my doomsday room. I set this system up, routed it through Thailand, and have never used it since. This baby is virgin. No IP addresses. No browsing history. No cookies.”

  You know what? If Davidson weren’t just so damned sweet, Bunny might have learned to love the geeks.

  * * *

  Even Davidson could hear the squawk of the air traffic controller through Lopez’s earphones. Although, to be perfectly honest, Davidson was pretty dang sure the corporal was enjoying the berating. How often did Lopez get to use his colorful Spanish language on someone who actually understood him?

  “What’s happening?” Rebecca asked from the seat behind. Brandt still hadn’t popped an eye open, although Davidson knew the sergeant was wide-awake.

  “It sounds like air traffic control is trying to wave us off because our plane is too big,” Lopez reported.

  Rebecca looked back over her shoulder from the first-class section to the hundred-plus empty seats behind them. At the time, ditching their small prop plane and stealing a Boeing 747 that was scheduled for maintenance in Athens, Greece, seemed like a great idea. It hadn’t occurred to anyone that the closet airport to the northern region of Spain would be a small regional airport.

  Although, the more he thought on it, the more Davidson began to wonder if Lopez in fact did know this information. Because, come on, they weren’t being shot at. There was no bizarre weather disturbance, and Brandt had forced the corporal to fly at “regular” speed. Lopez had bellyached the whole way about the embarrassingly long flight time.

  So the only way Lopez could make this one-on-a-scale-of-ten routine flight into an eight was to increase the difficulty of the landing.

  And trying to set down a jumbo jet on a tiny airstrip might just do it.

  With the cockpit door propped open, Davidson could hear Talli complain, “They’re saying if we try to land, we’re going to crack the pavement and go nose first into the ground.”

  “Sure,” Lopez agreed, “if they were flying the plane.”

  Lopez hit the mic and threw out a string of what Davidson could only imagine were choice Spanish curse words. For once, he was glad he wasn’t fluent in the language.

  Vakasa pointed out the window as the Pyrenesse Mountains came into view. She clapped loudly, pointing and speaking in her catch-as-catch-can manner.

  He didn’t think he needed to translate. She liked mountains, that was pretty clear.

  “Aren’t we coming in a bit fast?” Rebecca asked. “And steep?”

  “I think that’s part of the deal,” Levont said, grinning ear to ear.

  Rebecca was right, though. Davidson rose and made his way to the cockpit.

  “Lopez,” he tried to reason, “there’s having fun, and there is unnecessary risk.”

  The corporal shrugged him off too. “Says the guy who was outside the Sphinx when it came down.”

  There was no more time to argue, as wind screeched as the flaps went up, finally slowing them—some.

  “Come to Papa!”

  Davidson braced himself as the plane leveled out for a split second, the ground rushing up at them. Then Lopez brought the plane’s nose up. He tugged hard on the yoke. Was he trying to land them on their tail?

  Hysterics with rolled r’s and lispy s’s spewed from the radio. They were tilted so far up Davidson couldn’t even see the ground anymore. Then their back tires made contact with the ground, but Lopez kept enough thrust that they were literary wheeling down the road rather than landing. Slowly, the corporal lowered the front tire.

  And that was it. They were out of the air and on the ground. They had barely felt it. Davdison looked back out of a window. Not even a scratch on the runway.

  “Um, Lopez,” Talli said in his “I’m panicking but trying not to seem like I’m panicking” voice, “this isn’t a very long runway.”

  Talli was right. Sure, they were on the ground. However, they were rolling down the runway at breakneck speeds. Literally break their necks if they hit the retaining wall at the end of the runway.

  “No,” Lopez admitted as he put the flaps up farther and tapped the breaks. “No, it’s not.”

  If the corporal tried any harder to stall their speed, he could end up putting them nose first into the runway, which, of course, was not ideal. Behind him, Davidson could hear Rebecca getting Vakasa into crash position.

