by Adam Hamdy
He suddenly felt himself falling, and collided with something.
‘Oh, Kyle,’ Esther said. ‘It’s over.’
Wollerton woke from the dream to find himself on the living-room floor of the Qingdao apartment. Everything was muffled and distant, as though life had been forced into a bottle that had been thrown far out to sea. He registered the trunks of trees – no – legs, many of them, all around his head. Then he was flying – not flying – being carried through the apartment. There were voices around him, but he couldn’t make sense of the confusing jumble of words. The room spun with the enthusiasm of a cavorting drunk, but Wollerton didn’t understand; he hadn’t had a drop since they’d arrived in . . . he couldn’t remember where he was, and felt rising panic as he realized he wasn’t himself. He’d lost his mind. He strained against the hands that held him, but he was weak.
He heard another voice and still couldn’t make any sense of the words. A face filled his vision.
Then a fist sent him back to his dreams.
Chapter 44
Wollerton became aware of the rolling first, then a gentle bounce. He had a pounding headache and every millimetre of his body felt heavy and sore. His first conscious thought was of his children, Freya and Luke, and he was gripped by the sudden fear he might never see them again. They’d been his world and he’d let them be taken away too easily. He opened his eyes, which burned at the slightest light. Thankfully there wasn’t much, but it still took a moment for them to adjust to his surroundings. He made out a shoe, which was attached to a leg. Wollerton looked up to see a Chinese man on a bench seat. The man was talking to another who sat next to him. Both men wore jeans, hoodies and heavy boots, and the scars on their hands and faces told Wollerton they were fighters. He was lying in the foetal position in the cargo section of a large van. He sensed at least one other person behind him, but didn’t turn for fear of alerting the men to the fact he was awake. He tested his arms and discovered they’d been bound in front of him. His feet didn’t seem to have been tied, perhaps to make him easier to move. It was an elementary mistake; never choose convenience over security, particularly when dealing with a dangerous captive. But there was no reason to think these men knew how dangerous he really was, or perhaps they had simply overestimated their own capabilities. Either way, they would pay the price.
Wollerton shifted slightly and felt something hard beneath him, inside his leather jacket, pressing into his ribs. He tried to think what it might be. After another day spent wandering Qingdao, trying to deceive their pursuers about their true objective, he and Brigitte had returned to the apartment near the beach. The Frenchwoman had said her meeting with Echo Wu had proved fruitless, there had been no indication who the Chinese woman worked for, and she’d not even admitted the people following them had anything to do with her. Wollerton had suggested moving to a different location, but Brigitte had disagreed, saying they were likely to be followed, and the greatest danger would be for them to pursue the investigation under the misguided belief they were free of surveillance. Wollerton had struggled with the logic of Brigitte’s position and had planned to revisit the issue after dinner, but he never got the chance.
Brigitte had collected their evening meal from a nearby restaurant and they’d eaten on the balcony. Wollerton had felt extremely tired afterwards, so tired that he’d collapsed on his bed fully clothed – he suddenly realized he hadn’t been tired. The rapid onset of fatigue, the strange dreams, the hangover-like symptoms and the aching body all pointed to the fact he’d been drugged. It had to have been the food. Had Echo and the people she worked for finally decided to make a move? Or had it been someone else? Had Brigitte dosed him?
He still had no idea what he was lying on, so he shifted again and things became clearer. The object was five inches long and was shaped like a smooth spearhead, apart from two prongs that protruded from one end. It felt like a folded switchblade, and Wollerton wondered whether he’d instinctively grabbed it when he’d been taken.
How he’d come by the weapon wasn’t as important as what he planned to do with it. He reached inside his jacket and moved so he could clasp the knife.
‘He’s awake,’ one of the men said in Mandarin.
