"Enough!" Nina narrowed her eyes. "Your point?"
Davarius spread out his arms. "Point's been made. You'll do nicely. My clients will be very excited."
This has gone on long enough. "All right, what the hell is this? I know you've already been down there – below the Taj Mahal. I've seen it. You… and others. Carrying weapons, moving through the shadowy corridors, and into…" She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to see it. "…some sort of large chamber or arena of some kind. And I saw your psychic down there. Glimpses only. He was running. He was tired, scared, and-"
His laughter cut her short. Then he clapped his hands. "Oh, I definitely think this will be fun. You're already proving to be much better than Chaudhry. I can only imagine how long you'll last."
"What?"
"He made it the longest – fifteen hours. In six hundred years of recorded results, no one's ever made it that long."
Nina shook her head. Other images were appearing, fluttering about, half-formed, in her mind's eye. Rooftop chases under a full moon, arrows flying into darkened alleys, pursuit through crowded bazaars and out into lush jungles, then down into labyrinthine tunnels, fitted with traps and cruel devices at every turn.
She whispered: "It's a… game?"
Davarius merely kept smiling. "An ancient one. Time honored and tested. The early Mogul emperors – Shah Jahan included, led an annual hunt, releasing a hundred Bengali tigers and chasing after them on the backs of warrior elephants. Often they would hunt humans, prisoners who would be sent out with just the shirt on their backs – and perhaps a knife to keep it sporting. Give them a head start, and then allow the nobles to hunt.
"Humans of course, were a step up for the hunters. Maybe not as physically threatening as a Bengali tiger, but potentially much more cunning." He sighed and put his hands in his pockets. "But still, over time, as the frequency of the hunts increased – with more and more players being invited, often paying a handsome fee for the privilege… well, what can I say? Regular humans just aren't that challenging any more. We've tried bringing in the best and strongest. Ex Navy Seals, Olympic athletes, former assassins… the works. But sadly, our hunters are too good and the prey too weak. But that's all going to change. Soon. You see, I realized there was a more worthy adversary, one that would be a true challenge."
Nina let her mouth hang open. "Psychics."
Davarius nodded.
"So that's it," Nina continued. "You got the idea after working with Mohammad Chaudhry. Then you put him in the game. That's… that's monstrous."
"More like genius. You should have heard the hunters talk afterwards! How they had been so invigorated by a true challenge. Chaudhry kept foreseeing their plans, staying one step ahead. Hell, he managed to actually kill six of our best hunters before the others collaborated and set a trap he couldn't foresee. But until then, he made them adapt and think out of the box." Davarius beamed. "You can't argue with success. That experience was like a drug. And now they want more – a lot more."
"And of course, they'll pay a lot more."
"Of course."
"Which is why you wanted all of us. The whole Morpheus Initiative."
"Yes, that would have kept the game clicking at a high level, maybe using one of you at a time, playing the game once a month, until I could have found more… talent."
She had to keep him talking while she sized up her options. "So this Shiva artifact – it was all just a ruse? There's nothing down there?"
"Oh, it's there all right. A two-foot tall statue of the god himself, all four arms and three heads. Cast in obsidian. It's set in the center of the underground arena."
"And?" Nina shook her head in confusion. But her fingers had opened the purse. She was reaching inside.
"And," said Davarius, "I was expecting you to ask the right question, which you haven't done yet."
"Which is?"
He smiled. "How do you win the game?"
"Ah. Well then," she tightened her grip on the .22, simultaneously reaching under her dress for the .45. "How do you win?"
"Simply touch it," Davarius said. "Think of this as Capture the Flag, only this time it's a thousand-year-old statue and all you need to do is set one hand on it and the hunt's off. You win."
"And what do I win?"
"Why, your life of course."
Nina bristled. "And you think my employer will just let you get away with this?"
"No of course not. In fact, I hope he'll come looking for you. With your colleagues."