  Which was what Davidson should have been doing, only he had a fascination with watching Lopez work his magic. As the plane shimmied around them, Lopez worked the flaps, the brakes, and the radio all at once.

  “Here’s for nothing!” Lopez said as he turned the plane. The craft careened for a moment, then fell into sharp left turn, which evolved into a full-on spin. They doughnuted down the short runway. The smell of burning rubber filled the air. Then they were out of rubber, as the metal axels screamed against the runway.

  That wall was still coming up fast. Then Lopez put the flaps up full. Their last wide arc brought them around to the wall. With an almost gentle tap, the wing hit the wall, then they stopped.

  For a moment, no one moved. Then Lopez whooped.

  “That is how it is done!” The corporal turned to Levont. “Well? Did you get it?”

  “Duh, man,” Levont answered as he lifted the camera for all to see.

  Davidson sat back in his seat. That was quite the introduction to the Basque region.

  CHAPTER 21

  ══════════════════

  Basque Region

  1:36 p.m. (CEST, Central European Standard Time)

  As the SUV revved up the mountain, Rebecca settled in for the long drive. Even though they had landed in San Sebastian, they were still a good three and a half hours out from the Basque village of Lennore. Vakasa seemed to understand this was going to be a haul and snuggled up against her leg, folding her hands on Rebecca’s thigh to act as a pillow.

  The scenery was magnificent, rich and lush and rocky and mountainous all at once. It was the variation that Rebecca had come to identify with Spain in general. So many different types of terrain, all existing in a space that you could fit inside of Texas and rattle around. It was astonishing, really. Those extremes could often be found right next to, or even right on top of, one another.

  Rebecca put her hand on the little girl’s shoulder. As Vakasa drifted off to sleep, her lips formed a lazy smile. Rebecca glanced up to find Brandt equally ready to nap.

  “Are you sure that you don’t want me to explain why Basque? Why this village?”

  Her fiancé didn’t even crack his eyes open. “Nope.”

  Still, Rebecca tried again. “Not any historical context of the region or how it impacts Vakasa?”

  “Still nope,” Brandt stated, then turned his head to the side, resting it against the SUV’s door jam.

  She should have seen it as a sign of trust and respect. Unfortunately, Rebecca wasn’t all that sure she had it right. Without a sounding board, talking it out, she was getting more and more anxious that she had missed something. And when you were talking about millennia-old mysteries, missing something pretty much meant you were screwed.

  Hell, she’d even take Bunny right about now, but they were still under radio silence. After contacting Bunny and giving them the cursory details, all electronics had been abandoned and new ones boug
ht at the airport.

  “You guys are kidding me, right?” Levont asked from the backseat.

  The rest of the men shook their heads. Talli even snorted. “Get some sleep while you can.”

  “Sleep?” Levont questioned. “I don’t want to blink around you guys.” He glanced to Rebecca. “Ma’am, if you are game, I would love to know what’s going on.”

  Rebecca smiled. It had been a long time since she’d been called ma’am. It felt kind of good. “All right, then. What do you know of the Basque region?”

  “Wait,” Levont said, his easy grin fading, “is this going to be a quiz?”

  “I am a professor first and foremost,” Rebecca confirmed. How she loved a fresh new mind to explore.

  “Um, well…” Levont fumbled a bit, then found his intellectual footing. The guy looked like a brute linebacker, but she knew he could speak five different languages and had proven himself incredibly bright and flexible in the field. And how she wished she’d only known that from Brandt’s stories. Rebecca had experienced it firsthand.

  “All right,” Levont said, starting slowly, then gaining speed. “The Basque region is known for its hyper-patriotism. It is now an autonomous state within Spain after a pretty brutal road to independence. A lot of which would put the IRA to shame. But since the accord in the seventies, the violence has died down. The state department lifted a visitors’ advisory a decade ago. Now the danger in Spain is the economic crisis and the bands of bandits that have formed to steal from the tourists.”

