Battlefield 4: Countdown to War (16 page)

30

‘My cousin will
not
be happy about this,’ said Wu, as he surveyed the damage to the interior of the truck. They had turned down a rough track into the forest to regroup and dispose of the dead guards. The rain had stopped and the fresh damp woodland air smelled almost fragrant.

Kovic was taking deep breaths to clear his system.

‘In Beirut there used to be a guy and his wife who called themselves Crime Scene Steam & Clean. Did great business in the old days.’

‘Yeah, well we’re not in Beirut now.’

The back seat was shredded, and the headlining and sides of the rear doors were splattered with blood and other bodily matter.

‘At least we have the top half of the uniforms. Too bad about the pants, though.’

Kovic had set about digging a shallow grave for the guards with a plumber’s trenching tool. Zhou was struggling to remove the tunic from one of them. Qi, standing further away from the corpses, was fiddling with their radios. He hadn’t spoken since the shooting.

‘Not quite what you expected, huh?’

Qi shrugged. ‘With you I try not to expect anything.’

‘That makes two of us.’

Kovic saw the need for a little empathy. ‘If you decide to bail, I’ll understand.’

Qi nodded, but they both knew that wasn’t an option. This was payback for Kovic’s protection from the long arm of US law.

Zhou was methodically working his way through the guards’ pockets, collecting the contents. He jangled some keys he had found.

‘Must be for the minibus.’

Kovic examined them.

‘Okay. Wu and Zhou, put those tunics and caps on and go get the minibus. I’ll finish dealing with these guys.’

He could see from their expressions how well all this was going down. For him the shooting was simply a means to an end, and a reminder of how far he was prepared to go. For them it had moved the mission into another gear. All three looked at him now.

‘I never said this was going to be fun.’

He also knew he was doing them all a favour by taking charge of the burial.

‘Qi, you go with them. Take the radios, try and figure out a way of jamming their network, something to give us some cover and buy us a bit of time.’

Kovic watched as they piled into the pickup and drove away, leaving him alone in the woods with the dead guards. I wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t come back, he thought, as he hacked at the earth. What a strange job this was, alone in a Chinese forest burying a couple of corpses. And then he remembered he wasn’t actually in a job any more. He wasn’t on anyone’s payroll; he had no idea if his mission would be a success, if indeed Tsu was at home in his mountain lair, or even if he was, whether he would get near him. And even if he succeeded, what would he do after that?

Digging the grave reminded him of the funeral of his mother, an elaborate affair that his father insisted on, way beyond his means, which Kovic had stumped up for, to try and atone for having been such a disappointment to them. They had despaired of his wayward ways, his lack of respect for authority, his tendency to hang out with the wrong sort of crowd. His father’s only ambition for his son had been that he would keep up the family tradition and follow him into the Rouge, Henry Ford’s sprawling factory complex where his dad assured him there would be a job waiting for him. But it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that Detroit’s future was bleak and he wasted no time in joining the exodus that more than halved the city’s population in a couple of decades. His father was in a home now, waiting to die. All he knew about his son was that he was somewhere in China doing government work he couldn’t
understand, let alone brag about to his fellow retirees. Had he failed his father and mother? Was that what he did with all the important people in his life? He had failed Louise; she was the best thing that had ever happened to him and yet he had let her down so many times, and then finally, put her in mortal danger.

Going after Tsu was his chance to make amends, to right some wrongs. Campbell, his predecessor in Shanghai who drank himself out of the job, said that the trouble with the CIA was that most of the work was just a game played out between powers to keep each other’s security services occupied and none of it made a scintilla of difference. Well someone had now broken the rules of the game and Kovic knew he would die rather than lie back and accept the consequences.

31

‘Put the blue light on and step on it. Mrs Chen is waiting for her new bathroom.’

They were in the minibus that Wu and the others had retrieved. It was night and the road was quiet. The atmosphere was lifting now they had left the dead guards behind. It was night and the road was quiet. Qi had wired the guards’ radios to his laptop and was busy on the keyboard.

Kovic caught sight of some images of what looked like parts of very fat people on the screen: naked.

‘What the fuck is
that
?’

