by David Caris
‘Why?’
‘That I don’t know. But get your PR teams ready, and pull whatever strings you can to get those ventilators on standby for quick deployment. We don’t know this is all of it. There could be other kitchens, other schools. How many can you send, if it’s needed?’
‘We’ve stockpiled 10,000 ventilators since this all started with Peng. But if Bibi does this, victims are looking at a few months of treatment. The ventilators will be tied up once deployed. The problem is we…’ Her voice drifted out.
Or was it his phone? Kovac wondered.
It wasn’t the best device or connection.
‘The problem?’ Kovac asked. ‘The problem is what, Megan?’ He was trying to keep his tone level and fair. But God help him if she said a word right now about the optics of it… Kovac didn’t care if ventilators looked like an admission of guilt from Curzon. He didn’t care if this finished Curzon. He wanted children home safe, end of story. He wanted them laughing at stupid picture books and sneaking time on YouTube on their tablets. He wanted them making a God-awful mess at the breakfast table, torturing whatever pets were in the house, and doing what kids did best – dreaming big innocent dreams.
Thankfully, Megan didn’t put her PR hat on. ‘The problem is, once we deploy these ventilators, and they’re in use in Paris, that’s it. If it’s multiple schools, we’ll quickly run out. Another attack like this anywhere in the world, and we’re not going to be able to help.’
Kovac thought for a moment. ‘Prioritize Europe, and look into the other two names Griffin gave you. The two men who died. I have both the Frenchmen here, so hopefully they’re it for Paris. And find out what Wilson Software Solutions has to do with all this.’
‘Wilson Software Solutions?’
‘They’re connected to Malone, who brings us back to Griffin, who gave us these four names in the first place. She came to you with a story about her coding team, right?’
‘I still don’t understand why she did that.’
Kovac nodded to himself. He’d been wondering the same thing. ‘I’m starting to think maybe she was on our side. She was cuffed at Vienna Airport, like maybe Dauguet shoved an empty pistol into her hands to make use of her and scare Juliette. She tipped us to these French assholes, too. She didn’t want to talk to me at her place, but that was in front of Malone. I thought both of them were holding out on me. But maybe it was just him holding out, and she was too scared with him listening to try and warn us again?’
‘She was scared he would kill her?’
‘Maybe. My guess is, she’s Malone’s girlfriend. They were cohabiting, but something was going on. Like a spat. He was sleeping in the living room. She’s seen what’s coming and she’s put on the kooky routine for you, in the hope you’d let her out of the building but still check those four names. I think she was hoping for police at her door, to get her free of Malone. What she didn’t count on was me.’ Kovac thought about the business card he had found in Malone’s wallet, and added: ‘Oh and Megan, we need to figure out what DELPHI is before –’ He cut himself short.
He had almost revealed the significance of tomorrow.
Maybe that was for the best, though?
For all he knew, an alert would go out to the police and the general public here in France, and he would lose his ability to move. If they attached his image, there would be a call for any and all information, possibly even a reward. The last thing he needed right now was to be arrested, but it could happen.
Kovac still didn’t exactly trust Megan, but he had to share what he knew.
Keeping his voice low and scanning the empty street outside, he said: ‘Tomorrow’s the anniversary of Rose’s death in Cuenca. I know this, because I just found my file here on one of the Frenchmen’s phones. Part of it, anyway – the part where I took it upon myself to neutralize Rose. Tomorrow will be –’
‘You’re breaking up, Kovac.’
He rolled his eyes and said it all again, realizing as he did that Megan had seen this coming. She had warned him back in her office that he was being framed. Back then, a BoNT attack had felt hypothetical to Kovac. Even following the news of the soccer stadium attack, he had doubted the threat was real, let alone significant. He had moved to walk out of Megan’s office like it wasn’t worth his time, wasn’t in any way his problem.
He looked around the delivery truck’s cabin. Well, it sure as shit was his problem now.
The truck started rocking gently from side to side: one of the Frenchmen having another go at getting free in the back.
