Battlefield 4: Countdown to War (9 page)

13

Huangpu District, Shanghai

Kovic slid the wad of chewing gum out of its packet and positioned it in his cheek, taking care not to bite on the micro-receiver inside it. As the elevator propelled them up to the eighty-eighth floor he felt the nausea rising. Either it was the altitude or the prospect of an audience with Victor Vaughan.

British by birth, playboy by nature, Victor Vaughan was in a Hong Kong jail by the age of twenty-six, his family inheritance squandered on a casino in Macau, which also made him an enemy of the triads, not bad for a waster with no discernible skills. All he had left was his inexhaustible British public school charm, and it carried him a long way. He befriended the cop who arrested him, Jack Parnham, a corrupt ex-South African Special Forces tough, and when Hong Kong was handed back to China they teamed up, moved to Shanghai and opened up a combined public relations and private security outfit, using Vaughan’s British charm and manners and Parnham’s muscle to schmooze the city’s new rich. When their client list expanded to take in politicians, Kovic, then still new to Shanghai, took an interest. Parnham was easy: he fell for the gorgeous field agent Kovic had put on to him, who copied his SIM card, before both of them were unexpectedly murdered, poisoned by a vengeful girlfriend. So Kovic turned his attention to Vaughan, but there were two problems. One was the impenetrable, military-strength security that shielded his database. And the other was that his preferred bed-mates were young and male. The CIA’s prudish streak meant it didn’t run to bankrolling rent boys. Undeterred, Kovic decided to make a direct approach. If he couldn’t hack him, he’d recruit him. With that kind of sexual preference as leverage, it shouldn’t be hard.

Vaughan seemed only too happy to be wined and dined and listened patiently as Kovic laid out the tempting opportunities afforded by an association with the CIA. Eventually he leaned across the table.

‘All very nice, but you’ve overlooked one thing, dear boy. Who needs America? You’re not even on my dance card. This is China’s century. The Yanks have got nothing I want.’

To make sure Kovic had got the message, that night his apartment was turned over by the Ministry of State Security. Evidently Vaughan’s connections were even better than he had imagined.

The lift whispered to a halt and deposited them on the highly auspicious eighty-eighth floor. Kovic paused to take in the view in all its smog infused, high-rise glory. Perhaps Vaughan had been right, what did China need from America?

Down one side of the lobby was a floor to ceiling fish tank stocked with patrolling koi. A pair of antique Fu dogs stood sentry either side of the entrance. Despite the plush surroundings there was nothing subtle about the security. A pair of lumbering Mongolian wrestler-types stood guard. Genghis Khan believed wrestling kept his army combat ready. All these guys looked ready for was a nap.

Two women in black sheath dresses with identically swept back hair appeared and directed them to airport security-style trays to deposit all metal objects and then through an X-ray arch.

Kovic smirked at Wu.

‘Welcome to Hogwarts.’

They waved detector wands over them.

‘Sure you shouldn’t be doing a more intimate search?’

There was no reaction. Wu also remained stone-faced, glaring at the wrestlers like a perturbed undertaker measuring them for coffins. The wand pinged as it passed Kovic’s face. He bared his gold tooth.

At a vast marble desk a red-haired European woman frowned at Kovic’s scarred face.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Kovic, Mr Vaughan is in conference.’

‘Tell him I’ll wait – no, give him this.’

He took out the flier Wu had collected from People’s Square, and on the photograph of the dead men in the jeep, drew a circle round the empty driver’s seat and wrote
Kovic was here.

‘Pass him this if you would? Thank you. Then I imagine he’ll find he’s available.’

They were shown into an inner office containing a pair of pale blue leather sofas. The heavies lumbered behind, shooting their cuffs like they’d seen in the movies. Kovic sat, took out his chewed gum and flicked it into a plant pot.

After a minute the double doors opened and Vaughan appeared, fleshier than Kovic remembered, in a five thousand dollar navy chalk-stripe suit with matching pink tie and pocket handkerchief. The man had certainly gone up in the world. He glided towards them; in his hand was the flier, on his face a bemused smile.