‘It’s called “Big Ass Party”,’ explained Qi. ‘Very popular Russian porn. Everyone on their network will stop what they’re doing to watch, no one will have the balls to refer it up, and it’ll postpone any response to our guys’ disappearance.’

Kovic was relieved to see that Qi was back to his old self. He gestured with one of the radios.

‘Also from here on I’ll be able to monitor all their radio traffic, if and when they start to get curious. I can get a fix to within five hundred metres of how close they are.’

‘You’re a genius, Qi. We couldn’t have done this without you.’

Qi shrugged. ‘I never saw anyone get killed before, that’s all.’

‘It gets easier. Whether that’s a good thing—’

Until a few days ago, Kovic had been on a long vacation from killing. But Louise’s death had catapulted him back into business as usual, and reminded him of his true purpose. It felt as if that precious time which had elapsed since Afghanistan and all his other wars had collapsed in on itself. This was the norm; Shanghai and Louise had been an aberration. But he knew that this was the life
he lived for, the sense of danger and uncertainty was something he thrived on, thinking on his feet, making plans on the run, taking risks. He had taken a huge risk confiding in Garrison, and had acquired an unlikely and sceptical sponsor in the form of Hannah, another potentially risky presumption of trust. Around him he had a team whose loyalty he was about to test to the limit. However mad or dangerous it was, this was what he was made for. Live for the moment and let tomorrow look after itself.

They raced through a checkpoint without even slowing down. The guards dealing with a long string of vehicles just looked up and saluted. They were on their way.

32

MSS HQ, Shanghai

Hannah sat at the briefing table in precisely the way she had been trained: hands on the surface, not flat – that was too emphatic – not fists – too aggressive – but somewhere in between, as if holding imaginary tennis balls. Shoulders back as if standing to attention, even when sitting, to show respect. Make no eye contact with the Director even when speaking, yet look focused, concentrating on a space between one and two metres ahead. Feet flat on the floor, legs not crossed – to avoid any body language which could be construed as suggestive.

Fuck this. Fuck this right up the ass. Fuck the boss’s mother and his sister and his philandering bitch wife,
came a voice from somewhere deep in her head.
What am I doing here?

‘Huang Shuyi, I trust that you are thinking constructive thoughts.’

Director Guo Hua-fe paused in his monologue about the current situation and let his cold gaze drift towards Hannah. He wanted her. He should be able to have her. He was her superior after all. Other women on his staff were his for the taking, but they were all lowly clerks. This one was diff erent: an enticing challenge with her American education and confident, individualistic Western ways. All independent thought in women was disturbing; in one with Western influences it could be positively dangerous. Another reason she needed to be tamed.

She snapped to attention.

‘Most assuredly, Director. May I share one with you?’

He waved a hand, which indicated he didn’t much care either way.

‘My proposal, sir, is that the while the police are dealing with the
protesters we should be investigating those forces fomenting the current unrest.’

Guo cocked his head on one side.

‘An interesting suggestion, Agent Huang. What makes you think such “forces”, as you put it, exist?’

He implied by his tone that her suspicion was faintly ridiculous, but he let his eyes linger on her. Hannah felt a cold shudder run through her. He was not an ugly man, but he exuded the institutionalised lack of empathy of one who had seen and done things in the name of his country that had eaten into his humanity; someone who would never feel for anyone but himself. The three agents sitting opposite shared a smile under their bowed heads. She knew they deeply resented her presence, the way she drew attention to herself and poisoned the previously convivial, smug relationship they had enjoyed with their boss, whom they worshipped.

The Director kept his eyes on her as he awaited her reply. Her appointment by all appearances had been his. However, her father’s standing as one of that diminishing number of untainted heroes of the Mao era meant that there was useful political capital to be gained by giving her a role.
Not
to have hired her would in all probability have resulted in some disfavour. But he wanted her to see it as his gift, not her father’s, and therefore something she owed him for. So far she had shown little sign of gratitude. If anything, she seemed bent on causing him problems. She would have to learn her place.

She met his gaze.

‘To quote an old English axiom, Director, there is no smoke without fire.’

She watched for a reaction. Did he even know about the fire at Kovic’s apartment? Did he know what an axiom was? He had passed on the directive to deport him as if it was a shopping list, a trivial task of no significance. Strange, then, that he hadn’t asked her if she had carried it out.