Kovac had learned this happened from time to time, until they exhausted themselves and settled down again.
He opened the door and got out, noticing a fine drizzle that had obviously just started. The gentle rocking tended to leave him feeling a little nauseous if he put up with it for too long, and God knew, he always needed fresh air. Not counting being knocked out by drugs, he hadn’t slept in what felt like forever: ‘You were right, Megan. I had this ass-backward. The bombing was more important than my identity leaking.’
‘Both are important.’
‘No.’ He stared at the truck, watching it rise and fall on its big wheels, then took out the French phone with his file on it. He opened a video he had found on this phone, and watched Gasly speak into the camera, the green flag of a group called “The Brotherhood” hanging on the wall behind him. There were subtitles as he explained what he intended to do, the children he intended to kill in the name of his God. But Kovac wasn’t reading any of that. He was focused on the wall, which was clear and clean, save for a cobweb in the topmost corner. That, and a couple of small holes with pins, holding up the flag. The green sheet, he thought to himself, which wasn’t for digital editing as he had first thought.
He knew exactly where this video message had been filmed, because he had been there himself. He had climbed up through that exact ceiling with the cobwebs, up into a crawlspace filled with laundered cash.
And to think he had spared Malone’s life, when he could so easily have taken it…
A message popped up on Gasly’s phone. It was in French, from a blocked number. Kovac told Megan he would call her back, hung up and pocketed his own device. Focusing on the Frenchman’s phone, he pasted the message into Google Translate.
“Have the little bears been fed?”
Staring at this translation, Kovac suddenly felt centered, more centered than he had been in months. Anna had been right. In a situation like this, there was some good in the work he did. He realized with piercing clarity that he was done with pacifism.
He made himself a new promise. He was going to find whoever did this – Bibi Dauguet or Malone or whoever it turned out to be – and he was going to kill them. He would squeeze the life out of them one by one if needed.
He typed a reply and hit send.
“Oui.”
Chapter 50
Bishop was at the safe house maintained by Curzon International. It was south of London, roughly three minutes on foot from windswept cliffs and ocean. The cliffs and bare terrain around them, along with the wind coming in off the sea, took care of all sound. There was no need to glue soundproofing to the featureless walls here. As Bishop had so often noted, this was the sort of place where a man screamed and the world heard nothing.
He had three “guests”, two living, one dead. He walked down a hallway and looked in on the first room. The Austrian from Japan, Anna, lay on a bed.
Still zip-tied and still unconscious, he noted, checking his watch. It would be a while before she came round and if he was going to do it, the right thing – the kind thing – would be to do it now. There would be no fear this way. She had passed out when he ambushed and jabbed her in London, and that would be her last memory, her last living thought.
No.
Not until he was absolutely sure it was necessary.
He shut the door again, locking it and making a mental note to check the window, which was boarded up but possibly needed fresh nails if t
he room was going to house a conscious occupant.
Was he complicating things again?
He closed his eyes and put his forehead to the wood, and in an instant he was back in Japan, his thumb hovering over a detonator. He had told Bennett the explosives were fake. She had thought it was all a diversion to help her jab Kovac. Everything had been in place: Lottie in return for Kovac, Anna and Bennett. Nice and clean.
Until he lost his nerve.
Until he made it difficult.
It had been the right call, though. The young girl had turned out to be a double. It wasn’t Lottie. The thing was, Bishop hadn’t known that at the time. He had disobeyed a direct order from King, and then he had messed up. After the botched exchange – as Bishop and Anna transported an unconscious Kovac back up into the mountains – Anna had overheard a phone call. Feigning sleep, she had heard Bishop speaking with King. He had spoken in code, of course, but even so… she’d figured it all out and rightly panicked. Bishop had been forced to buy Anna off with a mix of cash and intimidation before Kovac came round, and now Kovac was meeting with her here in London, pushing her for the truth. If Kovac found evidence of King’s order to blow up the boat, he would come for both Bishop and King. Bishop held no illusions on that front. Kovac may have sacrificed himself for Lottie, but he wouldn’t tolerate King ordering the execution of Bennett and Anna.