‘Agent Kovic, how delightful.’ Kovic didn’t get up. Vaughan put out his hand. Kovic kept his clamped together in his lap.

‘Seems you’ve moved into contract killing.’

Vaughan oozed a thin smile. ‘Really, I haven’t the foggiest what you’re on about.’

‘Yes you do, otherwise you wouldn’t have bothered to see me. Nice artwork, Vaughan. Lot of trouble you went to rearranging the dead, mixing in a few Chinese, putting them in the jeep. Too bad one of us slipped past your executioners.’

Vaughan let out a cross between a cough and a guffaw and glanced at his minders who dutifully snorted in unison.

‘If you’re looking for a scapegoat for your country’s latest – faux pas—’ He shook his head in mock dismay.

‘Who’s the client?’

‘Ha, ha. I’m sure you’ll understand it’s certainly not company policy to reveal the identity of any client.’

The smugness of the Brit pervert riled Kovic. He wanted to stomp all over his balls and then he and Wu could make fools of the tough guys when they piled in. That sounded fun, but there’d still be the little matter of getting out of the building. Someone
on the front desk would no doubt press an alarm and all the elevators would stop. And by the time they got anywhere near the ground floor the cops would be swarming in. He glanced at the heavies. One folded his arms, exposing his meaty hands. A mark on the back of one of them stirred Kovic’s memory. He glanced at Wu to check if he had noticed but his attention was all on Vaughan.

Kovic got to his feet. He put his face close to Vaughan’s.

‘Here’s what’s going to happen, Victor. Not now, but very soon, you’ll find yourself telling me all you know about this.’ He flicked the flier in Vaughan’s hand.

The Brit was still on his high horse. ‘Are you sure your work hasn’t gone to your head?’

‘I’m not here on behalf of the US Government. I’m here for the men in that jeep. And their families. And I’ll be back, I guarantee it.’

There was an intensity in Kovic’s look that left Vaughan in no doubt that he meant it. Kovic turned and exited through the narrow gap between the heavies, Wu following.

The receiver in the gum would work for about twelve hours. It would search for all Wi-Fi signals within a fifty-metre radius, lock on to them and suck up all texts and emails incoming and outgoing to all devices in its range. Then, as its power waned, it would spit the whole lot out in one info-burst before it died, its work done. That was
if
it worked. The Chinese were in another league when it came to the design of espionage micro technology, but they charged a fortune for it and the kit wasn’t always as reliable as its salesmen promised.

In the elevator down two women were discussing a new kind of Botox that had caused a friend’s skin to go like orange peel. They stopped talking when they saw Kovic’s face. The elevator stopped at the forty-second floor and a thickset man got in. Kovic clocked the micro-receiver screwed into his left ear. On the back of his hand, three tattooed snakeheads peeped out of his cuff, their necks joined to form a trident. Kovic looked away, then back. His pulse quickened. Where had he seen something like that before? Kovic glanced
at Wu and quickly back to the hand so he followed his gaze. Wu nodded almost imperceptibly. The man was a different shape but there was no question where he had seen the tattoo – on the back of the assassin’s hand.

14

When they got out into the lobby the earpiece man peeled off and disappeared through a fire exit. Kovic could see his lips moving and had a feeling that they hadn’t seen the last of him and his snake-headed trident. They carried on out the building and down the broad concourse that led to the steps down to the public garage where Wu’s X6 was parked.

‘Hey, Jake, how’s it hangin’?’

A florid American who knew Kovic by his Shenzhen alias, financial analyst Jake Coulter, shouted and waved across the throng moving into and out of the building, as if hailing him from a passing vessel. He was another one like Cutler, travelling the world in an American bubble, with loud exuberant movements that stood out awkwardly. Kovic raised a hand and kept moving, but noticed a young Chinese spat on the ground in his path.

Kovic touched Wu’s arm before he could retaliate.

‘It’s cool. Leave it.’