‘Agent Huang, you have spent considerable time outside the country, under the influence of alien value systems.’ He never missed an opportunity to remind her of her time abroad, as if it were some
kind of truancy. ‘You must beware of becoming detached from day to day realities. Do not underestimate the patriotism of the Chinese people.’

‘All I would suggest, sir, is the possibility that reactionary elements may be capitalising on the events on the North Korean border to further undermine Sino–US relations.’

She chose her words carefully, using the same soulless ministry-speak that she had become horribly familiar with. The other agents, seated at the table in identical poses, kept their eyes firmly fixed on their hands. Questioning the Director’s procedure or even his interpretation of events could put you on the fast track to oblivion. But then she was a woman; she didn’t have that much to lose.

The Director looked at her with a disquieting mixture of lust and contempt.

‘And what evidence do you have for these “reactionary elements”, as you describe them?’

The other agents all nodded gravely: how fortunate they were to have such a wise Director.

‘None, sir, which is why I am proposing that we establish if there are any.’

She could feel herself sliding irrevocably back into a void of incoherence, like a car on an icy road with the wrong tyres. At Harvard she had wowed her tutors with her steely insights, and they had hung on her every word as she dismantled the intricate moving parts of China’s governing politburo and laid them out like the pieces of a clock for them to examine.

I have made a terrible mistake,
she thought. I am being anaesthetised by this job. They don’t want my insights or my suggestions. They just want a woman they can humiliate.
And I am powerless to change this. I am trapped.

She blushed at her own frustration. How long could she keep her true feelings to herself? The mistake had been in joining up at all, in letting herself be persuaded by her father. But to have denied him this would have been a rejection of all he stood for, and a personal humiliation tantamount to proof of the deepest ingratitude. If they were an American family . . . but they were not, so why waste
mental energy on futile speculation? Then he had been diagnosed with cancer and given four months to live, so she had abandoned her studies and come home.

‘Harvard was your wish, now it’s my turn to fulfil a wish,’ he had said, and – seeing the longing in his eyes, how could she have refused?

The Director was in full flow again, expounding on the natural tendencies of the simple yet admirably patriotic populace. She knew from experience that these monologues could go on for as long as an hour, as he went on, enraptured by the sound of his own voice – while her life ticked away.

Her father’s intentions had been entirely good, which made it all the more impossible for her to deny him his wish. ‘
The MSS needs new blood, people who have been out in the world. You must enlist,’
he had told her. In fact
he
had done the enlisting before she had even come home. One call to an old comrade and she was on the fast track programme for cadets of exceptional ability – but all of them the off spring of Party high-ups.

And then there was his illness. ‘He’s slipping away,’ her mother had warned. ‘He needs you at his side – he needs you to fulfil your destiny while he can live to see it.’

But that had been two years ago and the General had shown no signs of deterioration. He still walked three miles a day, spent at least one morning a week at the firing range and did the super fiendish Sudoku in eight minutes flat.

‘Your return has lifted him into remission,’
said her mother, and Hannah discovered the unexpected benefit of making her other parent happy as well. When she caught up with her Harvard friends on Facebook – their travels, their engagements, careers starting in Wall Street, London, Hollywood – she replied politely, unable even to admit what she was doing. She knew what they would be thinking, that she’d given in to tradition and gone home to be married off .

Some of the MSS she had enjoyed: weapons training, in which she excelled; the gruelling water and climbing challenges at which she came top in her year, and, of course, languages, at which she
was truly gifted. But the job itself had been stultifyingly boring as all the more demanding assignments were handed out to her male colleagues, with the sons of the most influential cadres getting the plum jobs. She soon realised that a mediocre man had twenty times more chance of getting a promotion – or even just escaping the office – than even the most brilliant woman. This had sharpened her determination to rise up the ranks and prove the system wrong, to get out in the field and grab some of the action – somehow, no matter what it took.

From early childhood, her father had been her mentor, challenging her to stretch herself, not settle for just good enough. Now, whenever she was at home he asked her to read to him – Winston Churchill’s
History of the English Speaking Peoples
. Even being allowed to read such a book would not so long ago have been unimaginable, he reminded her. He understood English well enough but had trouble reading it now his eyes were failing.

