Mumbai Manhunt Read online

  At nearly the same time, the other man fired.

  Netta couldn't move for fear of throwing up. She watched, helpless, as the new agent fired his weapon while Joshi dove behind her computer. The one that had all her research. The one that had the answers.

  The one that, a heartbeat later, sparked and flared where the invisible beam hit exposed metal, paint bubbling and blistering under the heat. She didn't need x-ray vision to know that the protein storage matrix, so carefully nested inside the server, had boiled and ruptured into uselessness.

  Three years of her work. One life already lost. So many more that she could have saved. Gone in an eyeblink.

  It took her a moment to realize her fears were as much for Joshi as agony over the loss of her data.

  He was losing the fight. The other operative, the killer, had tossed his weapon aside and returned to fighting hand to hand. His speed and strength outpaced Joshi's; she didn't need her optics modules to identify that.

  The two of them danced backwards across the room, Joshi engaged in a delaying action to keep the other man's attacks from finishing the job, but his defenses were narrowing. Too many hits were sneaking around the edges, and with one arm tucked against his chest, he wouldn't last long.

  Netta grabbed her knitting bag, and her foot nudged something on the floor. The iron bar she'd brought in originally. She scooped it up before ducking under the table to come out in the next row.

  Joshi went down with a crash, supplies being pulled off a rack as he scrambled for purchase. The other man tugged a backup pistol from a holster at the small of his back and clicked the safety off as he leveled it at Joshi.

  "Impressive," he said. "If it’s any consolation, most of you early models don't last this long. They rely on speed and strength. No elegance to their style at all. But you're different."

  "I like surprising people."

  Netta could hear the pain behind Joshi’s words, and she still admired him for his defiance. Not that she would tell him that. Or that these next seconds were about anything she might have felt about him. His kindness had been paid for, artificial. Unearned. Given her history, that was all she deserved.

  No. This was for her.

  "It's almost a shame it won't save you, Mr. Joshi. Good b—"

  The operative stopped mid-word as Netta swung the iron bar into the back of his head. Her fingers went numb from the impact, and the killer took a step forward before dropping the gun and collapsing.

  Joshi stood up and looked at her. She found herself staring back at those completely natural eyes, reading the surprise and relief that warred in their depths.

  "What?" she responded. "I wasn't going to let him execute you."

  He reached out and took the iron rod from her. "You didn't hit him hard enough."

  For a moment, she expected him to swing the bar into the unconscious man, finishing the job she'd started, and her stomach lurched in expectation of the violence to come. Instead he smashed it into one of the gas taps on the table. The nozzle broke off, and the room filled with the smell of natural gas. Joshi didn’t hesitate and cracked open two more taps.

  He dug into his pocket and pulled out a palm-sized lump of pinkish-gray putty. She'd seen enough action-adventure vids to know what happened next, a fear that was confirmed when Joshi looked at her and said, "Run."

  She froze, and he repeated himself, charging toward her and herding her toward the door. He activated the timer as he moved and dropped the explosives behind him. The other operative grunted in pain as he started to recover, then Joshi had shoved her out into the hall and slammed the door behind them.

  Netta jumped through the open window to the roof and lowered herself to the street below. Joshi followed, his feet hitting the ground just as her lab, her only home for the last three years, exploded.

  Netta raised her arm to ward off the rain of debris and shattered glass. Fire licked at the edges of the building roof that hadn't exploded outward.

  She resisted the urge to plunge one hand into her knitting bag and stroke the wool to calm herself. Three years. When was the last time she'd even been outside? Panic seeped in at the edges of her brain. Her clinical mind took over on default, noticing her accelerating pulse and her rapid breathing. Don't hyperventilate. We're outside. People go outside every day. She felt naked, unprotected, while her former sanctuary burned.

  Voices cut through the haze. People were gathering. Of course they were. Something had exploded. Even in a relatively uninhabited part of the warehouse district, there were bound to be hundreds of people. It was Mumbai, after all. Netta looked left and right. No one seemed to be paying her any more attention than anyone else. No one had associated her with the destruction. If she was cautious, she could slip away. She wondered how long it would take to reach the apartment she supposedly had in Bandra.

  Fingers curled around her elbow, gentle, but firm enough that she couldn't ignore them. She spun and found Joshi staring at her, his concern so apparent that it burned her. As though he had the right to care. As though she deserved it.

  Netta slapped him.

  He didn't move, just closed his eyes and said, "I earned that. But you need to go if you plan on living."

  "Go? Where?" She could hear the edge of panic in her voice and fought to keep it under control.

  "That explosion won't slow him down for very long. We both want to be a long damn way from here when he pulls himself out of that wreckage."

  His fingers trembled where he held her arm. A random, unconscious behavior. So slight that she wondered if he'd begun to notice it yet. Netta knew the symptoms of implant rejection all too well, but then she'd dealt with her sister for such a long time. It made her hyperaware of the signs.

  He caught her staring at his hand and removed it. The brief pang of regret at the loss of him surprised her. Worse, it reminded her of the last time he’d left her alone in the city, unsure of what she would do on her own.