Wollerton sensed movement behind him and opened the knife as he turned to see the third of four men raise his fist to strike. He pictured himself dying in the back of the van without ever seeing his kids again and his entire being flooded with adrenalin, which combined with rage to electrify him. The blade locked into position, and Wollerton lunged forward and stabbed the man in the gut. He let out a piercing shriek, and the other three shouted. The two men at the front of the van reached for their weapons, while the other grabbed him from behind and sent him hurtling against the rear doors. Wollerton’s bound hands were a minor handicap, but the man who’d thrown him wasn’t a proficient fighter, and when he rushed forward, Wollerton stabbed him in the neck. The man went down clutching a gushing wound. Wollerton wasted no time in attacking the last two. The nearest abductor had a gun in his hand, but Wollerton batted it away and it clattered against the chassis. They traded blows, and it became clear this man was a skilled martial artist, but the confines of the van made it difficult for him to make full use of his talent. Wollerton might not have been as young, or as skilled, but he was experienced and he knew brute force was best in a confined space. He barrelled into the man, knocking him against the final abductor, who dropped his weapon. Wollerton slashed at the man directly in front of him; as his adversary tried to defend himself, the razor-sharp blade sliced his arms open. The abductor drew back in pain, enabling Wollerton to drive the knife deep into his stomach. He pulled it sideways, cutting the man open, and as he fell with a horrific groan, Wollerton saw the final abductor retrieve his gun. Wollerton didn’t hesitate and threw the knife as the man turned to take aim. The blade spun through the air and embedded itself in the man’s sternum with a palpable crunch. The abductor fired a wild shot, dropped his gun and pawed at his chest ineffectually before he toppled forwards, dead.
Wollerton felt the van slow to a halt. He grabbed the pistol from the dead man and pulled the knife from his chest. It was only now that Wollerton noticed it was a Glauca B1 tactical switchblade, issued to French counterterror units. Had he taken it from Brigitte? Had she given it to him?
Wollerton used the blade to cut the restraints from his wrists, stepped over the corpses and positioned himself against the chassis, angling his body so he had good sightlines of the rear and side doors. He heard someone climb out of the cab.
‘What’s happening?’ a man’s voice called out in Mandarin.
The reply came from whoever had got out of the van. ‘I thought I heard something.’ He knocked on the door. ‘What’s happening?’
‘He gave us some trouble,’ Wollerton said in Mandarin, covering his mouth to disguise his voice. ‘Help us.’
He tensed as the side door was thrown open.
‘What the fuck?’ a fat Chinese man asked, his eyes widening as he registered the bodies. He looked at Wollerton in shock.
If he was carrying a weapon, he didn’t even get the opportunity to reach for it. Wollerton shot him twice in the head, and leaped out of the van as the man’s body fell to one side. Cars and trucks roared by at speed, their headlights blazing in the darkness. Wollerton glanced to his left and saw a Lexus SUV parked on the hard shoulder of a motorway. The occupants were surprised to see him, but not as shocked as he was at the sight of Brigitte Attali sitting in the back of the car with Echo Wu. He wanted to think the best, but there were no signs of duress. Had she betrayed him?
One of the two men in front produced a pistol and made to exit the vehicle, but Wollerton shot him through the windscreen, which shattered. He fired at the front wheel of the Lexus and it burst. He rushed to the front of the van, jumped behind the wheel, started the engine and stepped on the accelerator. The van sprang forward and he swerved into the steady stream of traffic.
As he glanced in the wing m
irror, Wollerton caught a glimpse of Brigitte, Echo and the unknown driver. All three were out of the Lexus and they all had guns trained in the direction of Wollerton’s van, but there were too many vehicles between them and their intended target, and they lowered their weapons. Wollerton was stunned. The gun left no room for doubt. Brigitte Attali had betrayed him. As he sped from the scene, Wollerton promised himself the Frenchwoman would one day pay the price of her treachery.
Chapter 45
Brigitte watched the van become part of the dazzle of distant lights. On Wei, their driver, peered into the car and looked at the body of his dead companion. He kicked the door and cursed loudly. Echo Wu slipped her pistol into the waistband of her trousers and approached.
‘You fucking amateurs,’ Brigitte said angrily. ‘How the fuck did he escape? There’s going to be a price on my head!’
‘Two bounties perhaps,’ Echo observed. ‘My employers have paid you two million dollars for nothing.’