Kovic focused on the throng, his eyes sweeping the sea of people in their path for pursuers. He crouched down and pretended to retie his shoelaces, then abruptly changed direction as they reached the sidewalk. To their left a man slowed then quickened his pace. How many more were there? He changed direction and Wu followed as they neared the two entrances to the car park, a ramp and some stairs. He weighed up abandoning the car and getting into a cab – anonymity versus mobility – and decided on the car. The right call? They would soon know.

Wu fired up the X6 and moved out of the space toward the exit ramp. An Audi pulled out in front of them and the driver leaned out and fed a ticket into the barrier. Then a second car, a
Corolla, drew up behind them. The barrier lifted and the Audi moved forward. The barrier came down again. Wu went forward and fed his ticket in, but the barrier didn’t open. The Audi’s reverse lights came on. They were sandwiched between the Audi and the Corolla.

‘Go! Go!’ Kovic yelled.

Wu looked at him, pained.

‘I’ll buy you a new bumper.’

Wu’s face was full of anguish as his sense of duty struggled with his passion. Duty won, and he stood on the gas. The X6 shot forward through the barrier and slammed into the Audi, sending up a spray of splintered plastic. Wu kept his foot down and the transmission screamed in protest as they ploughed the Audi up the rest of the ramp, slewing it sideways. There was a narrow gap between the car and the Armco that lined the ramp.

‘Go for it.’

‘It won’t fit!’

‘Just do it.’

Kovic’s first thought was that this was a hijacking, but it was soon clear they weren’t bothered about taking him alive. The rear windscreen exploded, blasted by bullets from the Corolla behind. The X6 let out a graunching screech of protest as it forced its way between the Audi and the corrugated barrier. They roared up the ramp, bouncing over a speed bump, into daylight.

‘Okay, I’ll buy you a new car. Just keep going.’

‘Where to?’

‘I dunno – anywhere.’

Kovic tipped the rear-view mirror towards him and eyed the scene behind just as one of the Audi’s doors flew open and the driver reached out to take aim with a suppressed QSZ-92 pistol, the Corolla helpfully slamming a door on his arm as it tried to follow. Kovic smiled; there was nothing like one bad guy fucking up another for you to help out. But he knew it had brought them only temporary respite. What was clear was that these guys had no fear upsetting the authorities or causing chaos, as if they had their own licence to cause mayhem.

Kovic thought he saw tears in Wu’s eyes.

‘I have this car three weeks.’

‘I have
had
. Think about your grammar.’

‘I’m thinking about my car!’

‘Well then, think about your ass instead.’

The street was one way, the traffic solid, but the bus lane was clear. Wu, clearly resigned to more damage, swung left against the flow, scattering oncoming mopeds like skittles. He tore down the lane to the next junction and turned left into a narrow street, cutting a path through slow moving vans and bikes, horn blaring. A man with a ladder chose this moment to cross the road. The X6 clipped the back end, which swung the ladder 180 degrees, knocking a cyclist out of his saddle.

The cross street at the end was also choked with vehicles and the Corolla had caught up. Wu’s survival imperative had kicked in; he forced his way between two cars, grazing both. The opposite lane was moving, so why not use that?

‘Good job I disabled the Active Cruise Control,’ said Wu as he turned into the oncoming traffic.

‘Why?’ Kovic asked. He thought he should humour him.

‘It slows it down when the sensors detect a slower or stationary car ahead to maintain a safe distance from the vehicle in front.’

They found a clear path. Wu floored it.

‘Okay, take the wheel!’ he yelled, as he dived between the seats and reached into the custom-made compartment under the back seat that contained his guns. The lid was stuck.

‘Step on it!’ yelled Kovic.

As Wu struggled to get at the weapons, Kovic veered in and out of the oncoming cars, horns blaring as drivers dived for cover.

‘Brake!’

Wu obliged. Kovic veered across the central reservation as a space opened up to the left of a bus then back again. The jolt tossed Wu back into his seat, the gun now in his hand. He threw it into Kovic’s lap and took back the wheel just in time to wrench them out of the way of a wrecker towing a stricken van.

‘Good work.’ It was the Sig Sauer P226 Kovic had given him as
a present but which he had yet to use. Guns hadn’t come into their work in Shanghai – until now.

