Battlefield 4: Countdown to War (12 page)

20

Hotel Majesty Plaza, Shanghai

Hannah refilled the glass. The Scotch seared his throat, then dulled the throbbing a little. Rage and remorse jockeyed for control of him.

He had let her escort him away. At first he had resisted, giving her the brunt of his rage at the horrific sight of Louise’s remains. But all his strength and the will to resist had ebbed away.

‘She always slept curled up right under the duvet. They must have shot first and not even bothered to check who was under.’

‘Did she know about your work?’

He shook his head. ‘But it was getting to be a problem, the sudden disappearances, changes of plan. It couldn’t have lasted; things were coming to a head. She deserved better.’

Each of them had known the other had stuff they didn’t want to unload. Louise was a fugitive from an unhappy life in London. Once in an idle moment, Kovic had started to run a character check on her. Langley demanded that ‘significant others’ were all vetted and declared. He was equipped to retrieve every email, all her phone history, every search she had made. But then he stopped; instead he submitted a whole load of data harvested from a stranger who roughly fitted her profile. She would choose when to tell him stuff, when she was good and ready. But now that would never happen. His life with her had existed in a compartment all of its own, completely separate from his work. Now one had spilled over into the other in the most lethal way.

Hannah, respectful of his grief, avoided eye contact.

‘I am sorry for your loss and after your courage saving the two women—’

He cut her off with a wave of his hand.

She had taken him to a hotel and got a room for him where
he could shower. She sent one of the suits to get him some new clothes; his own were smeared with soot and stank of smoke. When he was cleaned up, instead of continuing the journey to the airport, she took him to the hotel bar. The goons were gone.

‘I can’t keep up. Few hours ago you were smacking me about, now I feel like I’m on some kind of . . . date. Is this a new MSS tactic?’

She was very still. The shrill patriot-dominatrix had been replaced by a more sombre persona.

‘I am very sorry about your friend. Do you know who might have started the fire?’

He pulled a paper napkin towards him and made a sketch of the snakehead trident tattoo.

‘Mean anything to you?’

She stared at it blankly.

‘Why should it?

‘You don’t know Shanghai, do you?’

‘It’s where I live and work.’

‘Yes, but you don’t
know
Shanghai. It has many layers. This is a tattoo.’

She shrugged. ‘We don’t deal with gangsters; that’s for the police.’

‘But you’re dealing with me.’

‘You are a spy and therefore under my jurisdiction, even though you appear to be involved with criminal gangs.’

‘In my world there’s a fine distinction between involvement and running for your life.’

She was silent for some time, looking down into her Coke.

‘You sure you don’t want any Scotch?’

She shook her head, lost in thought. He stared at her until she met his eyes.

‘Here’s what I think you’re thinking: behind all that righteous indignation about what I was saying being such a terrible slur on your proud Ministry et cetera, you’re thinking – what’s this guy on about? He’s got no reason to be making this stuff up. Maybe he’s on to something. Maybe he knows stuff I could do with knowing too, which could further my career.’

She showed no reaction to this, so he pressed on.

‘You and I, we both want the same thing: stability and harmony between our countries. Without that the whole world suffers. China’s come a long way since the Cultural Revolution. All those intellectuals, denounced by their own students, then sent out to break rocks to make them better Communists, that’s all in the past. China’s relationship with America is crucial to the future – and someone’s trying to throw a wrench into it.’

Again, no reaction, but she was listening. He pressed on. ‘We barely know each other – we’ve only just met. I guess in the MSS manual of how to deal with degenerate foreign spies, rule one is to deport them, ship them home, but that doesn’t alter the fact that things are happening here which you appear not to even know about – which frankly doesn’t say much for the state of your Ministry of State Security.’

‘Why should I believe you?’

He gave her his version of the incident on the border. She was dismissive.

‘An example of foolish imperialist aggression, typical of the arrogance of your leaders. China would never involve itself in such a mission.’

Kovic sighed. ‘Ah, don’t go all Little Red Book on me, just when we’re starting to get along.’

‘Why would they shoot the others and not you?’

‘They didn’t see me.’

‘You’re invisible?’

‘I was under the snow. Look, this was billed as a joint mission, mounted from Chinese territory. I witnessed, with my own eyes, wounded suffering Americans pleading for their lives. Shot in the snow like dogs. By people from your side.’

‘How do you expect me to believe any of this?’

‘Take out your phone. Check out the border photos.’