She shook her head. "They'll ask the right questions. They'll be cautious, patient." Where I wasn't.
Davarius shrugged. "Well, if they get scared away, that's that. I'll go to Plan B. It will be more expensive, but I'll send my elite hunters out for them. I'm assuming you people go back to your own homes or hotel rooms on occasion and your employer has no reason to post heavy security. We'll get them, don't worry." He raised a hand, snapping a finger.
"But we'll start with you."
The men suddenly moved, lurching toward her as if they'd been statues just granted the power of life.
A second later: two gunshots, and two guards jerked backwards, small red explosions appearing on their foreheads. Davarius ducked and instinctively flung himself behind a couch as Nina rose up calmly, both arms spread out. She aimed and fired again, but the one built like a Sumo wrestler spun faster than he should have been capable of moving and the slug only caught him in the shoulder. He kept coming, and she didn't have time to take another clear shot.
She leapt backwards, out of the way of his charge, then spun and kicked out at the other guard, connecting with his nose and knocking him back. She landed, twisted around and fired, punching a bullet through the hand that was covering his nose. He fell back, blood leaking out his skull onto the matching carpet.
Three down, two to go. The big man from the elevator still stood at the door, hands at his sides, watching her impassively. She aimed at him – when the Sumo guy slammed into her from the side. She rolled with his impact, tried to fling him off, but he had some skill – and serious weight. She slid an arm up through his grasp, but then he drove a huge fist into her gut.
She cried out and felt her feet leave the floor – and then her left wrist was caught, fingers pried open and the gun wrenched out. But she brought the other one around in a quick motion, pressing the barrel against his right temple. He raised his arm before she could fire – and the shot went high, into the ceiling.
An elbow to her chin knocked her around and onto her back. He tried to jump on her, but she was faster, rolling to the side until she struck the legs of the desk. Getting both shaky hands on the .45, she brought it up and fired.
Once, twice, three times as the big guard tried to rise. Easy target, and the blood flew from three hits, but he kept coming. It wasn't until he was a yard away, reaching for her, that she made it count, getting him right between the eyes.
Still grimacing, with the wind knocked out of her, she got to her knees. Four shots left in this one, she thought, keeping an eye on the last guard, still motionless at the door. She aimed at him, then looked around for Davarius, seeing him cowering behind the furniture.
"Come on out, dickhead." She held her stomach and grimaced. "Sorry I won't be playing your little game. Got to run, but be assured I'll be back. This time with more muscle. You messed with the wrong people. We've got connections, higher up than you can imagine."
Davarius stood up, spread out his arms, and then he smiled. "Is that so, sugar?"
"Sugar?" She aimed. "That's it, forget what I said about coming back for you. This – this is for Chaudhry." Her finger tensed, but then she saw the big man at the door move. He put something to his lips, like he was about to play the flute.
That wooden object in his coat pocket…
Damn, I didn't check that out. It's-
The red-feathered dart came whistling at her, striking her jugular. Before she could pull the trigger, the neurotoxin paralyzed her and she slumped to
the floor on top of one of the corpses.
The gun fell from her limp fingers and, just before everything turned to black, she saw a face looming over hers.
"See you in the game, Sugar."
TWO
She awoke in an alley. A putrid smell assaulted her nostrils while thick flies buzzed around her head. Her dress had been replaced by jeans that fit a little too snugly and a simple white t-shirt, already thick with sweat in the oppressive heat. Comfortable socks and a pair of new Reeboks had taken the place of her $800 designer sandals.
I'm so going to get those back.
She stood gingerly, taking deep breaths and rubbing the welt on her neck. Her ribs hurt, but nothing felt broken. Above, sheets and loose garments hung in crisscrossing clotheslines for at least a dozen stories. A pair of heavy rats scurried over bagged garbage near a crooked door and from somewhere ahead she heard the sound of traffic: engines and horns, squealing brakes.
