“Damn him to the deepest hell,” Mr. Garuda whispers.
“Please, Baba, don’t curse. It doesn’t help.”
“He’s my brother, and I’ll curse him till the day I die.”
“He’s still my father. I have to respect him. I owe him that.”
“You owe him nothing. In this life or the next.”
It appears to be an old argument between them. Shanti shakes her head. “My whole life was pain and darkness. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t eat. I could barely drink. I thought I might die, and a part of me prayed for death. But then . . . this will be hard for you to understand.”
“Not at all. Then you started to pray to Krishna.”
She stared at me. “How did you know?”
“I pray to him as well.”
“How? I mean, why?”
“I’m not from around here, but that’s a long story. Please continue.”
“It’s hard to explain. In India we have what we call mantras. The mantra of a deity is supposed to be identical to the deity. Just saying Krishna’s name is supposed to bring his blessing. But we have a sacred book in India called the Bhagavatam that contains secret mantras that Krishna taught those close to him. One has always been very dear to me. I would repeat it for hours even before Juna attacked me.” She pauses. “This must all sound like eastern mysticism to you.”
“Om Namo Bhagavate Vasudevaya.”
“That’s my mantra! How did you know?”
“I’ve studied the book you refer to.”
“But it has other mantras in it. How did you know I use that one?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know, maybe Krishna told me.”
Shanti continues to stare at me. “You are not like a normal FBI agent.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Go on.”
“What happened next was a miracle. The vision in my left eye returned, and I was able to move around without help. And the pain began to go away. It didn’t stop completely, but then, I didn’t pray for everything to heal.” She smiles. “You must think me stupid.”
“Not at all. You found that when you were suffering, it was easy to think of Krishna. You were afraid that if all your suffering was taken away, you would no longer think of him as often.”
Shanti is astounded. “How can you know these things?”
“Let’s just say I have suffered as well.”
“And you worship Krishna?”
“‘Worship’ is such a big word. I think of him, that’s enough for me.”
Shanti nods. “I’m happy the FBI sent you instead of another agent. Maybe Krishna had something to do with your coming. When I was healing, and the IIC man came to my door, I thought perhaps Krishna had sent him.”
“Why?”
“Because he told me I could earn a hundred dollars a month doing next to nothing. If you’ve been to India, you must know how much money that is there. Suddenly I had enough money to take care of myself, although my father tried to claim it for himself.”
“The bastard,” Mr. Garuda muttered.
“Baba!”
“He’s a thieving bastard!”
“I’m afraid I must agree with your uncle on this point,” I say to Shanti. “But you keep dancing around my question. What do you do for IIC?”
“I close my eyes and answer questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
“I don’t know. They don’t really make sense. Usually the man on the phone will spell out a list of letters and then ask for a yes or no. But I don’t answer by speaking aloud. I just push one for yes and two for no.”
“If you don’t know what the question is about, how can you answer at all?”
“I asked that when they hired me. They told me not to worry about what was being asked. They said I should just say what came to me in the moment.”
“How often do you answer their questions?”
“Once a week.”
“Always on the phone?”
“Yes. They gave me a special phone with headphones so I can listen to the questions without having to hold the phone to my ear. They said that way my arm wouldn’t get tired.” She pauses. “It’s real easy to do. Most of the time I feel like I’m doing nothing. The only hard part is when it goes on for a long time. Then I get restless. But that doesn’t happen too often.”
“Let me get this straight. Once a week they call and you put on your headphones and listen to a series of questions that make no sense. And you answer yes or no by pushing either one or two on your phone?”
“Yes.”
“Could these strings of letters be stock symbols?”
“I thought of that. I’ve never recognized any of the groups of letters. But that doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know much about the stock market.”
“Shanti, have you ever heard them talk about something called the Array?”
“No. What’s that?”
“We’re not sure yet, but it’s somehow connected to IIC.”
“They always send the check on time,” Mr. Garuda says. “They’re never late. To be frank, the money has been a blessing. Without it, I wouldn’t be able to take Shanti to physical therapy.”
“Whoever comes on the phone is always friendly,” Shanti says. “It’s hard to believe they would want to hurt me. I mean, I could see why they might want to fire me. I don’t know if I get many of their questions right. But why would they want to kill me?”
“I have no idea,” I say honestly.
We have reached a standstill. I don’t know what else to ask, because I have no idea what IIC’s up to, other than accumulating tons of money and targeting people for assassination. It appears unlikely Shanti has anything to do with their Array or their success in the market. Likewise, it seems ridiculous to think Shanti poses a threat to them.
Yet they want her dead.
Plus they see me as a threat, or at least as a “person of interest.” It’s possible—likely in fact—they sent the superhuman assassin to take me out. However, if they have access to killers like that, why do they hire men like Marko to do some of their dirty work? It’s difficult to see a pattern in their behavior. They’re clearly rich, powerful, but they seem to be kind of crazy.