The sky, which was an angry grey, now split with a scrawl of lightning and as the crash of thunder broke over them the rain slanted down, melting the view ahead into an indecipherable blur of colours. Wu hit the wipers just as the screen exploded, showering them with glass and pink plastic boots. The people mover they had rear-ended had deposited the contents of its roof rack on to them. The wipers continued their ungainly dance as they swept thin air.

‘The fuck?’

‘This is so not our day.’

This time the hood of the X6 had broken free of its clips and sprang up like a shield, a second later it was perforated with holes.

Times like this I’d like nothing better than to have my feet up by a log fire and settle into a good book, thought Kovic.
Why does my head do this to me just when I need it most?

‘If it’s not one thing—’

But Wu was in full survival mode now, long past protesting at the desecration of his until very recently immaculate vehicle. He slammed the shift into reverse, Kovic doubling up with the sudden surge of Gs, mesmerised by his partner’s capacity for contortion as he observed him speeding backwards, two hands still on the wheel, but his torso almost facing the rear. He made a mental note to do some yoga when he had a spare moment.

‘You see where those bullets came from?’

He needn’t have asked. A bike drew level with them and blew out the side window, Kovic sensing the air parting as a bullet shot past his nose. He lifted Wu’s Sig, aimed, and the biker gunman was no more, but less than a second later another bullet shot the Sig clean out of his hand.

Wu threw the wheel to the right and they ninety-ed into a narrow street taken up almost entirely by a garbage truck. There was no way out. The Corolla Kovic thought they had shaken off magically reappeared behind them. Wu slammed to a halt and the hood flopped back down in time to reveal another biker coming
towards them from the other side of the garbage truck, the pillion rider taking aim.

‘Abandon ship!’

Kovic threw himself out and came to rest on the drenched sidewalk at the feet of an elderly lady. Her mouth made a perfect O.

‘Excuse me, madam. Bad day.’

He scrambled up and disappeared into a completely dark alleyway. He hoped it would lead somewhere. It didn’t. The sound of the motorbike ricocheted off the walls as it followed him in. He hurtled through a doorway and up a flight of stairs into a workshop full of women at sewing machines and giant rolls of cloth. The women stopped and gazed at him without expression. He could hear the clatter of feet on the stairs. He took the next flight, across a room strewn with toys and small children, a nursery for the workers. There were no more floors after that so he slid open a window and looked down into the alley. A ledge ran beneath the windows to the end of the building where there was a drainpipe. It looked fragile, but several cables ran alongside it up to the roof, and there weren’t any other options. He gripped the top of the window, let himself out and inched along the ledge to the pipe just as his pursuer put his head out of the window. Kovic kicked as hard as he could manage in the tight space and hit the guy’s face, unfortunately not quite hard enough, as he snatched at Kovic’s foot. He lost his balance. As he slipped he grasped at the cables – they would either hold him or snap . . . and that would be that. They held, but sliced into his palm. He grabbed with his other hand, swung his foot again and smacked the weapon out of the guy’s hand. It clattered on to the paving below. But the movement swung him away from the drainpipe, turning it into a giant pendulum. Several people below were shouting up at him now. He used the pendulum’s momentum to swing himself to the window ledge of the neighbouring building, where two teenage boys in aprons were craning their necks out to watch, delighted with the show. A huge bald man loomed up behind them and slapped their heads just as Kovic’s feet arrived on the ledge.

‘Mind if I come in?’ was all he could think of saying as he landed
on the floor of their workshop like a beached marlin. The bald man attempted to stop him getting up, threatening him with a long pole. Kovic wrenched it out of his grip.

‘Just let me get to the roof okay and I’ll be out of your hair.’

One of the boys behind motioned at the skylight that the pole was used for opening. All he needed was a leg up. At the same moment there was a crash of glass as a window exploded inwards and his pursuer appeared inches from him. Kovic rammed the pole into his chest and put him on the floor, a specimen pinned for display.

