Age of Shiva (The Pantheon Series) (40 page)

“There are some of the Avatars I can’t see going for that. Vamana, Narasimha, Kurma... Those guys’ dander is up. They’re out for blood.”

“Parashurama’s got them to see sense. He’s no Buddha, but he’s charismatic nonetheless. The whole point is that justice should be served. The Trinity are put on trial at the Hague or wherever. They don’t get away with what they’ve done. They certainly don’t get to cream off billions from this new arms race they’re going to kick-start.”

“And jailing them de-escalates the war how exactly? It could be months, years probably, before a trial gets heard, and we don’t have that long. We have days, maybe only hours.”

“Ah, that’s the beauty of it,” I said. “If we can do this thing quickly enough, drag the Trinity kicking and screaming into the light
right now
, then it puts a whole new slant on the war. It gives both India and Pakistan a perfect get-out clause.”

“I don’t see.”

“At the moment neither side is willing to back down. One or other of them has dropped a nuke, neither’s prepared to own up to it, so they’re stuck, deadlocked. The only way forward for them that doesn’t involve a critical loss of face is to ratchet the situation up and take the next step – more nuking. But...”

“But if they can scapegoat someone else, a third party...”

“By George, she’s got it.”

“Then no loss of face.”

“They can say, ‘Well, it was the Trinity’s fault. They came up with the Avatars. If that hadn’t happened, maybe there’d have been no war.’ Then the relevant politicians can shake hands and kiss and make up, everyone agreeing that the world would be a much better place without those nasty billionaire tycoons messing it up for the rest of us.”

“That’s... That’s...” Aanandi was momentarily dumbfounded. “That’s so ridiculous, it can’t possibly work.”

“And yet it might.”

“I know! That’s why I’m having trouble with it. I want to think it’s crazy and impractical and unrealistic – but, holy shit, it really could be the way out of this situation.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures. Loony measures, even. And the Trinity are the perfect fall guys, aren’t they? Everybody hates a crooked businessman, especially governments. Politicians like nothing more than to point the finger at people who are worse than they are, the corporate villains who no one elected, who are hard to hold to account. India can say, ‘If we’d known what Lombard, Krieger and Bhatnagar were really like, what they were really doing, why, we would never have agreed to use those Avatars of theirs in combat’, while Pakistan can say, ‘We suspected all along they were up to no good, that’s why we fired missiles at their island, and now we’ve been proved right, so we’re not so aggrieved any more’. Both sides get to park their arses on the moral high ground, which makes it easier for them then to pull back from the brink of all-out, empty-the-silos nuclear bombardment. Earth breathes a sigh of relief. Happy ending.”

“Not for the citizens of Srinagar,” Aanandi said. “But yes, it’s the best outcome we can hope for. You devas, though, aren’t going to be popular. Especially in India. You’ve been passing yourselves off as Hindu gods, and to shatter that illusion...”

“It needs shattering. Both Parashurama and I are in agreement on that. ‘Living a lie is no life at all,’ he said to me, and I agree.”

“And I can understand why he, of all people, would think that.”

“Why?”

Aanandi glanced back down to the rear of the cabin. “Another time.”
²

“Anyway, I think people would come to understand after a while,” I said, “and sympathise. We’re the Trinity’s victims as much as anyone.”

“Zak.” Aanandi took my hand. “You’re a genius.”

“I have my moments. The plan was mostly Parashurama’s, though.”

“Even so. Thanks to you both, we have a chance again. The world has a chance.”

Seeing the renewed brightness in her eyes, I was loath to admit that I thought it was a very slim chance – a snowball’s chance in hell. By now the
Garuda
was at its apogee, high over the mid-Pacific, and our bodies were light, partially weightless. I chose to enjoy the respite from gravity, the distance, the perspective. The ocean shone like beaten metal. The planet’s curved edge was as hazy as a half-remembered dream. We had a plan. We had hope. I chose to believe that that was enough.

¹
I remembered her vividly from
The Golden Voyage Of Sinbad
, which I saw on TV as a kid: the stop-frame animation figure attacking Sinbad and his crew in the cave, a masterful piece of work by Ray Harryhausen. She had scared the bejeezus out of me with her sinister dancer-like movements and her remorseless, stony-faced implacability.

²
I learned subsequently that Parashurama, a.k.a. Major Tyler Weston, had fallen foul of the Pentagon’s notorious “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. He had earned himself a dishonourable discharge after propositioning a master sergeant whom he wrongly believed was on the same sexual wavelength. The 3rd Ranger Battalion lost one of their best ever recruits, while Tyler Weston lost all faith in the institution which had been a central pillar of his family life for three generations.

45. MRS R. J. KRIEGER

W
E LEFT THE
Garuda
on Zuma Beach.
¹
The strip of sand was all but deserted, no one jogging or dog walking or sunbathing, just the odd surfer bobbing far out to sea where the rollers broke. The weather was glorious but the unsettled geopolitical climate was keeping most Californians indoors, in the comfort of their own homes.

A mile to the south lay a bluff crowned with modern mansions – Point Dume. The houses were all cubes and curves, as though made of architectural Lego. One of them, though we couldn’t see it from here, belonged to R. J. Krieger.

Parashurama split us up into two groups for a pincer movement. One lot would approach the Krieger residence from the front, scaling the high wall that shielded the house from the street. The other lot would approach from the seaward side.

