by David Caris
He shortened his stride, his mind back on the boy at Putney. What was the gunshot that had run across the surface of the river, echoing off the red brick and glass? Small caliber, he was sure of that. But as small as a .22…?
He hoped so.
The SUVs began to slow, as Kovac had known they would.
He shortened his stride even further, pulling out his phone. He deliberately held it upside down, so the front camera was at the base. He then double-clicked to activate this camera and angled it so he could observe their approach while appearing absorbed in his screen.
He would have to time this to perfection…
He heard a faint squeal: brakes gently being applied in the front SUV.
The engine noise dropped off.
They were close now. Fifty feet or less, and practically rolling. But no windows coming down. They were sacrificing speed for certainty, thinking he was lost in cat memes.
He was almost at the paved nook and he glanced left, confirming his mental map was accurate. It was. The bollards prevented traffic parking in the small, triangular space, and they would stop an SUV following Kovac in if this went wrong.
The dumpster was at the far end of the nook, which also happened to be the shortest side of the triangle. Kovac estimated the entire nook was less than six feet long. It backed onto a brick house that ran at a diagonal to the street. For this house, the nook was in effect a paved front yard.
Using his phone camera again, he checked behind the dumpster. It was hard up against a brick wall that Kovac figured probably came up to his shoulders. If he cleared that wall, he saw he would be on into the enormous housing estate that lay beyond.
The first SUV reached the ten-foot mark as Kovac arrived at the nook’s tip. Kovac didn’t wait for the window to come down. He dropped the phone like it was nothing more than a tennis ball, swapping it out for his Glock. He brought the gun up in one smooth, practiced move, the safety taken care of by simple pressure on the trigger. He put two rounds into the shadow behind the steering wheel and another into the passenger seat before crouching and taking aim at the rear window. It was electric and coming down fast. Kovac didn’t have a great angle, but he saw a man and a gun.
The man saw him, too. He registered what had just happened to his driver and flinched and retreated, taking the gun with him.
Kovac fired a bullet through the base of his window, shattering it. Then, flinging one last, wild round through the SUV’s rear door to give himself a semblance of cover, he began a sprint for the dumpster. It was a longer run than he had intended, and he stayed in a crouch as he covered the exposed terrain.
He got lucky. Less than a second and a half later, he had his back hard up against the brick wall, the metal dumpster now acting as cover.
The weapon presumably reemerged from the first SUV, but it had lost its line of sight now. Compounding this disadvantage, it no longer had a driver. Kovac knew this because the horn was blaring like someone was slumped on it.
He checked his pistol to make sure his math was accurate. With the bullet he had stupidly wasted in the park, he had started this with six rounds – one in the chamber and five in the magazine.
That meant one in the chamber now?
He saw the bullet.
He had been planning a tactical reload here – or really, just a swapping out of his magazines – but he could hear the front SUV slowly rolling forward. He still had enough cover from the dumpster that he couldn’t see it. But at this rate, it would box him into the nook.
That wasn’t part of Kovac’s plan. In fact, his whole plan was beginning to feel pretty stupid. He still had another SUV that wasn’t moving, preventing an escape back over the wall into the housing estate. He had been counting on this second SUV abandoning the fight and getting clear of his kill zone, but it seemed to have figured out it was already clear.
He decided it was best to swap out magazines. He let the spent magazine drop to the concrete, replacing it with the full one from his appendix holster. He did it all while scanning for gunmen, his back still hard against coarse brick. He had to resist the urge to give into muscle memory and rack the slide, as he tucked himself deeper into the corner between the dumpster and wall.
He listened as best he could.
There was shouting from inside the first SUV, the occupants struggling to communicate over the music. But it was the second SUV that worried Kovac more. Were the shooters still inside, or would they come over this wall from the estate…?
He looked at the house, at its white front door. Could he maybe kick that in?
No, he would be exposed for however long it took.
He had trapped himself.
Then Kovac caught a break. He heard the second SUV suddenly accelerate around the first. He expected it to keep going, but it did something unsettling.
It cut in.
Both SUVs fell into view at more or less the same time. The second SUV came around the front of the first, which was still slowly rolling. It pulled in at a near right angle, definitely looking to trap Kovac in the nook and gun him down. It was only the bollards keeping them both out.
Through the open sights of his raised Glock, Kovac saw the first SUV bump gently into the side of the second. He took aim at the driver of the second and squeezed the trigger, not rushing it.
It didn’t hit home.
The driver in the second SUV had seen him and realized his error. No sooner had he arrived than was he twisting, reversing, looking to get clear. He did it all far faster than Kovac expected, and Kovac’s shot took out the front windshield instead of the driver’s side window.
Kovac was already checking overhead, in case this was all just a diversion, allowing an attack over the wall. But no one was on the wall or climbing over it.
Better, he thought. There were no longer any SUVs with a line of sight, and no tangos on foot. At least, not that he could see.
For now, he was something close to secure.
The second SUV hit the gas and did the screeching tire routine. It tore off down the street, but there wasn’t much street available. It came to a near stop for an intersection, before turning right. To Kovac’s amazement, it used its indicator.
