Thinking quickly, the eyes of a hundred people on her, she leapt over the hood of the cab and launched herself into the crowd. She looked back over her shoulder, expecting another van to come tearing after her, scattering people. But so far, safe.
Hearing sirens, she ducked into a crowded bazaar, weaving through shops, around crates full of spices and barrels packed with bread and fruit. Deeper into the market, she slowed her pace, adopted a touristy stance, and blended in. She checked out the needlework on some rugs, then sampled some dried fruit as she asked the proprietor for the fastest route to the Taj.
Thanking him, she asked for the time. 3:30. Two hours down.
This was taking too long. But if she could get to the Taj, to sanctuary, she could rest and think. And start asking the right questions.
A commotion behind her. The helpful proprietor was yelling at somebody — a man in a green fatigues. Sunglasses. Bald. He was trying to get around the merchant, but had knocked over a table, spilling all the fruit.
Damn, she thought. Didn't see that coming. Got lucky…
The hunter saw her and reached for something at his belt. Now he had a gun in his hand and the proprietor was shouting, grabbing the hunter's wrist. Two other men — bearing a resemblance to the merchant and possibly his sons — appeared on the scene just as the hunter pulled free. He aimed at Nina, but the men were on him, pummeling him, punching his face.
Nina didn't stay to watch.
Found me again. That was too fast. Maybe they had cameras in some areas and scouts at others, but still… There had to be something else. They didn't have a psychic, not anymore, so what else could it be?
As she ran, she stumbled and then suddenly she saw it:
The bald man, earlier, in the bazaar. Leaning against a post while he looked at his smartphone's screen. The screen — a red dot moving around a map of the city's streets.
Her mind ripped back to the present. And as she ran, she felt around her pockets, sure they had put a transmitter in her clothes somewhere. Or the shoes. It could be anywhere, but…
No, they wouldn't have trusted that she'd keep these clothes. It was something else.
The dart…
A microchip. In her bloodstream. That was the only thing that made sense.
It was likely something of a transitory nature — lasting about twenty-four hours before dissolving. They'd tagged her like a deer and released her into the wild, knowing they could locate her signal and find her anywhere.
She stopped, taking a breath. The sun beat down on her face and she tasted the sweat trickling past her lips.
Not much she could do about it then. They'd locate her, no matter how well she hid. So there was only thing left to do.
They could track her, but she could also track them.
Smiling, she turned around. The Taj could wait.
Time to improve the odds.
FIVE
When she finally made it to the grounds of the Taj Mahal, the sun was setting over the rooftops of the sprawling city, out beyond the old Agra Fort where the Mogul emperors once held court. She turned her gaze ahead to the awe-inspiring Taj Mahal, even more incredible up close, where the pillars, the minarets and the onion-shaped dome seemed to be lit from within the very marble, presenting a reddish-pink glow at once soothing and inspiring.
The past seven hours were now only a blur. Her head ached, but she felt surprisingly good. Normally, whenever she suffered migraines, she liked to go shopping. It somehow soothed her. With the surprising amount of cash lifted from the dead hunters' wallets, she had indulged herself at a little black market dealer to the southeast. She had taken the last hunter's cell phone too, and just for fun she fired off a couple of mocking texts to recent numbers that had sent him updates.
She had confirmed that they were indeed tracking her with a microchip and were leading a well-coordinated process that was ultimately marred by a bunch of overexcited yahoos with guns — some of them drinking at the same time.
She had taken two out where they waited in a locked apartment building by tossing a homemade smoke bomb through the window and then picking them off as they came running out. After the smoke cleared, she went in and rounded up whatever ammunition and weapons were still usable, including another sniper rifle.
Three more she caught off guard by using the limitations of their tracking technology. The program could only tell where she was horizontally in relation to the user, but told them nothing about what altitude she was at. So she had climbed to the fourth floor of an adjacent building, perched on a fire escape with the sniper rifle, and as they wandered the alley, checking their phones and looking around various ground-level hiding places, she dropped them one by one.
Like fish in a barrel.
The last three had had been more difficult. She had used her sight to tell that their positions were in well fortified, highly visible public areas. So instead she lured them to her. After rigging the basement of an abandoned apartment home with trip wires and motion-sensing floodlights, she let them come for her, then got the drop on them after they triggered the lights. Momentarily blinded, they had no defense as she stepped out of hiding and shot all three, point-blank.
And now she casually walked the central courtyard of the Taj Mahal's gardens. Past luxurious fountains and meticulously-groomed bushes and spruces, she admired the scenery along with hundreds of other tourists, natives and pilgrims.
She glanced back, and then to her left and right — and saw them. Several men out of place, trying to appear as tourists, but too obvious. She spotted a Bluetooth device in one's ear and saw another one working his phone, probably relaying information on her position. If they wanted to stop her from entering the palace, they didn't seem to be in much of a hurry. She wasn't sure if the grounds themselves counted as sanctuary, but it was looking that way. Too many witnesses and such a sacred spot. She didn't think they'd risk the backlash.
So a few minutes later, she entered the great mausoleum, staring in awe at the decorative archways, the massive pillars, the dizzying heights seen from inside. And moments later, she was there, before the two golden cenotaphs. Shah Jahan and his beloved. She recalled the legends about how, during a typical power play, he had been imprisoned by his son in the Agra fortress and had spent the rest of his life supposedly gazing out the high window at the Taj Mahal, longing for his lost love.
Nina wanted to gag. It was probably all nonsense. If she had enough time and she felt like it, she might try to Remote-View what happened to him and see if any of that story was true, but right now she knelt along with some pilgrims before the gorgeously-inscribed coffins and closed her eyes.
Safe. And one hour to go. She had time to think.
And to plan.
SIX
When Rakesh came for her, she was ready. She had borrowed a tourist's pen and a sheet of notebook paper. Found a quiet spot in the gardens and wrote up what she intended, then went back in the mausoleum to wait.
Rakesh appeared behind her when she was in quiet meditation. "It's time," he said. "And may I offer you congratulations?"
"You may not," she said, standing swiftly. She handed him the folded note. "So," she continued as he read. "What's the mood up there in the penthouse? Davarius crapping a brick? Can't be too happy that half his hunters are toast."
His eyes wide, lips trembling, Rakesh finished reading. He looked at her a long time, meeting her questioning look. Come on, she urged. You've got nothing to lose and everything to gain.