The latter group consisted of Narasimha, Vamana, Matsya and me.

There was no time to waste. The four of us hustled down the beach while the rest followed a zigzagging access road up to the main highway.

Matsya was carrying his discus weapons. He was itching to try them out. Parashurama had warned us that he wanted the Trinity taken alive if possible. Any bodyguards, however, were fair game. “Especially the guy with the diamond tooth who shot Buddha. He’s a case for involuntary euthanasia if there ever was one.”

Krieger’s house was one of the largest on Point Dume, perched on the south-western sweep of the promontory. Its views of the Pacific were uninterrupted and panoramic. I couldn’t begin to imagine how many millions a mansion like that must have cost – and yet the asking price would still have been pocket change to someone as loaded as Krieger was.

The cliff below was steep but not sheer. Looking at it with Hanuman’s eyes I could see a dozen routes up, clear pathways of handhold and toehold, to me as easily scalable as a kids’ climbing frame.

I ascended first. Narasimha was close behind, digging his talons into the volcanic rock for purchase. Vamana, meanwhile, grew to full height. He and Matsya were under orders to wait on the beach until we gave them the sign to follow. A giant springing up to the brow of the cliff with an amphibious man on his shoulders would somewhat ruin the element of surprise.

Stealthily, Narasimha and I crept through the undergrowth that fringed the outer rim of Krieger’s back garden. The house looked quiet. Most likely it was empty and this entire trip had been a wild goose chase. The Trinity were not here and never had been.

Narasimha’s leonine nostrils flared. “A scent,” he whispered.

“How many?”

“Just the one person. A woman. Outdoors.”

“A woman?” Krieger had a wife. “Anyone else? Indoors?”

“I cannot tell until I am closer.”

We padded across an impeccably lush green lawn, skirting cypresses and lollipop-shaped orange trees.

There was a swimming pool sitting snug against the rear of the house, surrounded by sun loungers and parasols. As we neared, I saw a woman floating in the water on a transparent inflatable. She had a drink in her hand, huge sunglasses on her face, and iPod buds in her ears. She also did not have a stitch of clothing on, her bare skin glistening with a sheen of tanning lotion.

Narasimha and I halted in our tracks. The woman was oblivious to our presence, very likely fast asleep. Flaxen curls fanned around her head on the inflatable’s pillow, but from the tiny, tidily sculpted strip of pubic hair on display, it was apparent that she was not a natural blonde. Her breasts did not seem entirely natural either, remaining pert as she lay.

The Man-lion gave me a look:
what do we do?

I shrugged. I reckoned we would have to secure and restrain her somehow before we ventured into the house. I hadn’t anticipated having to deal with anyone but the Trinity and their goons. None of us had.

Narasimha and I could have stood and stared for a good while longer, paralysed by indecision. But then the woman stirred. She raised her upper half slightly from the inflatable to bring her drink to her lips. That was when she caught sight of us out of the corner of her eye.

“What the...?”

Narasimha moved like a cheetah on steroids. He dived sleekly into the pool, bundled the woman off the inflatable, and leapt out the other side with her in his arms. She had time to let out a startled, strangulated yelp, and then his hand was over her mouth and he had her in an unbreakable hold. She writhed but didn’t stand a chance against his sinewy strength. Her sunglasses slipped off to reveal eyes bulging with alarm and indignation.

I motioned to her to take her earbuds out. She did so. Music issued tinnily from them – Lady Gaga, if memory serves. “Bad Romance.”

“We mean you no harm,” I said, as softly and reassuringly as I could. “Do you know who we are?”

The woman nodded. She might not have a clue about me but she surely recognised Narasimha.

“Then you’ll know that our job is to protect the public.”

She didn’t seem convinced, and I can’t blame her for that. I wasn’t sure myself if that was our role any more.

“Just answer a couple of questions and we’ll let you go, unharmed. That’s a promise. Are you alone? Yes or no?”

She hesitated, then nodded.

“Is that the truth?”

She nodded again, more emphatically.

“Are you Mrs Krieger?”

She rolled her eyes.
Who else would I be?

“Tiffany, yes?”

Another nod.

“And your husband isn’t here? Or any of his business partners?”

She shook her head.

“I do not think she is lying,” said Narasimha. “I am listening hard. All I can hear, apart from her music, is the Avatars on the other side of the house. From the sound of their footsteps, they are closing in. If people are inside, they are keeping very still, very quiet. This near to the house, I would surely be able to hear their breathing, and I cannot.”

“Okay,” I said. “Let her go.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. But please, Mrs Krieger, no histrionics.”

As Narasimha released her, Tiffany Krieger shot us both a filthy look, then snatched up a towel to wrap round herself.

“Who the hell do you think you are, coming onto my property like this?” she said. “That’s trespassing, mister. I could call the cops and have you dickwads arrested.”

“I said no histrionics.”

“Oh, this isn’t me being histrionic,” Mrs Krieger said waspishly. “Trust me, you don’t want to see histrionic. This is me being calm as all hell.”

Trembling – I think more with outrage than fright – she strode to a rattan-shaded bar and fetched herself a fresh glass to replace the one that had dropped into the pool when Narasimha scooped her up. She filled it with bourbon and ice and drank deep.

“You’re Avatars, right?”

“He is,” I said. “I’m... Well, I’m Hanuman.”