Agent provocateur, p.10
Agent Provocateur, page 10
Li regarded Bishop with awe. “You figured all that out ahead of time? Before we came here?”
“Not all of it. Part of being a field operative is adapting to changes in circumstances, being ready for all eventualities.”
“Yeah, but what percentage, though?” Li watched him expectantly.
Bishop grinned. “You don’t want to know.”
Crowds flowed out of the pavilions and buildings around the park, streaming towards the exits. Most adults had anxiety slapped across their faces, unsure exactly what was transpiring. Parents and guardians held their children tight as they flooded out of the park.
All three MI6 employees headed to the gate furthest away from the car park. They saw no black coats. Within minutes they were trudging through rain-soaked streets free of any tail. Besides the sodden clothes and the weapons they carried, they had no possessions.
“I don’t know about you lot,” Bishop stretched, “but I could use a nice warm bath.”
The Changzhou Shangri-La Hotel was so luxuriously over the top Bishop couldn’t help but surrender to the gaudiness of it all. He should have expected nothing less of a hotel shaped like a lotus flower. Not that he saw much of it. He and Zhao slunk in through a rear entrance after Li booked three rooms on his credit card.
Sitting in Li’s room in the hotel-issued robes while their clothes were washed and pressed, Bishop swirled ice in his mini-bar scotch and mused about the last few hours. Kevin Argento knew he was in China and on his tail. Was his text message a greeting or a warning?
Chang was close behind, apparently willing to make any sacrifice and with a deadline of Friday, whatever that signified. Bishop vaguely hoped that some or all of Chang’s forces would be sent to Zhengzhou on a wild goose chase after Bishop had dropped the city’s name on a whim, but Bishop couldn’t rely on that.
There was still no word from The Pope, which, given Chang’s sudden appearance, did not bode well for the big American. It was possible he’d made it out and was laying low, but Bishop had to concede it was more hopeful than probable.
Bishop was keen to speak to his superior and work out where to go from here. He’d reported that his impromptu team had performed admirably under harsh circumstances, especially given that one was on a babysitting mission and the other was an IT guy filling in as a driver. On the cautious journey from the dinosaur park, Bishop had taken great care to ensure the two weren’t overly traumatised. This wasn’t a normal workday for either of them. They’d debriefed well, and by the time they’d reached the hotel, sodden and exhausted, they were in the best mental state possible without extensive psychiatric help.
Washed and rested, they were slowly returning to something resembling a human state. Sitting at the small dining table in Li’s room, his two teammates were far cleaner and warmer than when they’d first left the cheesy dinosaur park. Zhao was on her third tiny bottle of spirits from the courtesy bar, a testament to her current state of mind. Seemingly an unseasoned drinker, Li alternated between beer and water, but that didn’t prevent his current slurring of words.
“Sho,” Li sloshed his beer as he said it, “seeing as I’m on this mission now, who is this guy we’re after exactly?”
“Ex-SAS, ex-MI6,” Zhao chipped in before Bishop could respond. “Apparently exceptional at both. By all accounts a bit of legend at ’6.” She turned to Bishop. “Did you ever meet him? Argento, I mean.”
Sidestepping the question, Bishop took a sip. “Last I heard the guy was a retiree raising ducks in the Lakes District.”
“Right, right.” Li gulped some water. “So, how does a pensioner infiltrate a foreign country and manage to take out so many people without being taken down himself? I don’t want to sound racist here, but he would stand out in a crowd, right? If he’s that washed up, either he’s incredibly lucky or has one hell of a guardian angel.”
“Like I said, the dude was a legend.” Zhao eyed Bishop curiously. Did she know of Bishop’s past connection and wonder why he was remaining silent on the topic?
“You think he’s trying to commit suicide or something?” Li directed the question to Zhao. “You know, like suicide by cop?”
She shrugged. “Why go all the way to China? It would be far easier to pop a few sleeping pills at home, surely?”
“Then what?” Li shrugged. “Why’s he in China killing random dudes?”
