The Lost Prophecies (46 page)

He met her at a café near the Octagon two days later. He was tired; it had taken his body a long time to adjust to the experience of flying over the world. Unnatural, as Rodriguez had said. He was glad to get out of the small, bare house they had assigned him. Without his statue of Shiva, he felt curiously vulnerable and edgy. He had bought a shirt and light trousers like the locals, and as he walked to the café the wind from the sea was refreshingly cool, though the sun was hot.

The street was crowded, the faces nearly all white except for a few brown-skinned Maori. About ten per cent of the people wore white-painted wooden crosses that marked them out as members of the Shining Light Movement. He noticed more of the elaborate hair designs. It seemed to be the better-dressed people who had them; perhaps it was a sign of status. But the streets were like those at home, beaten earth. Pedestrians walked at the sides; bicycles and tuc-tucs and a few electric vans drove down the centre. For a moment he thought he saw Marwood in the crowd and jerked his head around, but it was only some man who looked a little like him. He thought, That’s never happened before. I’m getting burned out. This is the last undercover case I’ll do.

Mackenzie’s Café was a small place that sold coffee and drinks and little cakes. Most of the customers were elderly. He saw Parvati Karam at once, sitting at a table facing the door, looking straight at him. She was not as attractive as he had thought from the photographs, but it was a softer face than he had expected. Her long dark hair was drawn back in a severe ponytail. She wore a white-painted wooden cross at her neck. Her expression was expectant, slightly nervous, and when she saw him she stood up.

‘Mr Moorthy?’ There was eagerness and interest in her voice. She had a slight North American accent, softer than the hard Tasman drawl.

‘Yes. Miss Karam?’ Shiva held out his hand, and she took it. Her grip was light and moist. He looked into her brown eyes. They were unreadable.

‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’ he asked. ‘Juice? A cake?’

‘Just a tea, please.’ She sat down again, and Shiva went to the counter. While he was waiting to be served and pay, he looked around. Parvati was staring back at him intently. She smiled.

When he sat down, she asked how he was adjusting after the flight.

‘Still a bit tired. There’s an insecticide they’ve told me I must wear in the evenings. Something about a new type of biting insect down here.’

‘Yes, they’re vicious and carry malaria.’

‘All the animals and insects are changing, aren’t they? Adapting, I suppose. They say that in India there are big animals no one’s ever seen. We passed over it on the flight.’

‘What did you see?’ she asked curiously.

‘Nothing, I’m afraid. It was dark. There was turbulence, big storms under the plane. A man I travelled with, a scientist going to Antarctica, said some people think there are survivors in the Himalayan foothills. But they’re not sure.’

‘Life for them would be very primitive, very hard.’ She shook her head. ‘Hardly worth living.’

‘Things seem good here.’

‘Everyone works hard. Planting is going on everywhere in the mountains. No one talks of anything but making better artificial soils. It is a materialistic place,’ she said with a sudden hardness.

Shiva looked around the shop. ‘We’re the only brown faces,’ he said.

‘Yes. There are few Indians in the Tasmans.’ She smiled wryly. ‘People take me for a Maori.’ She looked at him. ‘Thank you for getting in touch. I thought there wasn’t anybody left from my Indian forebears apart from my parents.’

‘I only did a search recently. Felt it was something I ought to do. We shouldn’t forget them, should we? Those civilizations only live on in people like us.’ He smiled. ‘Isn’t it a strange thought, those two brothers in that Indian village who went to England in – when was it? – the 1940s?’

‘They left because of the violence between Hindus and Muslims when British rule ended. The British were Christians. I think they tried to reconcile them, but they weren’t strong enough.’

‘I heard the British cut and ran, left them to it.’

‘They had to preserve themselves. They were Christians and that’s a Christian’s duty. It’s like the Great Catastrophe; it’s really only Christian nations that have survived in any numbers. It’s part of God’s plan.’ She spoke the hard words gently. ‘So my Church teaches.’

Shiva thought suddenly of the dead watchman. He looked at Parvati’s hands. Slim and delicate. Yet she had taken some blunt instrument and killed the man.

‘What about the Chinese?’ he asked. ‘They seem to be doing quite well.’

‘It can’t last. They won’t survive up there on the permafrost. And God won’t help them. Not heathens.’

‘That’s a very harsh doctrine.’ Shiva smiled to defuse the words.

Parvati smiled sadly. ‘I know. The truth is harsh. However you might wish it wasn’t.’

