Chase Baker and the God Boy: (A Chase Baker Thriller Series Book No. 3) (6 page)

“Not bad, huh?” he says under his
breath. “She breezed in about fifteen minutes ago, set up shop right there.
Wonder if she’s single.”

As if sensing the subject of our
conversation, she turns and gives me a look with these wide, dark eyes and equally
dark brows that are as mesmerizing as they are attractive. When she smiles at me,
I know I’ve found my contact. After all, Dr. Singh never specified a gender
when he informed me about making contact with his associate.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. Looks like I
have a date.”

Grabbing my beer off the bar, I step
over to the woman. “Saving this stool for someone?”

She looks up, smiles a sultry smile.
“It is reserved for you, Chase Baker.”

Her accent is not Italian, nor is
it English, but something more exotic. Asian if I have to guess. Judging by the
rich, coffee with milk color of her skin, maybe Indian or Pakistani.

“Where you from?”

“My mother is from Pakistan. My
father is from India. I was born in Varanasi. Made for a complex relationship,
two sworn enemies defying their parents, marrying for love anyway.”

“What’s your name?”

She holds out her hand.

“I’m Anjali,” she says.

I take hold of the small, warm
hand. Give it a gentle squeeze. Releasing it, I sit myself down, steal another
sip of beer.

“Dr. Singh said you’d have some
information for me.”

“Is there a place we can go that’s
more private? I’d rather not discuss details in front of your pals.”

Like boss, like employee…Secrecy
is essential.

In my head, I picture the Ponte
Vecchio. It’s not nearly as packed full of tourists at night as it is during
the day.

“I know just the place.”

Packing up her iPad, she shoves it
into her leather bag, drinks down the rest of her Prosecco, slides off the
stool.

“Lead the way, Mr. Baker.”

My first full view of her
take-no-prisoners body. Outstanding. Maybe this job won’t be so bad after all.

“Call me, Chase.”

On our way out of the bar, I shoot
a wink at Calum and Matt.

“Some guys have all the luck,” Calum
says loud enough for me to overhear. “Or maybe my karma just sucks.”

“You might think twice next time
about who you’re tossing out a window,” Matt says.

We walk out of Piazza Santa Maria Novella down a narrow road
that leads directly to the river. Maybe two hundred feet on the right is the
Ponte Vecchio, one of only two bridges spared by the Nazis when they blew them
sky high to prevent the allied advance during World War II. The old iron lamps
mounted to the bridge’s stone buttresses illuminate the now cool, foggy evening
in inverted arcs of smoky lamp light.

When I come to the mid-point of the
bridge—an open area sandwiched between the many butcher-shops-turned-jewelry-stores—I
stop, turn, and pull the .45 from my shoulder holster.

Anjali’s dark eyes go wide. “What
are you doing, Chase?”

“What’s happening here? Your boss
just happens to know a little bit too much about my life. Knows where to find me,
knows about my past loves. Or love, anyway. Why do I get the feeling that
finding his God Boy is a do or die mission? As in, I either do it, or die.”

She feigns a smile. “You have Dr.
Singh all wrong, Chase. Finding Rajesh is his number one priority and he knows
you are the only man in the world capable of that task.”

“That why he tossed in the little
bonus about Elizabeth Flynn? My heart tells me she’s dead, Anjali. But he claims
she’s alive.”

“Dr. Singh might be many things, but
a liar is not one of them. If he knows of this Elizabeth you speak of and he
says she is alive, then you must believe him.”

“He claims to be a psychoanalyst or
clinical psychology professor or both. But tell me, what’s Singh’s real business?”

“He has many businesses. His family
has gathered great wealth and prestige over the decades. He is an investor. He
is also a generous benefactor. One of his passions is children. The new
children’s hospital in New Delhi was personally financed by him. Rajesh is his
son. It has not been easy for him, having to bear the burden of a child with
six arms.”