“I doubt he’s killing at random,” Bishop interjected. They both turned to him. “He could kill indiscriminately at home without missing fish and chips. Plus, every minute he stays in China increases his chance of detection.” Bishop placed his glass on the table. “There has to be a pattern.”
There was that niggling thought again: Why? What was Argento trying to achieve? Even if he were completely delusional, there had to be a reason in his mind. Was it related to his son’s death? Was this some kind of belated revenge?
Bishop found himself thinking back to the list of bodies Argento had left strewn across the country. More to himself than the other two, he mused out loud, “A newly appointed low-level minister of the Defence committee in the National People’s Congress was visiting a farm. Why would he need to visit a farm? It’s hardly defence related.” When he received no reply, he added, “And why would Argento attack a farm?”
“Maybe he’s a militant vegan?”
Zhao tilted her head and ignored Li. “Or maybe it wasn’t a farm?” When Bishop nodded, she examined his face. “What are you thinking?”
“What are Defence usually interested in?” Bishop tilted his head.
“Big hats?” Li wasn’t keeping up, and seemed lost. “Shiny medals? Marching in formation? Oooh, saluting tanks!”
“Besides that?” The other two stared at Bishop blankly. His mind swirled through the possibilities.
The spell was broken by a knock at the door. All three drew their guns. Carefully, Bishop answered the door, pistol held against it, ready to shoot through the wood. There was no need. It was room service. The waiter quickly put the trays out and scuttled away, tip in hand.
Although he wasn’t hungry, Bishop knew he had to eat. He downed his drink as a theory began to form.
Dinner was pleasant. It was the company that made it so, more than the food. Zhao, of course, had been in charge of room service and over-ordered tremendously. The food was so bland and inoffensive it barely rated as food, but Li and Zhao kept Bishop entertained. Li’s charming naiveté was a welcome change in the cynical world of espionage. Zhao, on the other hand, was thoroughly captivating. The more time Bishop spent in her presence, the more confident and commanding she appeared.
Bishop also suspected that the occasional brushes of her foot against the inside of his leg were far less accidental than she claimed. Her furtive glances were also hard to miss. The woman may as well have been using flag semaphores to signal her intent. Bishop had to decide how he felt about that. About Zhao’s mood, that was, not flag semaphores.
She was a fellow agent, an extremely attractive and intelligent one, but they were on a mission together and still in hostile territory. The adrenaline rushes associated with brushes with death were well documented, as was the inescapable link between sex and death. After all, the French refer to an orgasm as “la petite mort” or “the little death”. If Bishop had time to get all psychological, he knew that being confronted with one’s mortality created a significant draw to celebrate life through sex. He knew it well. Intimately well.
His hesitancy wasn’t because he was a prude. He’d certainly slept with MI6 staff before. Many times. And their sisters. Vague acquaintances. Girlfriends. Wives.
Since Tessa left, he’d had nothing more than a one-night stand. In fact, if the woman stayed until dawn she was practically a long-term partner. Bishop didn’t just fear commitment, he’d developed it into a finely-honed phobia. Was his recent lust for danger a manifestation of that compulsion? He wondered how messed up he’d become after Tessa. His future psychologist bills were going to be massive.
His meandering thoughts were brought into focus by a wayward toe snaking up the inside of his upper thigh. The fact that her toe met resistance so far down gave Zhao a start. She stared at him in shock. The shock soon turned to hunger.
Li, gloriously ignorant of the under-table shenanigans, was trying to sell the other two on the benefits of something called a vocal trance national anthem. Bishop was only half listening. Then Li sloshed his beer into his chocolate mousse.
“Okay, Cowboy.” Bishop gently placed his hand over Li’s beer and pushed it away. “Time for beddy-byes.”
Minutes later Zhao and Bishop carried Li over to his bed. Placing the kid down, Bishop folded a blanket over him and turned off the light. He was sure Li was snoring by the time he shut the door.
In the hallway, Zhao stood patiently, one naked leg noticeably visible out of her robe. With her back arched and her head tilted sideways, she said in a sultry voice, “Care to tuck me in too?”
Lifting his arm in a gentlemanly manner, Bishop grinned impishly. “Why, of course.”