Kovac couldn’t risk emerging from behind his dumpster. If there was a gun in the shattered rear window of the first SUV, he would step straight into a bullet.
He monitored the entrance to the nook and the wall behind him. But he wasn’t ready to go up over the wall just yet. Too soon.
He noted that the first SUV wasn’t rolling forward anymore. But it was rocking on its suspension, like whoever was inside had decided to up and make love in the middle of a gunfight.
They were changing seats? he wondered.
He figured they were looking to drive it.
Sure enough, Kovac saw someone pull at the dead driver’s slumped silhouette, but he wasn’t moving. He perhaps had his seatbelt on. All they achieved was an end to the horn, and with that gone Kovac could hear two men arguing in muted, panicked voices.
They had every right to panic. If Kovac was in their predicament, he would’ve been out and crouching behind the engine block by now. But they weren’t that smart. They were playing musical chairs inside a tin can.
Screw fair, Kovac thought. He would end this before someone had a bright idea and opened a door on the other side of the SUV.
He fired from near the top of the dumpster, using it to protect most of his body: three rounds straight into the SUV wherever he thought he detected movement. He had one likely kill and possibly another. He was tempted to wait a beat and look for any further movement, but he didn’t have that kind of ammunition and he still needed to get himself out of this nook.
Before the last shot had finished echoing in the street, he was up and over the wall.
Chapter 33
Kovac landed on a patch of grass and glanced up at the giant estate building. It sat in a sort of mini-park with play equipment and lush green trees. As he circled around the closest en
d, he approximated it was six levels high with maybe twelve apartments to a level. The walls were concrete grey. But there were other colors, too. Muted yellows and greens, like vomit.
The windows all had curtains, most white, most drawn, and many of the balconies had small satellite dishes. He couldn’t see anyone looking down at him, or more importantly pointing a weapon.
He slipped around a low wall covered in graffiti and kept running. He was still looking up as much as ahead and behind. This housing estate was nothing like the one Malone had run him through. It was still very much in use. Instead of heavy machinery and piles of rubble, the wind carried snippets of TV and conversation, and the faint odors of meats and spices.
Kovac kept moving, aiming for the street on the other side of this block-come-estate-come-park. He could hear the stereo speakers in the second SUV. It was circling around the same block, but had what Kovac figured was an insurmountable head start.
He slid along another wall that was all vents and rectangular murals from the 80s or 90s, his gun up. The concrete was uneven underfoot and dotted with large puddles – so large they were impossible to avoid. Kovac jumped a few and landed in others, almost slipping on decomposing leaves, trash and other sediment.
He passed a row of floodlights, each off at this hour, and entered a new area with paved rectangular tiles. This gave him access to a concrete staircase with metal railings. He paused.
Up rather than across?
Yep. It was a long shot, but he wasn’t going to make it across in time, so that left up.
He started up the stairs at a jog, one level after another. He kept his gun raised as he tested no less than three doors, before finally locating one that had been left unlocked. He burst through into the small apartment.
A woman was just inside this door, holding a recycled shopping bag and purse as if she had been on the verge of heading out. Perhaps the shooting had given her pause? She screamed as Kovac slid past, spitting an apology and going straight for her balcony.
He fumbled with the clasp on the sliding door, but finally managed to wrench it open. He searched the sections of street he could see and, sure enough, there was his second SUV.
Kovac was breathing hard. He crouched and used the balcony railing to stabilize his pistol. But an instant before he pulled the trigger, he heard the squealing of young children.
He looked down to find them playing soccer. They were oblivious to him up here, but if he fired that would change. The SUV would defend itself possibly, and these children would find themselves caught in a sort of no man’s land.
And really what chance did he have with a pistol at this range? He would just endanger kids and risk the little ammunition he had left. ‘Shit.’
He lowered the pistol, turned, and saw the woman from the front door standing well back in the apartment with a little meat cleaver. She didn’t look as if she wanted to use it. She didn’t look as if she even knew how to use it.
Without dropping the pistol, Kovac held up his hands. ‘I’m leaving now,’ he said. ‘And I have no intention of causing you any harm. I’m hoping you feel the same…?’ She eyed him warily. Then she took a step back. She was retreating into her kitchenette, which Kovac took as a positive sign. That opened up access to the hallway, and from there he would be able to make his way back down the hallway to the front door.
He reiterated his earlier apology, albeit more calmly this time.
She nodded for him to leave and he didn’t argue the point.
If she was letting him go, he was out of here.
Less than a minute later, Kovac was making his way back down the staircase. He kept the gun on hand, just in case anyone from the first SUV had decided to pursue him, but no one interrupted his retreat and eventual escape.
He still wanted to visit Wilson Software Solutions, but he knew that was a bad idea. For one thing, his general location was known. The longer he stayed in this area, the greater the risk of another attack. And then there was the simple reality of time. If he stayed, he wouldn’t be able to move freely – not in broad daylight. He would be slow, encumbered.
He had another thought. There remained the distinct possibility Wilson’s offices would produce an ambush. The tip had come from Griffin, after all.