Shiva looked at her. He could not reconcile this rather sad, pensive woman with the killer. If it was her, and it had to be, her act was as good as Rodriguez had warned. Better than him. He thought about the dog hunting. She didn’t look as though she could have done that either, but she had.

‘If you believe India’s destruction was ordained by God,’ he asked, ‘why go back and look for ancestors? Why answer my e-mails?’ He still spoke gently, smiled again.

‘I don’t know. I’ve always had a sort of . . . sense of grief. I suppose I wanted to assuage it. Since my boyfriend died in a car crash. In North America.’ She frowned hard.

‘When was that?’

‘Four years ago.’

‘I’m sorry.’ A year before you joined the Church, Shiva thought.

‘Are you married?’ Parvati asked suddenly.

He looked at her, puzzled by the unexpected question. ‘No.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She smiled and nodded at his left hand. ‘I thought that might be a wedding ring.’

‘No, it’s a ring to measure radiation. It goes pink if the level is dangerous. Most people wear them in England. Because of the old flooded power stations.’

‘I see.’ She frowned again. Perhaps they hadn’t warned her to take that precaution when they sent her to Europe.

‘I just wondered if you had children,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever marry now.’

‘I nearly did once. Maybe one day.’

‘I hope you didn’t think me impertinent.’

‘Not at all. Which Church are you in?’ he asked. ‘You didn’t say.’

‘The Shining Light. They saved my life after Steve died.’

‘You believe the end of the world is coming, don’t you?’ he asked.

‘Yes, we do. You should read the Book of Revelation, Shiva, and the Black Book.’ She sighed. ‘There was such an opportunity down here, survivors with a Christian heritage in a plentiful land. But they’ve kept the old materialism, spoiled the last chance they had to be . . . pure.’

‘I’m not sure what I believe,’ he said.

‘That’s the same as unbelief. Belief isn’t easy, but it’s right, it’s true. And our leader, he’s a great man, a prophet.’ She spoke with quiet certainty. Then she looked at her watch and stood up. ‘Well, it has been nice to meet you, Mr Moorthy. But I think I ought to go.’

‘Already?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry. I think coming was perhaps a mistake. My Church teaches that we should forget the past.’

He rose and followed her to the door, surprised to see how small she was. ‘Perhaps we could meet again some time?’ he asked. ‘I don’t know anyone in Dunedin . . .’ He heard his voice stumbling as they stepped out into the street, less crowded now as darkness fell. He turned to face her.

Then from further up the street came the frantic blaring of a horn, and shouts and cries. Before Shiva had time to react, Parvati grabbed him by the shoulders and, with surprising strength, swung him around and shoved him against the wall of the shop. The wood creaked and shuddered. He stared past her. A yellow van, its horn still blaring, had passed over where he had just been standing and was careering on down the street. Pedestrians leaped aside and cyclists wobbled away. The van struck the side of a blue tuc-tuc, knocking it over with a crash, then barrelled into a side street. People ran over to the tuc-tuc as the driver and passenger climbed groggily out. ‘Fetch the police!’ someone called. Shiva turned to Parvati, who stood breathing heavily, looking more shocked than he was. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I think you just saved my life.’

‘I saw it coming. You had your back to it – thank God.’ She leaned against the wall, shaking slightly.

Shiva looked at the tuc-tuc. People were helping the driver and passenger. The driver was looking miserably at his overturned vehicle. He was big and dark-skinned, a Maori.

‘The van driver must have lost control,’ Parvati said. ‘Pray Jesus he hasn’t knocked anyone else down.’ But Shiva was thinking that he had heard no electric hum; the van’s engine was off. But if it had broken down, that wouldn’t stop the driver from steering it. He meant to knock me down. And her? But for her quick reactions, Parvati would have gone down too. Where had she learned to react that quickly? The dog hunts in America, perhaps.

‘I think we could both do with a drink,’ Shiva said. ‘Is there a bar around here?’

‘I’m sorry, we’re not allowed to drink.’

‘This would be medicinal.’

She shook her head and smiled. ‘I can’t.’

He took the opportunity the narrow escape had provided, and said: ‘Well, at least let me take you out to dinner, to say thank you. Anywhere you choose.’

She lowered her eyes. ‘Thank you.’ It would have been rude of her to refuse now.

‘Tomorrow night, perhaps.’