“Okay, he’s got a lot of dough and
he’s nice, and he’s got a lot of college degrees to prove how much smarter he
is than me. But why insist on messing with my head? That one of his little psychoanalysis
tricks?”

She eyes the gun barrel. “Pardon me
for saying so, but I’m not sure it’s your head he’s messing with. Perhaps your
heart would be more accurate.”

I exhale, lower the gun, return it
to the holster.

“Show me what I need to know, Anjali.”

She digs into her bag, retrieves the
iPad, fires it up. The screen illuminates with a man’s face. It’s covered with
a thick, black beard, his eyes shielded by aviator sunglasses. His hair is
equally black, his skin dark like an Indian or perhaps even a man originating
from one of the Stans…Pakistan or Afghanistan. I can’t see precisely what he’s
wearing, but judging from his shoulders and collar, he’s sporting a military-style
tunic.

“Do you know this man, Chase?”

I stare at the face. It isn’t the
least bit friendly.

“Can’t say I know the man,” I say
truthfully. “But the more I look at it, the more my mind spins.”

“His name is Ilyas Kashmiri and,
until recently, he was the head of Al Qaeda’s 313 Brigade.”

My pulse picks up. Bingo. Now I
recognize him.

“I know of 313. They’re the
terrorist team that operates out of Afghanistan and Pakistan.”

“Exactly. They also have ties to the
Iranian-backed Hezbollah, and more recently to ISIS regiments both in Syria and
Iraq. They are cold-hearted killers and they have spilled much innocent blood
in the name of Allah.”

“What’s this got to do with a boy
born with three sets of arms?”

“Radical Islamists, especially
those belonging to ISIS, wish for one thing: world war. A jihad to end all
jihads. A war that will unleash Armageddon for which they will gladly die. That
happens, the sky will be filled with martyrs all making their way to heaven…”

“…And their forty virgins…I’m
already well aware of this bedtime story, Anjali.”

“Kashmiri and his 313 believe with all
their hearts that it is just a matter of time until enough atrocities against
Christians, Jews, Westerners, and peaceful Muslims occur, and that the United
States and its allies will have no choice but to commit to a total war against
Radical Islam and all its differing factions, including 313.”

“Here’s what I believe,” I interrupt.
“If that kind of global war were to occur, it would not last very long. Would
you like to know why?”

“Why, Chase?”

“Because evil bastards like
Kashmiri will die and die quickly. ISIS, 313, Al Qaeda, and all of them lack an
important tool for waging World War III. They haven’t got the money to unleash
a world war. No heavy armor, no heavy assault weapons, no Air Force, no Navy…need
I go on? The most they’re capable of are lone wolf attacks outside the Stans,
Africa, and the Middle East. They also lack unification. As much as they fight
the West, they also fight and kill one another.”

“You don’t need to go on, Chase,
but your point is very well taken, which leads me to why Kashmiri is interested
in Rajesh. You see, the terrorist has set his sights on something far larger
than 313 or ISIS. He wishes to unite all the differing terrorist factions in an
unholy axis of evil by resurrecting the ancient Thuggee cult.”

The hair on the back of my neck pricks
up. “The original terrorists. Responsible for millions of innocent deaths. Until
the British wiped the cult out. I’ve already discussed this craziness with
Singh.”

“There are people today who believe
ISIS and Al Qaeda are Hell incarnate on Earth, just like the Indian Sikhs and
Hindus of yesteryear believed the Thuggee was Satan on earth. The Thuggees were
believed to maintain a very real and special relationship with the evil God
Kali herself. Kashmiri would require a special power to raise the Thuggee from
the dead. A direct connection to Kali.”

In my head, I recall Dr. Singh
describing Rajesh’s miracles.

“The kid,” I say.

“Rajesh is a special boy. A God Boy,
as you called him. A healer. A miracle maker. To men like Kashmiri, he is a
direct link to God or…” Her voice trails off.

I turn to her, peer at the lamp
light reflected in her dark eyes.