‘To fight imperialism you must understand the mind of the imperialist,’
he had told her with a twinkle in his eye, as if to say,
well, that’s my excuse
. He had lived for the Revolution. What was happening today troubled him, but not as much as what he had discovered in his later years about his erstwhile hero, the Great Helmsman. Even when exiled and put to work in a paper mill, inhaling the poisonous wood pulp purifier that would destroy his lungs, he still exalted Mao Zedong as the great leader who had brought the country into the modern age, and rationalised his own period of internal exile as a necessary sacrifice for the cause of progress. When he had been brought out of the cold by Premier Deng and given new duties, he showed no disillusionment with the system that had starved over sixty-five million people, punishing him and millions of others just for having ‘incorrect thoughts’. He simply took up the reins again and rejoined the next stage of the Long March. Hannah admired his stoicism and his resolve, but try as she did to model herself on him, she knew it wasn’t working.

The Director was still talking, enumerating the threats to China in a speech that they all knew off by heart. She looked round the table at the others, their heads bowed in reverence.
Did they all believe this
crap?
Her father had wanted her to experience the world, to know and understand things that had been way beyond his reach in his own youth. But the price of that knowledge was the realisation of how far China had to go if it was to root out the backwardness and corruption that was holding it back. These stupid drones with their BlackBerries and iPhones, thinking they were just like Americans; it wasn’t the machines that mattered, but what you did with them.

Her thoughts turned to Kovic. At first he had infuriated her. Superficially he was just the sort of American she despised: cocky, arrogant, a smart alec know-it-all, showing off his admittedly excellent Mandarin which was, she conceded, almost as good as her English. Worse, he had seen right through her, realised that she knew nothing about the border incident and ridiculed her for not interrogating him about it. The humiliation! She had also been forced to realise how wrong she had got him, how literally she had taken his MSS file that masked what an impressive job he had done of building up a cover as a so-so spook with nothing in his track record to suggest exceptional initiative or draw attention to his ability. What had also surprised her was his reaction to the prospect of deportation, when most Americans she knew always longed to go home. Then his bravery at the fire came as a complete surprise. Rescuing those two women showed a surprising concern for the welfare of others when there was nothing to gain for him personally, not an attitude she had usually associated with either his nationality or his profession. Finally, there was the terrible discovery in his own property of the remains of his girlfriend. His barely concealed grief and his passion for revenge had been completely unexpected – almost as unexpected as her own response to his plea to stay. Dare she examine her motives for that? This was treachery on her part to help an agent of a power seen increasingly as hostile . . . She blushed again at the shock of what she had done.

But as quickly as this thought came, another overtook it. Had she been tricked? After all, his own people had registered no objection to his deportation. Was he just a rogue element, a menace to both countries who had pulled the wool over her eyes?

She came back to consciousness. The agent sitting opposite was complimenting the Director on his speech.

‘What very perceptive insights you have given us into the situation, sir.’

Kiss-ass
. She glanced at the Director who was basking in the praise like some moronic pet who would no doubt beg at the feet of his own bosses for a morsel of approval. The others round the table began to clap. She had no choice but to join in.

Kiss-ass was emboldened by this. ‘Perhaps, sir,’ he ventured, ‘the appearance of Jin Jié on TV tonight will provide some balance to our appraisal of the situation.’

Immediately the Director frowned. The agent went bright red, aghast that he might have displeased his superior. Hannah smiled to herself. At least she wasn’t the only one in the room to feel ostracised. But the feeling was short-lived.

He turned to her.

‘Agent Huang, since you are so interested in investigating the “forces behind”, perhaps you could give us an insight into who is “behind” this individual?’

That she knew Jin Jié was no secret. They had met at Harvard and a Chinese gossip magazine had recently unearthed a photo of them together at a fraternity ball: ‘General’s daughter dates golden boy’ was the headline. In Europe or America that would have been seen as a normal acquaintance; in China it was suspect, and for the woman – always for the woman – an excuse to denigrate her.

The Director started to laugh, and right on cue so did the other men in the room. She looked from one to the other and then finally at him. She would find a way to shut them up.