‘Tomorrow’s Sunday. We don’t go out on the Sabbath. But perhaps the night after. There’s a place not far from here, in Charlotte Street. They serve nice food.’

‘My treat. As a thank you.’

She hesitated, then smiled again. ‘All right. Will you be able to find it?’

‘I’ve got a map.’

Two policemen on bicycles rode past them, halting by the overturned vehicle. Shiva shivered at a blast of cold wind from the sea.

‘Are you all right?’ Parvati asked. ‘Perhaps you should go and lie down.’

‘I think I will.’

‘I never asked anything about yourself, your work. I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m quite myself these days. It’s coming up to the anniversary, you see – Steve’s death.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘We can have a proper talk on Monday.’ She smiled. ‘About ourselves.’

Shiva looked at the policemen. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to get caught up in enquiries.’

Parvati looked at where the policemen were helping the driver to heave the vehicle upright. It looked badly dented. ‘Poor man,’ she said.

Lying on the bed in his house, he thought more about the van. It could have been an accident, but all his training told him it wasn’t. That meant that someone, somewhere, knew who he was and why he was here. Had someone betrayed him? Someone back in England, perhaps? He thought of the cynical, epicene old commissioner; he could hardly see him as a secret member of the Shining Light Movement. Perhaps it was someone in Rodriguez’ office. Rodriguez had said the Church had tentacles everywhere in the Tasman Islands. He thought about Parvati. She had been nothing like he expected, with her quiet, sad certainties. But it was her in the photographs. He thought again of the old man with the beaten-in head, the man he was determined to avenge. He would have to tell Rodriguez what had happened. He wished he had his statue with him.

Rodriguez sat behind his big desk, considering what Shiva had told him, his fingers steepled together and his eyes half-closed. On the map behind his head the long, deep inlets of the fjords bit into the western coast of South Island.

He looked up. ‘I will send a message directly to Commissioner Williams. And I will have the security protocols here checked. But neither the European Commission nor the embassy would ever let a Shining Light sympathizer near a confidential post.’

‘Someone could have converted after joining the embassy, sir. You said yourself, sir, that sometimes they hide their membership.’

‘We do thorough vetting where sensitive material is involved.’ He looked at Shiva. ‘Of course, it might have been a genuine accident.’

‘What do the police say?’

‘They haven’t found the driver. And no one got a numberplate. But if it was a genuine accident, the driver would have every reason to keep quiet. He’d lose his licence, could even end up sorting waste in prison.’

‘It just seems too neat. She rescues me and that way builds a bond, gets me to trust her. And she was looking at her watch just before we left the café. She asked to leave quite suddenly. She said she felt guilty about coming, her Church wouldn’t approve.’

‘If the intelligence services have been infiltrated, we have a major problem. But I’m not convinced they have been yet.’ Rodriguez thought a moment. ‘Do you want a minder, someone to watch your back discreetly?’

‘No, thank you. If they’re as clever as they seem to be, they’d know. That would be the end of my cover.’

‘Don’t be too brave for your own good. Or ours.’

‘I’ll take care, sir. The next meeting should be safe enough. It’s in a public restaurant.’

Rodriguez nodded. He turned in his swivel chair and looked out of his window. In the bay, a large ship was winching a big net aboard, full of whitish material. Seagulls whirled and screamed.

‘They’re dredging the landfill site from the old city,’ Rodriguez said. ‘Organic material for the artificial soils. How we persist, humanity, how we struggle against extinction. Will we succeed, do you think?’

‘We’ve come a long way in the last fifty years,’ Shiva replied, echoing Commissioner Williams.

‘But no one knows when the temperature will stop rising. There are nuclear power stations under the sea. Populations rising, still not enough soil.’ Rodriguez smiled sadly. ‘Forgive me, I am a Spaniard, we have a fatalist streak. But, yes, things have been getting better, and I pray that may continue.’ He looked at Shiva. ‘Do not worry, Shiva, I am not a follower of the Shining Light, merely a rather puzzled Catholic. And we have eschewed politics since Rome was abandoned.’

Shiva spent Sunday working in the embassy, answering letters for the cultural secretary, part of his cover job. There was a tiny air travel quota for cultural exchanges, and he had to field competing requests for Shakespearean actors, academics and musicians to be sent out. The Tasmans still revelled in their British heritage, more than ever in this age obsessed with history. He left at six so he could get back to his house in daylight. He walked carefully, alert for anyone following, but there was no one.