She found the image that had been on the flier.

‘This is supposed to have been taken on the North Korean side. See the flag; it’s hanging westward so the wind is in the east. If you check the weather records for the last three days the wind had been
coming from the west. That photo is taken on the Chinese side of the border. Someone in China set this up.’

She was silent, absorbing what he had told her.

He moved his glass to one side, put his elbows on the table and leaned forward.

‘Whoever murdered Louise almost certainly thinks they killed me. They don’t know they screwed up. You could put me on a plane home and wash your hands of me. But how are you ever going to find out the truth? And I’m never going to get to the bottom of who killed Louise. You saw her remains. I know you’re a compassionate person because I know what you went through to help your friend in Cambridge. I go home tomorrow and you’re going to be left sitting here, wondering what the hell just happened. And I’ll bet your masters are going to want to bury this, just as mine do.’

Her eyes narrowed.

‘What are you suggesting?’

He downed the contents of the glass.

‘Don’t send me home. Declare me dead. Let the CIA think I’m gone too. You’ve said yourself they’ll probably be glad to be rid of me. Let me find out who did this and I’ll share it all with you, whatever I discover.’

She looked at him, incredulous. Her mouth tightened so that her lips almost disappeared, her head slightly lowered.

‘You’re asking me to recruit – you?’

His pulse raced. Into the pause he poured all his hope.

‘What makes you think I would trust you?’

‘My bosses just cut me loose. They don’t want me hanging around. Sending me home – you’re doing
them
a favour. Why does Cutler want rid of me? Because I’m an embarrassment, because I don’t toe the line, because he’s probably sharp enough to know that if I stay, I won’t sit by and pretend what I saw never happened.

‘I thought most Americans hated China.’

‘I’m not most Americans.’

At that moment there was a commotion at the entrance to the bar. A crowd of excited people thronged around a young man. Kovic saw Hannah’s eyes widen a fraction then look away.

‘Friend of yours?’

It was Jin Jié, the returning superstar that Wu had got all excited about on the TV in the bar. He was surrounded by bodyguards, but they weren’t doing much to beat back his admirers who were either trying to photograph him with their phones or thrusting paper and pens at him for autographs. He paused, so they could all get what they wanted, and politely bade them farewell, then, seeing Hannah, detached himself from his companions and strode towards the table, arms wide.

‘Hello, stranger.’

He beamed down at Hannah who could no longer ignore him. She smiled back – her face completely altered. She rose slightly. He pecked her on the cheek and she blushed.

His broad grin made him look even younger. He exuded vitality and youth, all of which made Kovic feel even more battered and tired. He bent, took Hannah’s hand and kissed it, then turned to Kovic, expecting to be introduced but Hannah hesitated. Kovic put out his hand. ‘Congratulations on the success of your book.’

‘Why thank you,’ Jin practically genuflected at the compliment, taking his hand and shaking his hand vigorously. Boy, could he exude enthusiasm.

‘Seems like the timing of your return is most auspicious.’

He smiled. ‘How so?’

‘With this trouble between our two countries, maybe you can be a corrective.’

He nodded, digesting Kovic’s words.

‘Thanks – I’ll give it some thought.’

He turned to Hannah. ‘Don’t disappear now I’m home. We’ve got so much to catch up on.’

They watched him go back to his crowd.

Kovic lifted his glass. ‘The West loves him; that must piss off a few people here.’

She didn’t respond.

‘Good friend of yours? Bit high profile – thought you people preferred to creep about in the shadows.’

She looked a little sheepish.

‘It is important to maintain contact with a broad spectrum of individuals.’

‘That what it says in the manual? Then I’m honoured to be in such celebrated company.’

She fixed him with a firm glare. ‘How will you manage?’

‘I can call in some favours. Plus I’ve put a bit by in case of emergencies.’

She let out a deep sigh. ‘I know I’m going to regret this.’

‘We got a deal?’

‘Bring me names. You have forty-eight hours.’

He put the last bit from the bottle into her glass.

‘Let’s drink to that.’

She got up.

‘Better get started, don’t you think?’

21

USS
Valkyrie
– South China Sea

The rain lashed the deck, cutting visibility to no more than fifty feet. Beyond, the grey sea was completely obscured by the downpour. Garrison was waiting. He wanted to be there in person when the Sea Hawk made its descent. Above all he wanted the crew to see him out and about, on the case. This was no time to hide.