  Then he stepped into the crowd. Abandoning her.

  Panic crushed her ribs, and she squeaked, taking a step after him. "Wait! Where do I go?"

  Over his shoulder, he said, "Don't go anywhere that BlueGene knows about."

  Where in hell would that be? They'd given her everything. She didn't have anyplace in the city that they hadn't purchased for her. "You can't just leave me! Not again." When he didn't respond, she grabbed him by the shoulder.

  He winced, and she remembered after the fact that it had been dislocated. The pain didn't stop him, however, and he continued through the crowd with an uncanny ability to dodge between people.

  By comparison, Netta felt like she was swimming against the tide.

  In the sky overhead, a slash of Devanagari letters burst into flames to advertise a movie. The augmented reality overlay—ARvertisements—surprised her, but Joshi gave no sign of noticing. It brought her focus back to his human eyes. She stared, wondering what he saw when she looked back at him. She whispered the only word she had left and hoped he could hear it through the noise. "Please."

  Sirens sounded in the distance. Sorrow darkened his eyes, and he kept his gaze down as he stepped around a building and out of her line of sight.

  She had followed him far enough from the explosion that the crowd had thinned slightly. It gave her an opening to chase after him.

  He waited for her just around the corner. "Don’t follow me, Netta. You can't—"

  "No, you can't. You blow up my home? Destroy my life's work? And now you want to abandon me on the street?" She resisted saying again, but only barely.

  He took her by one shoulder. "It's not that I want to. It's just safer this way. There's a killer hunting us, in case you hadn't noticed. Or at least after me. You're going to be safer far away from me."

  "I want to hire you." She blurted the words without thinking, but they worked. It made sense. And it gave her an out.

  His head tilted like he'd heard an uncomfortable noise. "That's not how it works. You need to go through Corporate Services to
hire a bodyguard. They'll assign someone." He said it with a practiced, matter-of-fact tone, as though he hadn’t just suggested calling the very people who’d been hired to kill her.

  "That’s ridiculous. You're here. You're available. More importantly, if they’ve already got a contract to come after me, then I doubt they’re going to be in a hurry to protect me as well.”

  “They’re neutral. That’s why any organization can use them. They don’t choose sides.”

  Netta growled. “You almost sound like you believe that. You really think they haven’t chosen a side against you at the moment?”

  "I don't do wetwork."

  "What?" She blinked, appalled at the idea that she'd hire him to murder someone for her. A corporation might have no qualms about doing it, but she never could. "No! I want you to do the exact opposite of that."

  He sighed. "Netta—"

  "You know the area, don't think I've forgotten that, and given the circumstances, I suspect you’re not currently on Corporate Services’ payroll as of fifteen minutes ago. You know, with them trying to kill you." She took a breath, reached up, and wrapped both her hands around his. "Please. I'll offer you double your daily rate to serve as my bodyguard."

  "That doesn't make sense." He started to pull his hands back, and she gripped them tighter. In response his thumb stroked the skin on the inside of her wrist. Hazy memories of his touch from three years before sent traces of warmth to curl along her nerve endings.

  Inconvenient, traitorous nerves. She needed his help, not his half-hearted attempts to send her back to the same people who had been hired to kill her. "There's a CorpServ operative after me. You know this city and have at least some inkling of Corporate Services’ tactics. You’re modified for combat and tactics, and you’re available. You're the best option I've got."

  "You don't even know what my daily rate is."

  "BlueGene paid me a ridiculous salary for my research. I can afford you. Trust me. It's not like I had anywhere to spend it."

  His too-human eyes studied her, leaving her squirming as though he could see through her without any enhancements at all. After a moment, he sighed and dropped his hand. "Fine. You just bought yourself a bodyguard. Come on."

  Three

  Joshi hated running. He hated the sick sense of dread that itched at the base of his neck in anticipation of a bullet that could come at any moment. Or worse, that he’d hear the subsonic crack just as the shot hit Netta. Even thinking it made fear and pain claw in his chest like a panicked animal. Easy to accept that CorpServ had no intention of letting him retire; he refused to let them destroy her chance to get out from under BlueGene’s thumb.

  The attachment didn’t make sense. He tried to warn her away, knowing that whichever target the assassin had come for they’d be easier to find together than if they split up. But she’d ripped off the scars he thought had healed, brought all his regret over abandoning her rushing back to the fore.

  He looked down at the hand gripping his. Too easy by half to remember three years ago, assuaging his guilt by helping a scared woman in a foreign city where she didn't speak the language. Or to remember the warmth of her embrace, the soft fall of her hair in his fingers, and imagine something as stupid as a future.

  That ship has sailed, he reminded himself. You destroy things. You don't protect. You don't comfort. You break. That's all you're good for.

  She kept up well. That much impressed him. He dragged her into a courtyard in between a handful of buildings and paused. Off the streets, he could take five minutes to let her rest and take stock of their situation. Figure out the best place to get her out of trouble.

  Joshi scanned her, telling himself it was to make sure she wasn't hurt in the explosion and not just an excuse to let his eyes roll over her. She had trainers on, so at least she worked in reasonable shoes, rather than following some sense of fashion. Sweat plastered her shirt to her chest and her hair to her scalp, making it too easy to remember how her body looked. How soft her skin felt.

