Agent provocateur, p.13
Agent Provocateur, page 13
With a whimper, she whispered, “You’re safe.”
“Not yet, he’s not.” Bishop tossed the keys to Li. “You drive. Tessa, you’re in the passenger seat. Kevin, back seat with me.”
Making her way around the car, Tessa stopped in front of Bishop. “Thank you, Charles.”
“My pleasure.”
“No.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “Thank you.” Her gaze was firm but gentle. In an instant Bishop was reminded of endless nights gazing into her green eyes and becoming lost in them, their bodies tangled as one. It was a beautiful memory, painful to recall.
Li and Tessa took their assigned positions and Argento nodded, knowing exactly what Bishop had in mind. With the two of them in the back seat, they could coordinate efforts if bullets started flying. In preparation, Bishop opened the boot, extracting pistols and boxes of ammunition.
That’s when he heard the squeal of tyres. He turned to see a white van careening towards them. This wasn’t someone out for a casual pre-dawn drive. Whoever was in the van was after them.
The white van bounced along the narrow road at breakneck speed and would be on them in seconds. In an instant Bishop calculated the time it would take him to run around the car, get in and take off. They wouldn’t make it. And even if he did, they would have someone right on their tail. He had to buy them time.
There was only one thing to do.
He slammed down the boot and shouted to Li. “Go now, that’s an order.”
Without waiting for a response, Bishop sprinted towards the oncoming van to reinforce the fact that there would be no debate. To his credit, Li did as he was told. He floored it. Bishop smiled at the screech of tyres. At least she’d be safe.
Bishop slowed, and stood alone in the centre of the street, a pistol in each hand. The day broke over the horizon behind him, giving the scene a spectral feel. The van hurtled forward. There was no way around him: they’d have to stop or mow him down. Either option would allow the others to get away.
The van was almost upon him. He tossed the guns aside and placed his hands on his head, smiling. The roar of the engine enveloped him, the headlights blinding.
At the last second the van skidded, lurched forward and slammed backwards, mere centimetres from Bishop’s chest. The engine ticked away for what seemed like hours. The glare of the headlights made it impossible for Bishop to see into the cabin.
Two figures emerged, one from either side of the vehicle, their boots echoing around the silent street.
Shielding his eyes, Bishop put on his most affable expression. “Oh, hey. I’m a bit disoriented. Can either of you point me towards Piccadilly Circus? I fear I’m terribly lost.”
The two figures didn’t appear amused. Chang and Zhao aimed their weapons at Bishop.
The first five minutes were a flurry of punches. And the next five. Then things got really nasty.
With both wrists handcuffed to the interior roof of the van, Bishop couldn’t put up much of a fight. His bare feet were handcuffed too—or perhaps they were called feetcuffs, Bishop wasn’t sure. He earned extra punches when he asked. When Chang’s henchman grew weary, the muscle-headed creep gave his wrists a shake and went to the front of the van to recuperate. Bishop couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry for him.
Bishop turned to Chang. “Just so you know, I’m giving this place a terrible review on Trip Advisor.”
The older man barely raised a condescending grimace. The van Chang and his two assailants had picked Bishop up in wasn’t large. Bishop could kick the driver’s seat if he wanted to—if he had the energy. His battered form was so drained he could hardly stand. Chang and Zhao stood at the rear of the van, doing their best to appear indifferent to the beating. The henchman was short and built like a boulder, pure muscle and wrath. He also doubled as a driver: he’d been the one to drive the van to the empty industrial car park where they now were.
Bishop ground his bare feet into the floor of the van, forcing himself to remain present and to retain his wits. He was still alive, able to touch. The sensation of the grit against his skin grounded him, re-energised his senses.
Chang and Zhao spoke in hushed tones. The words were unfamiliar, but their demeanour wasn’t. There was an intimacy in their exchange, not sexual—Chang could be her father—but familial. The two were close. Their words intermingled, one’s short sentences were completed by the other, quick quips were rewarded with smirks, as if acknowledging old in-jokes. Bishop wondered if he could use their familiarity to his advantage.
“She’s very good at what she does.” He nodded towards her. “Zhao, or whatever her name is. She had us fooled from minute one. You’ve taught her well. You must be very proud of your creation.”
Chang sighed. “You make me sound like Dr Frankenstein and she the monster.”
Bishop’s handcuffs rattled as he pointed to his collar. “It’s the bolts on the neck.”
Throughout their exchange Zhao remained silent. Bishop was unsure if it was because she was acceding to her superior, embarrassed at having duped him so thoroughly or perhaps she arrogantly believed she was above such conversations. It was hard to tell.
Tilting his head at his captor, Bishop smiled. “How was your flight, Chang?”
