The Shiva Objective (2 page)

"That your national emblem and this four-hundred year-old love story is a sham?" She shook her head slightly.  "No, you don't.  Your Shah Jahan may indeed have loved his eighteenth wife slightly more than the other seventeen, but he didn't have the power, the clout, the time or the ability to create such a magnificent palace.  And most importantly – he didn't need to."

"And why not?" Davarius asked, leading her on.

"Because it was already there." Nina talked quickly, sensing that this was foreplay that had already gone past being constructive.  They were ready for the main event.  "Look, let's dispense with the alternative history lessons.  I know the Mogul lords, as well as many Muslims throughout history, had a practice of co-opting the local shrines to use as their own mausoleums.  I didn't need to Remote-View this to know the story was shaky to begin with.  No construction records exist, no bills of sale.  No architect formally came forward to even claim such a glorious notch on his resume. And there are references to such a palace cropping up in stories long before Shah Jahan was even born."

She took a breath.  "So no, you don't have to convince me that the Taj Mahal was something else before its current purpose as a crypt."

"Very good," Davarius said.  "I don't even have to mention then, all the other evidence, like the statues of ancient Vedic gods that were found when restoration teams inspected the walls or the doorways in the basement sealed by cave-ins.  Or the nuances of architectural designs that no Muslim would have ever incorporated, or the rumors of vast catacombs below the foundation."

"No," Nina said through clenched teeth.  "So get to the point."

"Very well.  But just one more thing."  He gazed back out the window at the somber and silent palace.  "Do you know what the name ‘Taj Mahal’ means?"

Nina shrugged.  "Guessing it was named after Mumtaz Mahal.  So what – Taj means crown or something, right?"

"That's one theory, yes.  But her true name was Mumtaz-ul-Zamani, not Mahal at all.  However, there is a valid explanation."

"Okay, let's hear it."  She was mildly interested, but at the same time, the stone-faces of the five goons in the room were getting on her nerves.

"The old Sanskrit language has a name, Tej-o-Mahalaya, which means the Temple of Shiva."

"Ah," said Nina.  "Good old Shiva.  Destroyer of gods, head-honcho of the Hindu pantheon.  So, the Taj Mahal may have really been an ancient temple to Shiva and you think these latter-day squatters converted it, and in the process, walled up access to the places below where there might be something… of value?"

"In a nutshell."  He clapped his hands and turned toward her. 

"And you want us to find it," Nina said.

"Well, since only you came…"

"Sorry about that.  They had other priorities."

Davarius's face darkened.  "Well, you'll have to do."

Something's so not right here,
she thought. 
Time to push this over the edge. 
"So, before I start.  Let's go back to Mohammad Chaudhry."

"Ah, yes.  I was afraid you'd ask."

Nina tensed, but kept going.  "You must have known we'd look.  We'd ask questions, we'd probe."

"Of course.  But I also knew… hoped really, that you wouldn't ask the
right
questions."  He folded his arms, leaning back against the window.  "So what did you see?"

Casually dropping her left hand, Nina let her fingers touch the edge of her purse, while the other hand in her lap moved closer to the hem of her skirt.  "Not everything, obviously.  But enough for my employer to realize that sending anyone but me would be foolhardy."

"A pity.  But we'll make do."  Davarius kept smiling.  "You see, when I heard he was sending you, I did some more research into your background.  And I have to say, if I could only have one, I'm very pleased with the outcome."

"Are you?" 
What the hell was this? 
If he checked, surely he knew that she wasn't the best psychic on the team, not by far.  And also, the main reason Mr. Waxman recruited her was for her other skills… skills involving firearms, martial arts and all sorts of ways to stealthily take out threats.

Davarius nodded.  "Nina Osseni.  Daughter of Antonio and Belinda, Italian citizens who gained some degree of fame by their… tragic demise."

Nina shuddered. 
Don't go there… 
Her eyes started to lose focus – and for a second, she saw:
the interior of a wooden shack, with one small window looking out over the tip of a mountainous country, barren of all but some cactus trees. Two Latin-looking men, sweat-stained t-shirts, standing at the door, laughing.  Machine guns on their backs.  Blood and dirt on their hands.  They point, speaking unintelligibly to themselves while in the center of the room, a little girl sits in shredded, filthy clothes, shivering despite the heat.

"On a family vacation in Mexico fifteen years ago, they were abducted by low-level thugs, members of a cartel.  Held for ransom.  But their relatives were poor, and the Italian government was not forthcoming."

Nina stared at him, her lips trembling. 
Why was she letting him continue?

"When it was clear the ransom wasn't going to be paid, the couple was taken out back, and who knows exactly what happened, but their heads were returned to the Italian embassy.  Their bodies… well, I'm guessing only their daughter might know about that.  Their daughter… who was only seven at the time."  He gave Nina a poor, pitiful look.  "But you made it out, didn't you?  Wound up at the American Embassy, where surprisingly, you asked for an agent of the DEA by name."

In Nina's mind:
standing in a doorway, as the man in the blue suit knelt in front of her, and she held up a collection of pages.  Drawings.  Sketches.  Maps.  Everything he needed to locate the cartel's headquarters, including where the men would be when the agents arrived.

Davarius clapped his hands. "Yes, I'm glad you were the one to come.  Training from such an early age, working closely with government agencies.  Military, international divisions, espionage, and then… on to your current assignment.  They were quick to appreciate your talents – talents that I'm guessing first appeared after your tragic experience on that vacation.  Two years in captivity, biding your time, honing your skills.  And then-"

"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?"