  "Stop staring." She stepped away, patted herself down with both hands, then leaned forward, arms braced against her thighs. "I didn't get hurt." Despite her protestations, she gasped for breath.

  "Take a second to rest. We're moving out again in five minutes. Sooner if he finds us."

  Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "You really think he's still coming."

  "Isn't that why you hired me?" He stuck with the obvious, which was easier to believe than the thought she might want him around for something more than protection.

  "I hired you because I don't know anyone or anything in this city, except for you. Something your corporate masters arranged nicely."

  "Corporate Services pays me. I don’t know where the job is sourced beyond that—it’s what maintains the neutrality." It wasn’t a complete lie. CorpServ may not have said who had initiated the contract, but BlueGene had a representative in the room and had made explicit instruction for how to cut all her ties to the past. "They paid me. Now you do. And that's how we stay alive."

  "Then what do you need me to do? I'm ready." She looked at him again, her features focused, controlled. Not shell-shocked and needy like they had been three years earlier. She believed he'd get them out of this safely. Trusted him. A man could get drunk on that kind of faith.

  A different man. Not the one who ruined her life in the first place.

  Behind her, a white-suited figure stepped into the alley. Too many people around to risk a firefight, which was all that saved them. CorpServ hated having collateral damage. It reflected badly on the agent and the agency.

  His suit had been badly singed, but it hadn't been destroyed. No doubt just as armored as the assassin himself. He stepped to the front of the alley and shook his arms free of the jacket. "You owe me for the suit, Mr. Joshi."

  Joshi took hold of Netta's arm. He'd be faster carrying her than she would be on her feet. Fast enough to reach the streets? Possibly. Hopefully. He caught her gaze and whispered, "Trust me."

  When she nodded, he called back, "Bill me." The he grabbed her and ran.

  They came out of the alley with the killer close behind, faster in the straight line but with the twists and turns of weaving through the crowd, Joshi had the advantage. People didn't stop for the killer. Didn't give him space because they'd grown up without space to give. You had to know the crowds and be able to read them if you wanted to pass through, and Joshi did exactly that. They had opened up a lead by the time they got to the elevated train station.

  He put her down, and they rushed up the stairs hand in hand. Above them, the chime sounded as another train pulled in to the station. He started the timer in his head. Twenty seconds, then their window would close.

  He pushed her in front of him and risked a glance behind them. The other operative had started up the stair rail, his balance compensating for the bad angle and uneven surface. And without people to dodge, he was gaining.

  They wouldn't make it.

  Joshi grabbed Netta around the waist and charged up the last few steps, hurling them both through the train’s open doors. Other passengers yelled at the disruption and interruption. As Joshi stood and turned, the doors closed. The assassin made it to the side of the train just as it started to pull out. Too late to hit the door release.

  They'd made it.

  She leaned against him, and he kept an arm protectively around her, pushed away the rush of thoughts about how she felt next to him. Remembering the way she fit in his arm like she'd been made for it. After a few shaky breaths, she whispered, "Are we safe?"

  Joshi tried not to smile at the naiveté. "Not hardly. We bought ourselves some time. That's all."

  "What now?"

  "Now? We need a place to lay low while I figure out where we're going next. How much cash do you have?"

  Joshi leaned against the hotel room wall with a wince and ignored how badly the plaster bowed under his weight. Typical. Hasty construction with post-disaster funding, while the bulk of the money lined
a corporate pocket somewhere. He tried to ignore the irony; his own job depended on consolidating power with the corporations. He was a foot soldier in the war between them, implicit in their greed.

  “When elephants fight, the grass suffers.” He grumbled and pushed away from the wall with his good arm and crossed to the narrow mirror mounted to the right of the bed. With his shirt off, ugly black and red bruises told the story of his fight with the other operative. The bruise along his ribs had been violent enough he could make out his opponent's ring as well as each finger. The titanium mesh plating in his ribs prevented the broken ends of the bone from sliding apart. It might hurt like hell, but he would heal.

  His hands were a different story. He'd had to choose between armor and mobility when he'd had his upgrades, and he'd chosen the latter. Going one-on-one with the other operative had shredded the skin of his knuckles. His right pinky and ring fingers were twisted out of joint, and if the line of purple ringing his left thumb was any indication, he'd dislocated it and reseated it incorrectly.

  He left his shirt unbuttoned. His hands hurt too damn much to try fighting with the buttons in the first place. Even opening it had been a challenge. Closing it again was out of the question.

  A lightweight, prefabricated wardrobe stood on casters against the wall that separated his room from the doctor's. If it were any less obvious, Joshi might find it amusing, but at the moment he found the hotel owner's hand-waving method of appeasing morality-minded fathers to be an annoyance that he had to push out of the way. Joshi braced his good shoulder against the thin, water-blistered pressboard and shoved. The furniture slid to one side, revealing a single door that opened inward. He clucked his tongue in mock scandal, knocked once as a warning, then pulled open the door.