Bishop moved on to the next room, which contained a corpse.
Cooper McConville.
He didn’t need to close his eyes to see Cooper McConville’s pleading face, or to hear Cooper’s sobbing cut out, overruled by the pwuuut pwuuut of the suppressed .22. Bishop had been pressing that weapon hard to McConville’s forehead, and the kill had been less than twelve hours ago. The memory was all too fresh.
McConville, Bishop reminded himself now, was a degenerate thief with a double life on the dark web. But even so… Bishop knew the cold-blooded execution would haunt him for the rest of his life. There was a McConville family home somewhere, with a wife and kids.
What the fuck was he doing here?
He headed for the kitchen without even checking on his third guest, Dr. Murad Mehmood, the microbiologist he had captured in Lahore, Pakistan. Bishop needed a coffee, and after that a walk out to the cliffs to clear his head.
He was waiting for the switch on the bubbling kettle to click off when Megan called. He looked at her name on the screen. He had been ignoring her attempts to contact him while he worked through Luther’s list of jobs down here at the safe house, and he chose to ignore her again now. Too many questions he wouldn’t be able to answer…
The kettle clicked off.
Bishop poured boiling water into his coffee cup, then checked his phone again. This time to get the hour. As much as he didn’t want to, it was time to call Ben Lewis.
He dialed.
‘Lewis?’ he said, when the call connected. ‘You got her?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Good work.’
Ben Lewis had been tasked with grabbing the Irish journalist who had ambushed Megan at the press conference.
‘Anyone see it?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘And she’s out cold?’
‘Yeah.’
‘She see you as you did it?’
‘No.’
‘Phone and laptop?’
‘I have both. Fingerprints to unlock, the laptop too.’
‘Good. Bring her down here. You can work through her devices while she’s out and see what if anything she has on us.’
‘And then?’
‘That depends.’
On what you find, Bishop thought, without saying it. Either Yvette Morris would go back to her life, or she would die in some kind of accident.
The thought brought Anna to mind again. Bishop suddenly had complete clarity on that front. He would let her wake and try to contact Luther again. Perhaps Luther would finally come to his senses and set her free. Bishop hoped to God he would. He knew he would far rather take his chances with Kovac than have to live with Anna on his conscience. Anna wasn’t like Morris. She wasn’t on the attack. She was a good kid, looking to make something of her life, and she deserved a second chance.
‘You’re going to be in charge here, Lewis.’
‘Where are you going?’
Bishop added a splash of milk to the coffee. ‘Besides going through Morris’ digital life, you’ll be babysitting.’
‘Babysitting who? Our microbiologist?’
‘Him, and one other.’
Bishop didn’t mention Cooper McConville. Lewis didn’t know about McConville, and wouldn’t ever find out. Bishop had plans for disposing of McConville’s body before Lewis even arrived, and he would get it done because Lewis was no John Kovac.
‘There extra pay in this?’
‘For you?’ Bishop asked, surprised by the question.
‘Yeah for me. I’m breaking a few laws here, in case you didn’t notice.’
‘That’s the job.’
‘Embrace the suck?’ It was a jab at Bishop’s SEAL past.
A paint-by-numbers kind of guy, Bishop thought to himself, who worked by the book and did what he was told. If the military was programming robot soldiers in the future, there were worse templates than Lewis. But the guy was a package deal. Greed, snark and sulking came bundled in, along with a complete absence of creativity…
That was why Lewis would always be strictly “need to know”. He wanted to move up, but if Bishop started down that path, helping Lewis step into Kovac’s shoes, he’d have to spill it all. He’d have to rewind all the way back to Cuenca and Rose, the whole messed up story, right through to the fishing boat in Japan.
Lewis – like all the other operators Bishop used save for Kovac – believed Curzon drew the line at killing, and it would stay that way.
‘You need me to bring you anything?’ Lewis asked, perhaps as an attempt at an apology.