‘Hey!’ Brigitte responded. ‘I delivered. Your people fucked up. Not me. I’m out of here.’
Echo grabbed her. ‘I don’t think so.’ She looked at the body of the van driver, which lay ahead of them, and at the bloody mess inside the Lexus. ‘It isn’t safe here. We need to leave, but we go together. Until we get further instructions.’
Brigitte eyed her indignantly.
‘Come on,’ Echo said, pulling her towards the barrier which marked the edge of the motorway. ‘Let’s go,’ she told On Wei in Mandarin.
Brigitte didn’t resist. She followed Echo, hoping she could still play the situation to her advantage.
Chapter 46
After she’d called Pearce, Leila sat in the car, waiting for the rain to pass. The foothills and mountains opposite were lost to a grey wash cascading down the windscreen, and with her surroundings obscured and nothing to distract her, Leila’s thoughts turned inward. Her emotions were as wild as the storm that raged around her and she bounced from one thought to the next in a frenetic search for answers. She wondered who Jared and his companion were working for, and what kind of operation would merit such intensive and clever surveillance. Junkies looked right at home in that neighbourhood and most people, Leila included, simply wouldn’t see them as a threat.
She was missing key pieces of the puzzle, and the feeling of not being able to see the complete picture rekindled memories of London, when she’d killed Artem Vasylyk and discovered the state-of-the-art communicator in his office. She still didn’t know who’d been sending him orders and hadn’t shared her role in the man’s death with Pearce, which troubled her. She considered Pearce a friend, but couldn’t bring herself to confess to what could, in the wrong eyes, be considered murder. She would have to tell him one day. She owed it to him to honour their friendship, but today was not that day. She felt bad enough at having stumbled into a situation that had resulted in the deaths of two potentially useful informants. She’d made a mess.
Leila took scant comfort from the enforced rest. Her body ached, the pain of the fight with Jared adding to the ever-present discomfort of her disability. She took the opportunity to massage her legs, which burned after her short run. Her hips and knees felt fragile and stiff, and she suspected she would suffer in the coming days. But at least she was alive.
After more than an hour, Leila saw the back of the storm. It was clearly delineated by the end of a huge cloud that travelled from west to east. Beyond the cloud-line was nothing but blue sky, and as the brooding mass moved on, sunshine followed in its wake, bringing the mountains and valleys to life with a rich glow. When the sunlight hit the Yukon and dazzled off the drenched windshield, Leila climbed out and got to work.
She used her phone to take photographs of the dead man in the boot, capturing images of his face from every possible angle. She also took his fingerprints, harvesting them on the screen of one of the small tablet computers in her surveillance pack. She searched the body, and found nothing but a small billfold of cash. She repeated the process for Jared, and after she’d photographed and printed him, she discovered he had nothing on him other than a few crumpled dollar bills – no wallet or phone. She hauled his body to the Yukon and put him in the driver’s seat. Leila found moving him painful and difficult. When he was finally positioned at the wheel, Leila grabbed the small Peli case and her rucksack full of surveillance equipment.
She opened the Yukon’s fuel cap, started the car, put it in gear and stepped back to watch the large vehicle crawl slowly through the long grass. She held her breath as the car approached the precipice. The front wheels lost contact with the ground, and for a moment, the Yukon teetered on the edge before gravity took hold and pulled it over. Leila limped to the edge and saw the large vehicle tumble down the cliff face, crashing and buckling before it hit a giant boulder on the valley floor and burst into flames.
Satisfied the men and any evidence linking her to them would be incinerated, Leila picked up the rucksack and Peli case and started south, heading along the forest trail towards the country road.
An hour later, she reached the intersection and found Pearce waiting for her. He immediately noticed the bruises on her face where Jared had hit her.
‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘I ran into trouble,’ she replied. ‘I had to take care of two men who were watching the house.’
‘Are you OK?’
‘I screwed up,’ Leila admitted. ‘But I’m OK.’
‘And the men?’
‘Gone,’ Leila replied simply.
Pearce studied her with a sympathetic eye. ‘I brought you this,’ he said, handing her a brand new silver helmet.