And then, behind her: a shuffle and a throat clearing.
She spun around, hands up – and there was the big lug that had shot her with the dart. Blue turban now, looking like an unstoppable force of muscle and mass from one of the James Bond movies.
"Not you again." She glanced around, seeing nothing else in the alley, nothing that could be used as a weapon. "So what now? Are you one of them – these hunters? Going to shoot me in the back as I start to run?"
The man shook his head, reached into his suitcoat, pulled out a gun and handed it to her. A .45 Glock. Not her favorite from the family of .45s, and she wondered what happened to her PCP.
"Your weapon."
"It speaks!" Nina exclaimed. She warily reached for the gun and the ammo. In the next instant, she slammed home the magazine, chambered a round and aimed the gun at his face. "Thanks, now what's to stop me from blasting your brains out the back of your skull?"
He didn't even blink as he stared down the barrel. Those big, soft black eyes, so out of character for such a mass of villainous muscle, merely kept their slightly unfocused look. "What would that serve? I would be dead and you would have no better chance of surviving the game."
Nina kept the gun on him. "It would make me feel a hell of a lot better. Take another one of you down."
The man shrugged. Folded his arms across his huge chest. He kept his eyes on hers, until she finally relented and lowered the weapon. Stuffed it in the back of her jeans and let her shirt hang over it. Putting the spare clip in her back pocket, she asked: "So what now?"
"Now," he said, "I have been authorized to give you instructions."
"Fine. What are the rules of this insane game?"
"There are no rules."
"But you just said-"
"Instructions. Not rules. You run. Try to make it as long as you can."
"Okay, Mr. – what do I call you?"
"It does not matter. It is highly improbable that you will see me again. But my name is Rakesh." He sighed. "You have no money, no credit, but even if you did – you cannot leave the borders without a passport. And if you somehow managed it, they would just switch to a larger game board. There is no escape. If you make your way to the Taj Mahal, I will find you there and take you to the secret entrance below."
"Why?"
"Because you will have earned an invitation to the second and final round. Where you have a chance to finish it. To find the statue… and end the game."
Nina thought for a moment. "And how many other… contestants have made it to the second round?"
"Under the tenure of Davarius Mahmud, and as long as I've been working for him? Eight," he said. "Including your fellow psychic last month. It is… difficult. In the old days, before our time, in centuries past, the prey was often sent directly below into the catacombs. But the cramped quarters left many hunters longing for the open spaces and the thrill of using the environment. Davarius opened the playing field. The city is the game board. The Taj is the final refuge of the first stage. Get inside the crypt room and you are safe – but only until the end of round one, which must last, at a minimum, ten hours."
"Ten? So if I get there early, I can catch a nine-hour nap?"
"Whatever you wish. Now, go." He pressed a button on his watch.
Nina hesitated, then thought of something. She stepped toward him gingerly, craning her neck to look up into his face. She glanced around, sure this alley was bugged. And there above his shoulder, on the wall – a camera, trained on them. Moving slightly until she was sure his back would block the view, she extended her right hand.
He frowned, staring at it.
Come on, take it.
His hand rose and gently touched hers.
Nina gave him a thin smile while she gripped his hand. "Thank you, Rakesh. You've been very helpful. I'll see you in ten hours." Then she whispered, "Until then, think about this. When I win this game, and I will, your boss will be dead, and so will every other hunter out there. I'm giving you a chance to live. Help me, or I'll show you how a true hunter tracks – and then skins its prey."
Rakesh blinked. His grip went limp under her pressure. His eyes darted up and then down and around, as if expecting men to come out of the walls. "I… cannot."
"You can," Nina whispered. She closed her eyes, drawing something from his touch – a conduit that amplified her psychic abilities. And then she saw it – just a flash, but it was enough. A brief snapshot, like a Polaroid drying into clarity: a young boy and a girl, sitting on the stained floor of a locked room. A slot in the door for food to slide through. Two armed men outside, guarding them.