Bishop glanced at the toaster oven beside the kettle. ‘Yeah. A loaf of wholemeal bread, cheese and some ham.’
‘I meant tools – we taking another pass at Mehmood?’
‘No.’
Bishop wondered if he was right saying this, and decided he was. He was done with Mehmood, and would eventually cut him loose. Truth be told, he really was looking forward to being free and clear of the man. After Peng’s attack on Curzon, Bishop’s entire life had been taken over by this missing botulinum toxin. Curzon had lost track of close on half a gram, enough to halve the world’s population. But Bishop knew it went further than that. He now had evidence Peng had been manufacturing BoNT, too, either to sell it for profit or more likely to stockpile as leverage over Curzon. Peng was dead, but that BoNT was still out there somewhere, as dangerous as ever.
At this thought, Bishop’s mind circled back to Kovac again. If they did locate the missing BoNT, could he reclaim it without Kovac’s help?
Doubtful.
He had struggled just to grab Mehmood out of Pakistan. Bishop had pulled the Lahore job together fast, calling in favors, even blackmailing where necessary… There wasn’t much he had liked about it. It was rushed, messy, and – without Kovac – entirely dependent on luck.
‘Are we sure he’s given us everything he knows?’ Lewis asked.
‘Mehmood? Yeah.’ And Bishop had passed it all on in full to Luther and Megan Curzon.
Bishop thought about Anna again, about Kovac. If Anna woke up here and Bishop released her, it was only a matter of time before she cracked and told Kovac the truth about Japan. Kovac would see straight through Bishop’s flimsy lies about Bennett, and blame Bishop for her death. Bishop would more than likely find himself under direct attack from Kovac.
On the other hand, if Anna never woke again, Bishop was confident he’d have Kovac’s help with the BoNT threat…
The difference was stark.
‘Bishop?’ Lewis said.
‘What?’
‘I asked you a question.’
‘Sorry, line’s bad
. Go again.’
‘So what happens to Mehmood?’
‘That’s easy. We cut him loose. We’re not killers, Lewis.’
There was a pause. ‘We sure about that? Because maybe it’s time to think about what he’ll say when he gets home to –’
‘Just do your fucking job, Lewis, and leave the thinking to me.’ Bishop ended the call.
Chapter 51
Bibi Dauguet was sitting in the cramped office she had rented in Paris for this portion of the plan. The apartment was a short walk from the beaux-arts halls of the Paris Opera, and her view extended out over the city. Stoned as she was, she could’ve stared at it for hours; but she had one last phone call to make before she began her journey to Spain.
She dialed, and the man who answered tried to affect strength.
His voice betrayed him. He was damaged. Kovac’s crash tackle at the soccer stadium had delivered a particularly nasty blow to the back of his head, the first setback in a plan Bibi had been refining for years. But Powell was no Griffin or Van Heythuysen. No turncoat. He was cut from the same cloth as Malone. Dependable.
‘The little bears have been fed,’ she said. ‘I just received confirmation.’
‘Understood.’
‘Where are you at with Chalise?’ Chalise was code for the publisher, Alex Bain.
‘I’m on schedule. He’ll publish whatever Morris gives him, and if she’s a no go, whatever you give him instead. Don’t worry about him.’
‘Good work.’
She ended the call, turned her laptop on and waited for it to load. She had expected guilt at this juncture, but she felt nothing. War had its share of innocent victims, and this was war. In the hours ahead, The Brotherhood would claim the attack, link it to the soccer stadium in London and attribute both to the martyr, John Kovac. That would intensify the feeding frenzy Yvette Morris had just set in motion at Megan’s press conference, and the story would explode when the press discovered evidence of Kovac’s past work for Curzon.
Bibi returned her gaze to an unsuspecting Paris. She needed this attack to focus the world and galvanize condemnation of Curzon, but only this attack. She wasn’t a monster, after all. London, Paris and Cuenca combined would, mercifully, provide enough carnage to guarantee the success of her broader aims.
