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."