He heard the helo circling before it came into view. It hovered, the blades feathering before it dropped on to the apron in front of the control tower. The door opened. He knew CIA people came in all shapes and sizes. Just the way he descended the steps, cautiously, shielding his head from the rain, it was clear that Cutler wasn’t a field man. The briefcase said it all.

Garrison took Cutler’s arm and steered him to the stairs and straight up to his private suite where they could be alone. He would have preferred the formality of the command room and a table between them in case he needed to bang his fist on something – in the circumstances a distinct possibility – but all the systems were down and he didn’t want to draw attention to it with a bank of blank screens.

Even so, Cutler was aware. ‘Too bad about the glitch,’ he said, as he shook off his damp raincoat.

Garrison shrugged. ‘We should have it back up in a few hours.’

He handed him a coffee. In fact, he had no idea how long it would take. He needed to change the subject.

‘It’s good of you to make the trip.’

Garrison was genuinely surprised that Cutler had chosen to fly in personally. Agency people usually preferred to communicate electronically. Perhaps he felt some personally delivered TLC was necessary.

‘The least I could do, under the circumstances.’

Cutler glanced around the room as if checking for microphones.

‘I thought it best if we spoke privately.’

Garrison sat back as Cutler launched in.

‘There’s no getting around it. We fucked up bad.’

The novelty of hearing someone take responsibility almost put Garrison in shock, but he kept his face free of amazement; he’d had years of practice.

‘Beijing and Washington are both putting a brave face on it but there’s no question this is a game-changer.’

‘Meaning?’

Cutler looked faintly irritated.

‘The fallout! The Chinese people don’t seem to like us as much as some of us thought.’

Cutler spread his hands as if carrying a giant tray.

Garrison reached for his coffee.

‘So, how did you get it so wrong?’

Just because the guy was grovelling didn’t mean he was going to get an easy ride.

Cutler took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

‘I know this name has – uh, troubled you, before.’

Garrison sighed.

‘Kovic.’

‘If I’d had the slightest idea—’

The commander wafted his contrition away.

‘That’s in the past; let’s concentrate on what just happened.’

Cutler sighed.

‘The guy’s been in-country six years. That’s a long tour. Kind of plays with your perspective.’

Garrison looked at him for a while, then leaned forward.

‘So let me get this right. You’re saying—’

‘Obviously I can only say so much, you’ll understand.’

‘He wasn’t in the photographs.’

Cutler looked away, as if there was something he couldn’t find the words for.

‘Yeah, he survived.’

Garrison stiffened.

‘You’re saying he was complicit? Where is he now?’

Cutler’s expression was grave.

‘Well, he got back to Shanghai but – it seems it was all too much for him.’

‘How so?’

‘Looks like he chose to end it all.’ Cutler stared into the distance, chewing his lips. ‘In his residence, if you can call it that. Set fire to the place. I’d seen him that morning, told him I was standing him down, pending inquiries. And the Chinese wanted him out of the country. I think that was likely the last straw. Maybe what with everything that haunted him . . .’

He shot a meaningful glance at Garrison. ‘. . . it had all got too much to handle.’

‘Son of a bitch.’

Garrison sat back and digested the news. What did he feel? Quiet satisfaction? No, nothing like that. A sense of justice having been done? That wasn’t it either. Blankness – he just felt blank.

He studied Cutler’s face.

‘So can you take me through what actually happened? I don’t want to be giving those Marines’ families any bull.’

‘We’re working on the detail of it now. But without Kovic’s input . . .’

His demeanour suddenly changed.

‘But Commander, you have my word we will keep you in the loop. Whatever we come up with. But right now we’ve got one hell of a shitstorm coming our way: Shanghai’s going crazy, protests against America; Beijing doesn’t know which way to turn.’

He glanced at his watch.

‘I want to thank you, Commander, for giving up the time to hear me out.’

He got to his feet. Garrison rose too.

‘Well, I appreciate your taking the trouble to come all this way just to brief me – especially at this difficult time.’

They shook hands. Garrison saw him back to the Sea Hawk. Cutler used his briefcase to cover his head as he mounted the steps.
He gave the Commander a sort of apologetic salute as the door closed behind him.

Garrison watched the helicopter rise into the cloud and disappear. He stood there staring into the clouds. Whenever he was in conversation with Agency people Garrison could never shake the feeling that he was being played. Cutler had done all the right things, the personal visit, the admission, the contrition. But something else was going on, something he couldn’t put his finger on.