The Shiva Objective Read Online Free PDF

clear shot at the pilot or the shooter.  She could blast the fuselage or try to puncture the blades, but she didn't want a crowd of people dying below when this thing fell from the sky.  She'd killed before, sometimes innocents.  But always for a purpose.  And only when there was no other way.
    But the chopper waited, just hovering, letting her know she wouldn't be able to just sit tight.  She looked down – way down – and saw two black limos pulling up in front of the building.  Doors opened, and a crowd of men in what looked like police uniforms burst out.
    Fine.  I'll keep playing.   She thought about the rifle, then let it drop by her feet.  She'd never get out of the building with it now and they were coming.  Impossible to use it effectively up here on the roof when they arrived.  And especially not while there was that helicopter to worry about.
    Cursing, she turned and headed for the door.
     

FOUR
    After psychically confirming that the newcomers had all piled into two elevators, she raced down the stairs.  She made it through the lobby, as she expected.  But on the way down the stairs, she had a full three minutes to think, to try to Remote-View where the other hunters were.  She got indistinct results: shadowy images of men in twisting passages underground; others on side streets, at cafes, in the bazaars.  Looking inconspicuous, but often checking their smartphones.  Looking carefully at something there…
    Text messages?  Updates?  Or something else?  She needed more time to focus her sight.
    Out on the street, she ducked into a cab just as another fare got in.  She smiled at him and the cab driver, then pulled out her .45 and aimed at the passenger.
    "Get out."
    After he left in a hurry, she turned to the driver.  "Sorry," she said.  "I'm temporarily low on funds, but I'd really appreciate a ride to the Taj Mahal."
    #
    Three blocks later, just as she was settling in to try to calm her thoughts, preparing to seek some more information, a black van collided with the cab.  Out of nowhere it crunched violently into the driver's side and spun them around.  Nina bounced off the cushioned seat, lucky to avoid a head injury.
    Recovering her wits, shocked they'd found her yet again, and even more surprised at their brazenness, she kicked open the door and, crouching low, jumped out.  Shocked onlookers surrounded the accident scene.  She rose swiftly, aiming her gun at the van.  People screamed, the crowd backed away.
    The van's passenger door opened and a man leaned out with something in both hands.
    Is that a freakin' crossbow?
    She took her shot and ducked to the side as a bolt whistled past.  Seeing the spray of blood along the van's door where the archer had been, she aimed to the right.  The van was backing up, the driver panicking.  She shot the window just above the steering wheel and a second later the horn went off as the driver slumped forward.
    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