did was find a spot diagonally across the street and sat down with a cup of coffee and a newspaper. While reading the paper, I kept one eye on the entrance and took profile shots of them as they went down the steps. So far no one’s noticed a thing. No Russians with busted noses or anyone else coming after me.”
“Mike, nice job.”
“Thanks. I’m telling you, Bill, I was born to do this type of work. Fuck, this has been an absolute blast so far. No way I can go back to writing software after you’ve given me this taste.” He went silent for a moment, then came back on the line. “I thought I saw someone heading down there. False alarm. I’m going to go get a burger or something until a quarter to three so I don’t look too conspicuous sitting here. I’ll call you after the next round of pictures.”
Shannon felt a little guilty after he got off the phone. He couldn’t imagine how those pictures could be of any use unless by some miracle Melissa Cousins was being taken to the yoga studio. But it seemed like a harmless enough activity to give Maguire. At least as long as nobody noticed him. And he felt better knowing that someone was keeping an eye on the place in case Susan went back there. He decided that he would give Maguire a real assignment later, maybe let him tag along if he needed to stakeout a location.
When he got back to his apartment building, he knocked on Emily’s door and got no answer, which was what he expected knowing that she usually worked until two-thirty. After that he entered his apartment. A quick check of his spy cameras showed that they hadn’t been activated. The Russians were keeping away. He knew that would change once True Light realized he wasn’t giving up, but at least up to this point they were staying away from his home.
He had two emails waiting for him: one from Professor White, the other from Kathleen Tirroza. White, in his email, explained that he couldn’t recall any specific incidents demonstrating Carver’s callous behavior, but that it seemed evident in the cavalier manner in which Carver treated both him and other students, and in how he would dismiss others’ works and ideas. He had directed his office to send Shannon a copy of Carver’s Master’s thesis and hoped that that would give Shannon a better idea of what he was talking about.
Kathleen Tirroza’s email was of more interest. She’d been able to track down information about Vishna’s background, finding that his name was Anil Paveeth, and that he had come to the United States on a student visa in 1992 from New Delhi to enter a master’s program in chemical engineering at the University of Texas. He finished his degree in 1994, got a green card, and worked for Dow Chemical until 2000 when he was laid off. After that he was off the radar. Given his recent activities, she had already suggested to her bosses that they start a more extensive file on him. She still hadn’t identified the Russian, but was going to keep trying-and wished Shannon luck in keeping his face intact until she did, reminding him that she wanted him looking good for her wedding pictures. Shannon reread her email several times before turning off his computer and leaving the apartment.
The fourteen minute drive to True Light’s compound went by in the blink of an eye. Shannon was barely aware of the road, of the other drivers, of the bicyclists he passed. When he arrived at the compound, he held his thumb down on the intercom’s buzzer until the same woman from the other day answered. She recognized his voice and told him to go away or she would call the police.
“I don’t think so,” Shannon told her. “Why don’t you tell Anil that I want to speak to him.”
“Who?”
“Anil Paveeth. Your guru’s name before he started calling himself Vishna.”
“You’re mistaken -”
“No, sister, I’m not. I suggest you find the great almighty true source and let him know there’s someone here who wants to talk to Anil Paveeth.”
There was a long silence on the other end, then she told him to wait. Ten minutes later someone claiming to be Vishna spoke over the intercom. His voice had a lyrical sing-song quality similar to Charlie Winters’, and it sent a chill down Shannon’s spine. “You’ve been asking to speak to me?” Paveeth said. “Well, speak.”
“Not over the intercom,” Shannon said.
Paveeth chuckled softly on his end, the noise sounding like something that might come out of a small animal. “And how do I know it would be safe to talk to you any other way?”
“If what you’re wondering is whether you need to wait until your Russian muscle arrives, the answer is no. All I want to do is talk. It’s either going to be with you or with reporters at the
“This is not a cult,” he stated angrily, then cut himself off and, with his lyrical sing-song voice back in place, said, “Mr. William Shannon, correct? What I operate here is a devout religious temple, I assure you. But I will grant you an interview. However, and believe me when I tell you if there is any further violence on your part, we will prosecute. I hope that is understood.”
Before Shannon could respond the intercom went dead. He stood waiting another fifteen minutes, then the two stooge cult members he had dealt with two days earlier came out of the house. They were both wearing the same style white robes and sandals as before. The one resembling Curly had his head bandaged, the smaller angrier- looking one showed dark purple bruises on the side of his head. They marched silently towards him and unlocked the gate. Neither of them spoke a word, instead stood glaring at him in unison. Shannon realized they intended to trail him through the compound, and while he didn’t like the idea of that he didn’t see what choice he had in the matter. He walked through the open gate and headed towards the front entrance with the two cult members falling in close behind him.
“By the way, I loved you in ‘Three Little Pigskins’,” Shannon said over his shoulder to the bigger one. “But then again, I’m a huge Stooges fan.”
The Curly look-alike didn’t respond. A glance over his shoulder saw that the man’s face had darkened, his eyes small and piggish, his mouth having contracted into a small angry oval. Shannon stepped through the front door and into the marble foyer. The two cult members walked close behind him. He could smell the sourness from one of their breaths.
“How about you two giving me some space?” Shannon asked politely.
Neither of them responded, but they both backed up enough so that he could no longer smell their breath or feel it on the back of his neck. He made his way down the hallway of Hindu gods and when he got to the marble sculpture of Vishna, the Curly look-alike barked at him to take a left. At the end of this new hallway was a door that looked like it had been embossed in gold leaf.
“In there!” Curly demanded.
Shannon raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, but braced himself in case the door handle was missing on the other side, then opened the door wide enough to look in. Inside, Anil Paveeth sat cross-legged on a gold satin pillow, his eyes closed, his thumbs and forefingers touching as his hands rested lightly on his knees. Paveeth, as in his picture, wore a long flowing golden robe and had his head shaved. The room was large, with what looked like twenty-four foot high ceilings, and was filled with flowers and caged parrots. Floor to ceiling paintings of Paveeth were mounted on each wall. Shannon counted eight parrots, each in separate cages. None of them made a peep as he walked into the room, but they all looked at him curiously.
Paveeth opened his eyes and stared at Shannon. The man was as lean as a knife blade and had the same dark penetrating eyes that he did in his pictures. Shannon had to give the guy credit; he projected a good stage presence and could pull off looking far more imposing than he had any right to.
“Sit down next to me and speak,” Paveeth commanded.
“The one true source,” Shannon said. “You don’t know how many false and semi-true sources I’ve stumbled upon before finding you.”
Paveeth’s dark eyes flashed. “Did you come here to mock me or to speak with me? And if you wish to speak with me then be seated! I will not talk to you standing the way you are!”
Shannon took one of the white satin pillows lying on the floor and sat on it cross-legged. Paveeth smiled as he watched him. “Your posture is quite good,” he said. “A private detective who does yoga?”
“And a chemical engineer who becomes God. It takes all kinds, huh?”
“I never proclaimed to be a god, but the gods have breathed on me, giving me a special light to lead my followers with. That much is true. As far as my past, that is immaterial. There are many paths to righteousness.”
“Yeah, sure. Look, you have a Melissa Cousins here. Her mother is worried about her and wants to talk to her.”