As they strode down the luxuriously appointed hallway arm in arm in garish hotel bathrobes, Bishop couldn’t miss Zhao rubbing against him. When they reached her door, she used the pass to unlock it without relinquishing her hold on Bishop’s arm.
“Take me to bed?” Her voice was suggestive, her face expectant. “I will warn you though, after our slight mishap today, I don’t have any pyjamas. I do hope that won’t be a problem for you?” Fingers snaking their way through his hair, Zhao leaned forward, panting slowly.
Bishop’s voice was low. “I do hope you won’t catch a cold.”
“Oh, I have some ideas about how to keep me warm, believe me. I can be quite… creative.”
“I have no doubt.” Bishop extracted his arm from Zhao’s and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Sleep well, I’ll see you in the morning.”
Zhao did nothing to hide her shock. “What… you’re… you’re not coming in?”
Bishop sighed. “I’m as surprised as the next person, but tonight, dear lady, I must politely decline your generous invitation.”
He lifted her hand and kissed it before pivoting and walking away. There was no mistaking the devastation on her face.
Taking the lift to the next floor, Bishop tried to work out what had just transpired. Had he actually declined sex? Had that ever occurred before? Zhao was extremely attractive and engaging. And eager. What exactly was the issue? Was it the pressures of the day? The mission? The recent thoughts of Tessa? All of the above?
Still unable to fathom what was going on, he considered calling Zhao and inviting her up. When his hotel room door clicked closed behind him, he flicked the light switch but nothing happened. He tried the nearby bathroom, but the lights refused to work.
Making his way in the darkness, he felt around for the phone to call reception. Before dialling, he sensed another presence in the room. There was a click, and a lamp illuminated a person sitting in the corner of the room.
Head tilted to one side, his voice was low and unemotional. “I think you and I are long overdue for a talk, son.”
With his pistol aimed at Bishop’s heart, Kevin Argento didn’t smile.
Chapter
Eight
“How did you find me?” Bishop’s trigger finger twitched. The gun in his shoulder holster seemed heavy. He did hate being the only one without their gun out.
“Saw you in park. Suspected they’d send you to come and… have a chat with me. Didn’t know if you’d take the job, to be honest.” His voice was raspy, tired. Even in the half light, Bishop could see Argento’s sunken eyes and unruly beard. This wasn’t the sprightly man Bishop remembered. “Then there’s the thing at the dinosaur park, good lord.” He tutted and shook his head. “Car bombs, explosions. Not exactly stealthy, hmmm? I take it you’re the one who nailed the gentleman to a wall?”
Bishop rocked on his heels, suddenly feeling like he was in the principal’s office. “I didn’t nail anyone to a wall.”
“No?”
“No. Absolutely nothing of the sort.” Bishop shrugged. “It was a knife.”
“Ah, very different.” Argento nodded, feigning amusement. The gun in his hand didn’t move. “And here you are in the most expensive hotel in the city.” He shook his head and frowned. “Did you remember nothing I taught you? This isn’t stealth, son. You may as well be running around naked in the People’s Congress with fireworks up your arse. A spy’s role is to be invisible, not whatever the hell you’ve been doing. I know you’re not good at following orders, but I’m pretty damn sure MI6 didn’t order you to explode dinosaurs and close down fun parks.”
Bishop crossed his arms. “There were complications.”
“There always are with you.”
Bishop was keen to change the subject. “You’re in my room, you have a gun and you haven’t shot me yet. I take it you want something.”
“I want you to leave me the hell alone.”
Bishop nodded slowly. “Sure, but like you said, I’m not good at following orders.”
“Always the smartarse.”
“Learnt from the best.”
Argento sneered. “What’s with the bathrobe? You been getting a massage instead of doing spy work?”
“Got wet. I don’t have a change of clothes as my suitcase kind of blew up.”
Argento offered no reply. Bishop noticed the plastic-wrapped package hanging on the outside of the wardrobe: no doubt his clothes, having been cleaned and pressed. Now probably wasn’t the time to get changed.