“Or the Devil,” she adds. “You see,
Chase, like the black Goddess Kali, Rajesh can be utilized for both good and
evil purposes, just like a mortal man, who himself is capable of both good and wicked.”

My stomach drops. “I think I see
what’s happening now. Kashmiri kidnaps Rajesh, believes he can use the kid to
summon up the power of Kali and the evil Thuggee. With the power of the devil
behind him…”

“His new Thuggee army of
terrorists, formerly aligned with Allah, now becomes invincible. However, it
still needs one thing more.”

“And that is?”

“Funds. Enough cash to build an
army bigger than that of the United States of America.”

I stare out over the river. It’s
black and haunting. The way it flows beneath me makes me feel lonely and cold
even in the warm weather.

Anjali flips through more digital pages
on her iPad until she comes to one that shows a gold statue—a photo I instantly
recognize as the eight-armed Goddess Kali.

“Several weeks ago, our spies
intercepted an email intended for officials at Rhode Island’s Providence
College in the US. It came from a scientist digging beyond the boundaries of
the Chitwan National Forest in Nepal. It reads:
‘
Kali Statue located.
More beautiful than believed. She rests upon a blue rock that shines with
brilliance. Fear I won’t live long enough to examine her for the secrets she
possesses.’
”

I lock eyes on her iPad. I see the
words printed digitally on the electronic page, but they don’t register
entirely. Like a sickness that has only just surfaced inside my gut, I pause to
await the onslaught of pain. Pulse pounding, mouth dry, I feel the solid weight
of the bronze key wrapped around my neck and I recall Elizabeth’s letter. In my
head I read the words,
“…I’m already dead.”
Is it possible the letter
and the email originated from the same woman?

“This Golden Kali Statue means
something to you?”

“Of course it does. The statue has
been buried for centuries. Hidden. Up until now, it was the stuff of legend.
Fantasy. Treasure buried where X marks the spot or some such nonsense.”

“Lots of ancient statues of Kali
have been buried and unearthed.”

“Yes, but this one is special
because of a map it contains. It’s also believed to contain something of special
spiritual significance. Don’t you see?”

She shakes her head.

“Listen,” I say, recalling my many
conversations with Elizabeth over just what the Kali map might lead to. “If the
email is correct, then someone has discovered the one map on Earth that could
lead directly to the Daundia Khera.”

“The massive diamond deposit?” Anjali
questions.

“Exactly. A big, brilliant, blue
rock. The story goes that back in the early part of the twentieth century a
holy man named Swami Shobhan Sarkar experienced a vivid dream one night. He
dreamed that a Thuggee rebel by the name of Ram Baksh Singh came to visit him.
Singh had been dead since 1857 when he was hanged by the British government for
his participation in the Thuggee uprising. But, in the dream, he is said to
reveal the exact location not of the diamond deposit itself, but instead, the
map of the deposit’s location. That map is believed to be printed on the back
of the Golden Kali Statue.”

“And you believe now that this
email indicates the map has finally been found?”

“Maybe what it means is that the
Kali Statue isn’t a map at all but, instead, a marker that indicates the
precise location of the Daundia Khera.”

“Why do you say that, Chase?”

“If Kashmiri wants to summon the
devil, I’m guessing he believes the God Boy can do it. He also needs the funds
to build an army like no one has seen. That diamond deposit, if found, contains
more precious gems that any other mine on Earth. If uncovered, the Thuggees
won’t have to worry about buying tanks because they’ll be able to afford every
rogue nuclear weapon on the planet and the delivery systems capable of
attacking every city in Israel and the US. It would trigger the end of times.”

“There’s something else. That
diamond deposit is said to contain unearthly powers. If unearthed it would summon
a thousand devils.”

“And Rajesh? What happens to the
kid if we don’t find him?”

She looks into my eyes. “In my
mind, Rajesh is to serve as the sacrificial lamb.”

“They’re going to kill him?”