‘Thanks.’
She forced her tired, sore legs over the motorcycle and pulled on the helmet. Within moments, they were racing along the winding road towards Seattle. As she held Pearce with one hand and the Peli case with the other, Leila breathed a sigh of relief. She was glad to be with someone she trusted and even more grateful to be putting miles between her and the two men she’d killed.
Chapter 47
Wollerton pulled over, opened the driver’s door and threw up. He was dizzy, trembling and his body was raw. His mind was a mess of confusion and he burned with a sense of failure. Had Brigitte betrayed him? Had he failed to see it coming? Had he lost his edge? Or was she playing a deeper game alone? Either way, he felt a fool for trusting her. He couldn’t believe he’d been stupid enough to let her meet Echo alone. Whatever her motive, he now faced a dark battle for survival; he had to get out of China and warn Pearce and Leila that Brigitte should now be considered hostile.
He wiped his mouth and tried to steady himself, but it was hopeless. His body shook and his heart raced, though he couldn’t tell whether he was experiencing the legacy of an adrenalin rush or the side effects of whatever they’d used to drug him. He sat upright and when he pulled the door shut, he glanced in the wing mirror to see a grey, sunken-eyed ghost of his former self looking back at him. He needed out, and fast. He looked around the cab and saw a backpack in the passenger footwell. Inside he found all his personal effects, his fake passports, credit cards and money. The only things missing were his phone and his Ghostlink, but the contents of the bag were more than he could have hoped for. With them he had a real chance of getting out of the country. Had his abductors slipped up? Or was this Brigitte’s handiwork? He said a prayer of thanks for his good fortune.
He closed the backpack and slung it over his shoulder as he stepped out of the van. He hadn’t paid much attention to his surroundings when he’d turned off the motorway. He’d simply wanted to get away from the bustling late-night traffic, but as he looked around, he realized he was in an industrial district and was surrounded by factories that would be dormant until morning. The street was deserted – there weren’t even any parked cars around, so the van really stood out. The thought of the four bodies inside propelled Wollerton forward. He had no desire to be anywhere near the vehicle when it was opened up. As he walked, he started to feel a little
better. He hadn’t entirely disgraced himself. He replayed the fight in the van. He took no joy in ending another life, but given the choice between his or theirs, he had no hesitation. Stepping back and looking at events dispassionately, he was pleased with his performance. He hadn’t seen that kind of action for years. He’d played a peripheral role in the Black Thirteen investigation and most of his contribution had been made from behind a computer. Pearce had borne the brunt of the wet work.
Wollerton looked up at the sky, and his eyes fought light pollution and the hazy smog that lingered over the city. He picked out the constellations of Orion and Corvus, which enabled him to ascertain approximate compass points. He headed towards the motorway he’d just left. If he could figure out which one it was, he’d know his location in relation to the airport. There wouldn’t be any flights leaving until daybreak, but Wollerton planned to be on the very first of them.
Chapter 48
On Wei had made a phone call as they’d walked away from the motorway, and a taciturn driver in a Chery SUV met them on the corner of a nearby street. Brigitte was impressed by the depth of resources on display. The death of six men and the escape of a high-value prisoner hadn’t engendered panic, just a pragmatic response. The ease with which On Wei had abandoned his vehicle, now a major crime scene, and his lack of concern, suggested Echo’s employers were extremely well connected.
The grim-faced driver of the Chery took them through the city, and Brigitte found herself in a neighbourhood she recognized, an industrial estate in the west of Qingdao, the location of the company they’d been targeting.
A few minutes later, they stopped at a barrier and a uniformed guard emerged from a gatehouse and studied the occupants of the Chery. He stiffened when he recognized On Wei, and quickly raised the barrier. The car drove into the walled Qingdao Consumer Products complex. Brigitte had finally infiltrated the target, but not in a way she could have ever foreseen. They passed three large warehouses and pulled into a space outside a four-storey office block which lay at the heart of the huge complex. There were five other cars in spaces outside the building. Shift workers? Or a welcoming committee?