He saw a second skylight, with a stove beneath it. He vaulted on to it, hit the window with his fist and lifted himself through. The fresh air was wondrous after the thick gluey fug of the workshop and the tickling rain refreshingly welcome. He scrabbled across a few rooftops to the end of the row and looked down into the street. There was no sign of Wu. He lifted himself over a parapet and found himself in a rooftop garden, filled with pot plants and green plastic turf covered in fresh dog shit. Suddenly the rooftop thundered with the vibration of something heading towards him – a roaring, growling, squat muscular dog at a ferocious gallop. Kovic fell back and saw the dog abruptly arc into the air as it was wrenched up and back by its chain. He scrambled to his feet and moved wide of the leaping dog which was on its hind legs, its bark strained by the choke chain. Kovic mounted the parapet and worked his way round to where the chain was anchored, the dog following him leaping and snapping at his feet. It got his boot in its mouth and tore it off which distracted it just long enough for Kovic to reach the door next to the chain post. The dog paused, undecided between the whole human and the boot. The bike guy then dropped on to the turf, beyond the reach of the dog, giving Kovic his chance. He jumped down and unclipped the leash. The dog leapt on the biker and they rolled over together until the dog gave out a squealing whimper and fell into a heap as the biker pulled a long bloodied blade from its neck.

Kovic was through the doors now and flying down the stairs, past a roomful of vacuum cleaners, in the middle of which a man and woman stooped over one, as if performing resuscitation.

‘Emergency exit?’

The man nodded at a large aperture in the back of the room with a cargo jib for hoisting stuff up from the street. Kovic looked out. The alley was strung with washing lines, a few damp items that hadn’t been taken in before the rain. Below them, several pig carcasses hung from hooks, a bucket under each to collect the remaining drips. From behind them came the sound of chopping, and to the right was a dumpster from which came a rhythmic hissing, like a miniature steam engine. He could just make out a crouching figure beneath it, his shirt bloodied. To his left, two men were coming up the alley. They had seen the croucher; it was Wu, hiding, gasping for breath.

‘Hey! Guys! Up here,’ Kovic yelled down at them.

They both looked up. The adrenalin surged through him, the aches and pains from the border incident anaesthetised. He was pumped, ready to take on the world, and in this mode he knew he was also apt to do stupid things. But what else was there to do?

He flung himself off the ledge and dived towards the lead guy, who broke his fall. Kovic went blank for a few seconds, coming to just in time to roll out of the way of a blade that swept down towards his eyes. Wu emerged from behind the dumpster. He was limping, wounded and exhausted. The second man was on him. Kovic summoned another burst of energy and lunged at the knifeman. They both collapsed on Wu. Kovic scrambled for the knifeman’s arm, wondering when the other guy was going to run him through. He looked round to see a rotund man coming out from the rear of the butcher’s with a basin full of animal parts. Knifeman two crashed into him and they both tumbled, spilling the meat and bone over the cobbles. Furious, the knifeman slashed out at the rotund man as he rose and a great red fissure opened up in his vest as he sank to his knees. The sheer wanton senselessness of this filled Kovic with fury. He snapped knifeman one’s wrist backwards and wrenched the weapon out of his flailing hand. It clattered on the ground. Wu seized it, as Kovic kicked his remaining boot into the ex-knifeman’s face. Knifeman two bore down on them. Kovic could see the poor butcher clutching his guts as he rocked forward and fell face first into a puddle. He dodged the knife and smashed his forehead into
the knifeman’s nose. He staggered back, still slicing the air with the blade. Kovic kicked him in the chest but lost his balance, his feet sucked from under him by some slimy offal underfoot, and he was down on his back, the knifeman on top of him. Wu sprang on to him but the knifeman, wild with rage, flung him off. The blade bore down towards Kovic’s face, quivering a couple of inches above his eyes. Evidently his assailant wanted to savour the moment. This was Kovic’s chance. He found the feeling in his arms and clamped his hands round the knifeman’s. For a long half minute the knifeman fought to drive the blade into Kovic’s face while Kovic tried to force it upward and away from him. He could see the lethal intent in the other man’s eyes as they fought for control of the weapon.