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letters etched on the back. Z and A.
    ‘Shit!’ Raakin said before shoving the dolls back into the evidence bag and handing it over to Jake.
    Raakin couldn’t shake off the bad feeling. It was definitely a sign of dangerous times ahead. He would contact the councillors.
    They returned to the car in silence.
    Raakin’s phone buzzed. Glancing at the site, he saw the bodies being loaded into a van. The police had managed to disperse the onlookers. Soon, there would be nothing out of the ordinary at that spot and, in a few hours, people would forget the incident.
    Jake drove quietly. Raakin read his messages. ‘The Three who fought the Kalingan will be tested again. The senior councillors have received a premonition of powerful negative energies arising in the near future.’
    ‘Shit!’ Raakin said softly.
    Jake glanced at his boss. ‘Is everything all right?’
    ‘No,’ he replied.
    ‘Would you like me to do anything?’ He removed his sunshades and placed it in the glove compartment. There was a small revolver inside. Just in case.
    ‘Yes, find out if there have been any odd happenings near the Ashoka pillar sites.’

    ‘What am I looking for, sir?’
    Raakin turned to him. ‘I’m not sure … anything unusual.’
    Jake continued to drive the car, eyes peeled on the road, as expressionless as his boss. ‘We are in the business of the unusual, sir.’
    Back in the office, Raakin considered the possibilities. He had cause for concern. The symbols of black energy had been lined up as a warning. He shook his head. One could always expect the unexpected in the realm of the Kalingan. He hoped the post-mortem report would give him clarity. But for some reason he believed the witch doctor’s words: those bodies would indeed disappear into thin air.
    For now, the Chintamani fragments were safe, carefully sealed in a coded copper box inside one of the stupas at Borobudur Temple near Yogyakarta. The Borobudur energies were so powerful, no Kala Yogi could even reach the perimeter of the temple without feeling tremendous pain and suffering. Shaped like a huge pyramid, the temple consisted of hundreds of miniature stupas. No chance of the Kalingan getting to them.
    The Senior Six, apart from Zubin, Akash and Tara, were quietly working in their respective fields. They were in their late fifties, still strong enough to function. When the time came to hand over the legacy to the next generation, the list of names would come from the wise Council. The chosen ones, their names in a file, were totally unaware of their impending life-changing destiny. But they would be informed of the change only when the time was right. Training new entrants into the legacy of Ashoka took time and effort. They needed to understand the dynamics of communication with Raakin and the protectors. They had to absorb the methodology of sharing ancient information without revealing their origins and, most of all, of maintaining the anonymity that was so vital to the survival of the Nine. All this had to be taught. With the advent of the Kalingan spirit, Tara, Akash and Zubin were not prepared, but destiny had chosen them to become members of the Nine. And they had survived it. He hoped they would survive it again.
    ‘You have been carelessly busy, I see?’ Raakin sent a coded message to Akash. The news of a heroic man saving someone from committing suicide had reached international news wires.
    ‘I was careful.’
    ‘Not careful enough …’
    No reply. Raakin sighed. In comparison to Tara and Zubin, Akash was the most spontaneously generous and helpful and, at the same time, the most careless, when it came to maintaining the secrecy of the Council. Akash was a reckless man, probably a great bartender, but a lousy team player.
    He checked the latest on the other two. Zubin was deeply involved in his work as a medical examiner and researcher. Tara, who was already a certified nurse when she became one of the Nine, had completed her degree course in