The Shiva Objective by Sakmyster David

Author:Sakmyster, David [Sakmyster, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Dark Minion Press
Published: 2012-06-01T15:00:00+00:00

THREE

In the elevator, head-down, she glanced at the control panel, seeing the numbers light up. They stopped on the fifteenth floor and half the people got out. On the twentieth, all but two left. One was a thin Indian man wearing a traditional surka. The other was a German-looking guy with slick wavy blond hair, dressed in a blue business suit and carrying a silver briefcase.

Stands out like a sore thumb. She leaned against the back wall, between the two men, inching slightly toward the German, who was now whistling softly. His eyes darted sideways once, then back to the door.

Nina brushed against his shoulder, closed her eyes and got a flash of something…

That briefcase, open… a soft black Styrofoam interior, revealing a silver .38 revolver with a scope and a section for six gold-tipped bullets.

Smiling innocently, Nina turned to the Indian man as the twenty-seventh floor lit up. "Can I borrow a pen?" she asked, nodding to the three pens in his shirt pocket.

"Sure," the man said in decent English, handing her one as the doors opened. "My floor, so just keep it."

Nina leaned back, twirling the pen in her fingers. She glanced sideways and the German looked at her, nodding.

"Enjoying your time in Agra?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, then frowned and looked ahead, back at the panel. The 30th floor lit up, two away from the Roof, and she imagined what he was thinking: she hadn't pressed another button, which meant… He turned, slowly, looking back at her, eyes widening.

And she sprang at him, burying the tip of the pen deep into one of those eyes.

When the doors opened, Nina stood up from the body, holding the .38, chambering the last of the six hollow-point rounds. She hefted it, appreciating the weight. Forget the Glock. This will do nicely for now.

She stepped out into the hot sunlight under a cloudless blue sky. Took two steps on the hot asphalt, smelled beer and rank sweat, and then froze. The four chairs ahead – empty.

No time to think, she ducked and rolled to the side – just as three shots rang out, bullets slamming into the closing door. She spun around the side of the door, then sprinted to the next bit of cover – a rooftop air conditioning unit ten feet away.

Four shots tracked her, none hitting. Sniper rifles not the best at short range, she thought giddily as she tucked her body around the rooftop unit. But how did they know I was coming?

Starting to think they were psychics – and better ones – she turned and sighted through the revolver's scope, seeing two men aiming their rifles from above similar cover. Two quick shots, precise, deadly, and they went down.

Three to go. Two snipers, one cowboy. She hoped they'd had a couple beers each at least. Typical Americans, their idea of hunting was to get smashed, climb a tree and take potshots at helpless deer.

Well, this fawn was going to teach them a thing or two. She scanned the roof.

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