Nina blinked and it was gone. She trembled at the vision, it having stirred up old memories she had tried hard to forget. Rakesh pulled his hand away, but she had seen enough to guess at his motivation: that Davarius held the ultimate leverage over his key employee.
She thought quickly. She needed an edge, a way to break the game. This was her one and only shot. "Help me," she whispered, "and I'll help them."
Rakesh's eyes widened. But then he blinked, and looked straight ahead again. "Time is ticking. If you don't start running, they'll come for you."
She waited a moment. "Ten hours," she said sternly. "I'll be in the Taj, admiring your beloved national heroes and enjoying a rest."
With that, hoping she had at least placed the seed of betrayal in Rakesh's mind – she turned and raced through the alley.
#
Just before the street – with the tumult of cars creeping along in thick traffic and people congesting the sidewalks – she skidded to a stop. She had just come out of the shadow of the steep tenement walls and into the blazing hot sun, when she had a glimpse of something she had sensed before.
The high-rise buildings across the street. The tallest among them, easily thirty stories, was just to the left, opposite from this side alley.
A flash and she saw: Five men dressed in casual Western clothing sitting on fold-out chairs on the roof. A keg of beer rested in a barrel of ice behind them and one of the men, wearing a cowboy hat and mirrored sunglasses, pumped the tap. He had a silver .357 Magnum in his belt next to a sheathed KA-BAR knife. The other four men peered into the scopes of their sniper rifles, angled downward.
Nina backpedaled, then pressed herself against the left wall. Seriously? A sniper attack right out of the gate? She wondered how many others would have been picked off after only a few steps. She supposed it added some degree of difficulty to hit a moving target from so far, and in the midst of all the crowds. But still. She also wondered about the pricing specifics of this game. Was there a refund for those who were waiting somewhere down the road and would be let down by a quick kill right here? Consolation prizes?
She didn’t have time to think about it. Right now she needed a plan or she wouldn't make it anywhere close to ten hours. She looked up at the full clotheslines hanging in the heat and the non-existent breeze, and a smile slowly formed on her face.
She started to look for handholds. And began to climb.
#
Ten min
utes later, she exited from the side entrance, dressed in a flowing Muslim jilbab with a head scarf and veil over her face. As soon as she stepped into the sun she thought, God, how do women not pass out in these things?
She slid into a crowd where many women wore similar garments. Indistinguishable from the citizens of Agra, she moved calmly, head down, waiting at a street crossing, then shuffling ahead with the others. Try to find me now, bastards.
She glanced around, getting her bearings. This city was unfamiliar enough, although she had made a quick study of the map on the way to the hotel. She knew she had to make it to the Taj Mahal and it shouldn't be hard – she could even catch a tourist bus right now and it would probably take her right there, but she had no money. But she did have other options. She could go to one of the numerous Internet cafés she had seen earlier. Humbly ask to borrow someone's account – and then send an email to Waxman to fill him in on what's going on and to request a team of bad-ass commando types to come in and clean house. Davarius wanted a challenge? Well, that would up the difficulty level of this game considerably.
And sure, Davarius claimed he had the resources to track them down if she fled, but leaving was an option too. Waxman could wire her the money, then she could get out of Dodge and live to fight another day, and on her terms.
So many options. She hesitated a moment as men in business suits walked past her without a glance and old women pushed her this way and that. Someone grumbled something and three Muslims wearing similar jilbabs came up behind her.
One suddenly cried out in pain. Then another screamed and suddenly the crowd split apart, people running away from her – and the two women on the ground. One was on her back, dead eyes looking up as blood trickled from the hole between them. The other was clutching her shoulder, screaming as blood sprayed from between her fingers. Nina gasped, already backing up – just as the woman jerked sideways, another splotch appearing on her back, sending her face down over her dead companion.
The Shiva Objective Page 2