  Rebecca shook her head, laughing lightly. “That would be an awesome briefing for the team. However, what I am looking for is why the Basque people are so nationalistic? Why they wanted their own government? Why we are here?”

  “Oh, crap…”

  “Ha!” Lopez announced from the driver’s seat. “Even I know that one.”

  Rebecca knew she looked skeptical, but come on, this was Lopez. He probably knew the driving time between each and every city, town, and village, but their history? That would be a first.

  “Enlighten us, then,” Rebecca encouraged.

  Lopez glanced to her in the rearview mirror. “I shall, little missy.” The corporal took in a deep breath before starting. “Okay, the Basque people have been settled in the region for like…ever. At least ten thousand years, which makes them the longest continuous European population. So they are kind of proud of that. Like, super proud of that. They have their own language that pre-dates any others in the region and is more like Arabic than Spanish. So they pretty much figured they should have their own government as well.”

  “A-plus,” Rebecca commended. “And how did the Basques avoid being assimilated into all of the conquering nations that swept through Europe over the ages?”

  Lopez nodded out the window at the steep cliffs rising up around them. “These mountains, darlin’. Geographical isolation. It was just too hard or expensive to mount a campaign up here.”

  “Like I said, A-plus.” Rebecca smiled as Lopez beamed. “Now the bonus round. What does that have to do with Vakasa?”

  At that, Lopez frowned. “No clue.”

  Before Rebecca could answer, Talli stirred in his seat. “All right, let me give a stab at it.”

  She was as surprised as the rest of the car that Talli was contributing. He’d been fairly withdrawn this mission, more than usual.

  “Christianity,” he stated. Off her nod, he continued. “Strangely, this region was the first to be evangelicized as early as the five hundreds yet resisted the new faith more than any other population.”

  “Whoa there, chico.” Lopez chuckled. “This area is hardcore Catholic.”

  “If you’d let me finish,” Talli retorted, “I was going to say, once they adopted Catholicism, however, they took to it like fish to water.”

  “All right, then,” Lopez answered, seeming satisfied.

  “And what does that have to do with Vakasa?” Rebecca asked Talli. The man squirmed a bit. Because he didn’t know the answer or didn’t want to speak it?”

  * * *

  Davidson spared Talli Rebecca’s expectant glare.

  “The Black Madonna,” Davidson stated.

  Rebecca grinned. “Exactly.”

  Levont looked from Rebecca to the little girl curled up on her lap. “I don’t get it. I mean, I get it. She’s supposed to be the Messiah, and she’s black—and representing, I might add—but…”

  Davidson’s eyes flicked over to Rebecca. She didn’t seem nearly as confident about this aspect as she had the rest. He stepped into the silence. “The Black Madonnas are revered by some and dismissed by others.”

  Lopez shook his head. “They are just paintings for statues that have been stained black over time.”

  “Case in point,” Davidson retorted.

  “Prove it,” Lopez challenged.

  Davidson sighed. While fallen, Lopez still held on to his Catholic roots. His Hispanic Catholic roots. They were some of the staunchest anti–Black Madonnas around.

  “If the white skin of the statues were stained by age and soot, why are the golds in their gowns still gold? Or the blues, blue? Or the reds, red? Why is only the skin affected?” Davidson overrode the corporal. “And why are other paintings of white saints still white.”

  Lopez sputtered, “But, but…Even though the skin is dark, the features of those Madonnas are European.”

  “Only some,” Rebecca corrected. “The later ones. Many consider them knockoffs. Artists indulging in the fad. The first ones, though? Those created in the early AD years? Those show definitive negroid features.”

  The corporal huffed and went back to driving. Which is just as well. He didn’t stand a chance against Rebecca.

  “Okay, great,” Levont commented. “But what’s that got to do with a remote Basque village?”

  Davidson looked to Rebecca, who gave him the nod to explain. “It is where the first Black Madonna was ever created.”