Kovac heard distant police sirens, which sealed it. He was done with London.
Airport, he decided.
Chapter 34
Van Heythuysen waited for the call to connect. There was a delay, then he heard the familiar voice.
‘Did you give the name to our new client, as a gift for signing on?’
It was digitally altered like always, but he thought of it as a woman’s voice. It was the pitch, but also something in the intonation, even the word choices.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘John Kovac.’
‘Good.’
There was some kind of accent there as well, which he struggled to place. He felt as if software was counteracting that, too.
‘And DELPHI will appear to give The Brotherhood both your Frenchmen,’ he said.
‘Will they claim them?’
‘They’ll claim them, and Kovac too. What about the Curzons?’
‘What about them?’
‘Will you finish them like you promised – to keep your end of this deal?’
There was a long pause. Then the digitally disguised voice brought a smile to his lips. ‘Curzon International is indeed finished, yes – Luther Curzon just doesn’t know it yet.’
‘Finished how?’
But the line clicked, and the voice was gone.
Chapter 35
The charter company Megan arranged at short notice provided an oldish jet, but Kovac couldn’t fault the minibar. It had nuts, pretzels and a collection of small cups filled with chocolates of various types. There was also hot coffee and a decent range of beers and spirits. This was Kovac’s third trip to the minibar but his first to get alcohol. He opted for a Japanese beer, picking Asahi, then sat down in one of the eight plush seats on offer. He had moved seats twice already, and he hit the button to raise the shade on this new window.
Outside, it was just on sunset. He cracked the beer and sat sipping as they fell below cloud and banked over a large, slate grey lake. The landscape was cut into green squares of differing hues, with dotted villages like small imperfections in an otherwise majestic quilt.
He waggled his toes. They were cold. His shoes were still damp from the puddles at the housing estate. He endured a full-body shiver, then reached up and twisted the aircon nozzle to full. But he couldn’t see any way to set it to warm.
He shut it off again.
Kovac had been flying private for just about as long as he could remember, and there was no novelty in it now. He was bored.
To occupy himself, he replayed the drive-by shooting in his mind. Step by step, shot by shot. It was actually attempt number two. Two attacks in the space of a couple of days… He figured that his identity had sold online, but he doubted the winner was a gangbanger. More likely, it was someone who – in a rush perhaps, or operating from a different continent – had settled on second-rate killers. Professionals didn’t get kids to do their –
The pilots interrupted his thoughts to give him an updated ETA.
Ten minutes out.
Kovac went on sipping, staring out the window, and eventually felt the effects of the beer kick in. He put his seatbelt on, then clamped his nose and blew gently to relieve a dull ache in one ear. His eyes felt dry and sore, too. He closed them, only to see Malone atop his floodlit pile of trash, squirting spit through his teeth.
Kovac didn’t want Malone ruining his beer buzz. He opened his eyes again and refocused on the view. Indistinct specks of color became blobs, then houses and finally cars. An airport fence flipped by underneath – Wien-Schwechat Airport.
There was a strong crosswind, but the two pilots managed a smooth, almost enjoyable landing.
Or maybe that was just the beer, Kovac thought, draining the last of it and th
rowing the can onto the enormous seat just across the aisle.
He twisted and looked down along this same aisle. Megan was still asleep in her chair. ‘That’s Schwechat!’ he yelled.
‘Already?’ She blinked groggily but curled away from the sound of his voice. ‘Shit, Kovac. Do you ever sleep?’
Ten minutes later, they disembarked. They were escorted into the airport by staff from the charter company. There were meetings with officials, where phone calls were made, and Megan dealt with all Kovac’s paperwork. He didn’t know how and he didn’t ask. An old Curzon private jet party trick, that one.
From customs, they walked out to a number of waiting white cabs. There was no queue and plenty of cabs to choose from, so Kovac chose the fifth from the front.
It was now almost dark, and there was a howling, surprisingly cold gale. He guided Megan into the cab, then joined her in the back seat. It was a relief to shut the heavy door with a thunk.
The flight had only taken two hours, but they had lost a little extra time waiting on it. Kovac was tired. The alcohol hadn’t helped, and he dropped his head back and closed his eyes. He made a mental note to find coffee at some point. They still had a long night ahead.
Megan gave the cab driver the address that was scrawled on the Wilson Software Solutions business card. She had already researched it back in London, and neither she nor Kovac had been surprised to learn that the address was for a Curzon facility – the exact Curzon data center that housed the last viable domain controller.
The cab driver wasn’t the chatty type. He sat in shadow, hardly illuminated at all by his dash. He drove smoothly and cautiously, and they were soon on freeways of some kind, trailing cars with bright red tail lights. Long stretches of inky blackness, interspersed with dotted, blinking lights.
Megan sat in the dark beside Kovac. She didn’t make conversation, so Kovac kept quiet too. The slight buzz from his beer had faded to nothing and he was mentally rewinding back through the past few days to stay awake. He was sequencing it all, trying to distract himself from a nagging anxiety. He still felt like they were on the back foot. He had told Megan about the hit in London, and she had agreed with his read on it. His identity was out in the wild.