The two men glowered at one another. Regardless of what he’d been through, despite his mission, Bishop was glad to see his old mentor alive. Now more than ever he was unsure he could pull the trigger when the moment came. And given how tired the old man appeared, it could be seconds away.
Staring at Argento, Bishop could see he was frazzled, tired and drained, but he didn’t appear unhinged. “You’re not drunk.”
“I am not.”
“You’re not a fuckup.” Bishop tilted his head.
“No, son, I’m not that either.” He paused and glanced at the ceiling for a second, then returned his gaze. “Oh, I was there for a while. I reinvented myself.” He studied Bishop for a reaction. “Something you’re adept at, as well.”
No doubt he was referring to the name his mentor had given him years ago. Bishop wasn’t keen to go down that particular path of nostalgia. “There are quite a few folks back home who think you’re dangerous.”
“I love my country.”
“Funny way to show it, by starting a war.”
Argento slowly shook his head. “I’m not starting a war, son, I’m preventing one.” Bishop opened his mouth but Argento raised a finger, silencing him. “Before we get into all that, I need you to do something for me.”
Bishop said nothing, just stared. He detected a slight softening in Argento’s tone.
The old man swallowed hard. “I need you to do me a favour.”
Bishop knew that would have hurt. “If this is about feeding your goldfish, to be honest, I’m not sure I can. I have a lot on. There’s my macramé classes, and I’ve just taken up jazz ballet.”
“It’s about Tessa, you moron.”
That got Bishop’s attention. “What about Tessa?”
“I need you to look after her.”
“I don’t know if she’d be inclined to accept my help.” Bishop thought back to the last time he’d seen Tessa at the airport, the dirty expression smeared across her face, the hatred in her eyes. “We aren’t exactly on speaking terms.”
“Like I give a shit about that.” Argento closed his eyes and rubbed his wrinkled face. “I need you to—”
His words were cut short by a sudden rapping at the door. Argento rose out of his chair, pistol trained on Bishop. He slowly closed the gap between them, stopping just shy of striking distance.
In a quiet voice, Argento motioned to the noise. “What’s that?”
Bishop shrugged. “It’s a door.”
Argento issued a heavy sigh. “Don’t be an idiot. What’s going on with the door?”
“Nothing. It’s just standing there.”
“Might I remind you I have a short temper and a gun?” Argento frowned. “Find out who it is.”
Without moving, Bishop craned his neck and shouted, “Who is it?”
From the other side of the door came the response. “It’s Zhao.”
Bishop turned to Argento. “It’s Zhao.”
“Thank you ever so much. Who’s Zhao?”
“My partner.”
Flicking the gun to the door, Argento said, “Let her in.”
Bishop did as instructed. Once he opened the door he saw Zhao. All of Zhao. Standing in the hallway, she wore a flimsy black mesh robe. And nothing else.
Noting the shock on his face, Zhao grinned wickedly. “The gift shop has everything.”
She winked and stepped forward, opening the robe to reveal her smooth, naked body. Before Bishop could utter a sound, she stepped forward and thrust her arms around him. Lips locking onto his, she enveloped him in a kiss. “I can’t sleep,” she purred.
“You’d better come in.”
Closing the door behind them, Bishop ushered her into the room. Her sultry demeanour shattered when she saw Argento. To her credit, she didn’t scream, just put her hand to her mouth in shock.
Assessing the newcomer, Argento turned to Bishop. “Seems you got over Tessa alright.”
Zhao did her best to cover herself, her face flushed.
Bishop frowned. “It was two years ago.”
Zhao gawped at Bishop. “Who’s Tessa? Wait, who’s… is that Argento?”
Argento grabbed Zhao’s arm. “Go sit on the chair, please, darlin’.”
Situated between Zhao and Bishop, Argento stepped forward, within striking distance. Bishop acted. Laying in a short kidney punch jab with his right, Bishop grasped the hilt of Argento’s pistol with his left. Both his hands darted to the gun as Bishop stomped on the side of Argento’s knee. The old man cried out. With the gun firmly in Bishop’s grasp, and Argento’s wrist twisted, Bishop ripped the gun away. He promptly aimed it at Argento’s head.