  * * *

  With half an ear, Brandt listened to the rise and fall of conversation. Rebecca was going into detail about the history of the Black Madonna. Its acceptance, then rejection, then acceptance by the Catholic Church. She was really getting her history geek on.

  Brandt didn’t need to pay particular attention to her, since he pretty much already knew the story. There was a Black Madonna in the church across town. His friend had taken him to see it as a kid. He’d thought it would be dumb, as all kids thought religious artifacts were when they were kids, but even at ten years old, Brandt had been stirred by the beauty of the statue.

  He’d learned that the church had even tried to cover the color, but the congregation had complained so vehemently that they had to paint it back. When his priest couldn’t explain the phenomena, dismissing it out of hand, Brandt even talked his mother into letting him bicycle to the library to research it.

  So when Rebecca mentioned the Basque region, he’d pretty much known where she was going with it. This area was ground zero for Black Madonnas.

  “Turn left up ahead,” Rebecca broke off from the history lesson.

  “You sure?” Lopez asked with a frown. “The GPS says left is going to take us off a cliff.”

  Rebecca leveled her gaze. “Ricky. Left.”

  “You’ve been here before?” Talli asked.

  Brandt shifted to get a better listen. The conversation still wasn’t eyelid-raising worthy, at least not yet.

  “Yeah…” Rebecca said, sounding far less excited. “Yes, I have.”

  Levont’s smile was so bold that Brandt heard it. “Ah, come on. You can’t drop a hint like that and not follow it up with the story. ‘Cause we know there’s a story there.”

  Brandt was pretty sure Levont got a smile out of Rebecca. She was a little bit of a sucker for flattery. Why she hung out with him, he wasn’t quite sure.

  “I did some DNA research based on the Basques’ assertion that they had DNA unique to the European continent…”

  “And?” Levont pressed.


  “Well, unfortunately, beyond the fact they have a very high Rh-negative blood factor, they are pretty much a Pyrenees mountain mutt mix.”

  Davidson turned in the seat next to Brandt to rejoin the conversation. “That wasn’t all, though, was it?”

  Huh. The kid knew something about Rebecca that he didn’t. That wasn’t being a very good fiancé. However, after hearing about three dozen different research grants, his eyes kind of glazed over.

  “Well,” Rebecca answered, not sounding all that thrilled that Davidson had brought up the subject, “I also proved that they didn’t have the ‘smart gene’ that I’m looking for.”

  “Ouch,” Levont exclaimed.

  “Yes, I’m a little bit of person non grata around here.”

  Brandt peeked open an eye, to find Rebecca blushing and suddenly becoming interested in the hem of her shirt.

  She even looked pretty as an outcast.

  * * *

  Frellan peered at Benedicto, who sat across from him. They’d found a small table in the shade of an alley to talk. They were sheltered from view of the main street by a row of almond trees, their trunks short and squat, their branches and leaves wide and spread. The trees were in bloom, their perfume scenting the air with a sweetness that contained just a touch of raw almond to it.

  His men stood guard at either end of the street, making sure no tourists decided to crash their awkward party. Monnie sipped a café con leche and munched on magdalenas that she occasionally dipped in her cup as Benedicto licked the thick, dark chocolate where it dripped down from his churros y chocolate.

  This black-frocked man seemed little the holy man.

  “My mon senoir is arranging for transportation to the village of Lennore.”

  “We know where we need to head,” Frellan stated coolly, still trying to puzzle the man out. “We do not need your help.”

  “Ah, but your master seems to feel differently.”

  Frellan looked to Ugudo. The priest only seemed amused. “Please. After the Congo and then Egypt?” He chuckled. “For such an ancient society, you aren’t exactly batting a thousand out in the field.”

  Frellan’s fingers dug into his own skin. He had suffered much, sacrificed much, to lead the search for the Messiah. To have this priest speak to him in such a way?