The head of State Security baulked. “How was my… how on earth did you know I’d been on a flight?”
It was poor form for Chang to have confirmed Bishop’s assumption so freely, but Bishop let it slide. “The van still has the cardboard advice hanging from the rear-view mirror, meaning it’s a hire. There are bags in the front seat with tags on the handles. And finally, the stain on your collar is black bean sauce from the Hainan first-class selection.”
Bishop put on his best smug façade. The last point was designed to annoy the ex-admiral, as it was a complete fabrication, but it seemed to have the desired effect.
“Don’t tell me you flew all the way to Zhengzhou?” On seeing Chang’s annoyance, Bishop burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s precious! I said it as a joke to your guy as I was crucifying him. Too funny.” Bishop shook his head in mock amusement. “Tell me, were you on your way to pick Argento up from the police station when he was sprung?” Again, Chang’s face was like a brightly lit billboard, confirming Bishop’s assumptions. “My, that must be frightfully annoying.”
“Enough!” Chang clenched his fists, irritated.
He spoke rapidly to Bishop’s torturer, who went to sit in the driver’s seat. Seemingly a man of few words, the Brute sat silently, leaving Chang and Zhao to their interrogation.
“Now Yang has softened you up, you can provide some answers.” Chang leaned forward and sneered. “Who do you work for?”
“Avon.” Bishop’s tone was matter-of-fact.
“What?”
“I know, I know, everyone says I should move over to Mary Kay, but I’ve invested so much it would be like starting from scratch, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that type of transition, you know?”
Chang stared at Bishop for the longest time, his face a melange of frustration, annoyance and bewilderment. “Are you really that stupid?”
“I don’t know,” Bishop tilted his head, “are you? Your offsider there infiltrated my group by impersonating an MI6 operative. We spoke of MI6. You know who I work for, so perhaps we could skip the boring exposition parts and get to the meat of the matter.”
“Which is?”
Bishop squinted. “How are you off for lipsticks?”
The slap was brutish and efficient. Bishop’s head snapped around. He would have fallen if not for the handcuffs.
Bishop tasted the blood trickling from his lip. “What about blush? With your complexion, I’d really recommend—”
The punch to the gut knocked the wind out of him, and for several seconds he struggled for air. It was a shame, it really took the fun out of annoying Chang. The man was quick to temper, far too easy to rile. There was an unhinged nature to him. Bishop’s mind raced, trying to find ways to use it to his advantage, but they all circled back to the same unequivocal conclusion: he was screwed.
At least his capture had served a purpose. The fact he remained alive was evidence enough that his diversionary tactic had been successful. It appeared the others had managed to make it out. There would be no need to interrogate Bishop otherwise. If Chang’s goons had Argento, Bishop would have a hole in his forehead and be rotting in a ditch somewhere. Chang needed information, that meant the others were free. She was free.
Bishop knew he would not share their fate. The only three individuals who could potentially aid him had no idea where he was. There would be no miraculous rescue, no daring escape. Bishop’s destiny was as plain as it would be brief.
Yet, even in the face of all that, Bishop couldn’t combat years of training. He still planned. Still schemed. It was futile, but Bishop couldn’t help himself. If he was to go down, he’d go down swinging. His mind raced.
The van was a new addition. The day before, there had been four SUVs. In Bishop’s estimation, three had been written off in the traffic skirmish. Yet here he was in a van. Perhaps the one remaining black SUV was scouring the streets for Argento, Li and Tessa. Bishop hoped he’d given them a sufficient enough head start. It was possible the van was all Chang had been able to hire on short notice. Then there was the question of why Bishop was there at all.
“Why a van?” Bishop did his best to appear off-the-cuff. Which took quite an effort, given said cuffs were chained to the ceiling of the van.
“What?” Chang was visibly annoyed.
“I’m wondering why a van, you know? Why not interrogate me in a regular facility? Or the police station, for that matter?”
“You’re not entirely popular there, or don’t you remember blowing it up?” It was the first time Zhao had addressed him since he’d entered the van.
“Yes, but,” Bishop waggled his finger, “that’s not it. You see, if you had apprehended the perpetrator of the attack, and of course I admit to doing no such thing, then you’d have all the security you could eat. But instead we’re in this off-the-shelf budget rental van. Therefore, I’m left wondering why a van? Hmm? Did you need a quiet place for your cry-wanking?”
“Do you have a point besides being vulgar?” Chang seemed close to losing his temper again.
“The van, the handcuffs, they were intended for Argento, right? If so, why weren’t you interrogating him at the police station?” Bishop tilted his head. “Unless whatever you thought you were going to extract from Argento wasn’t for everyone to hear. Hence—” Bishop waved his hands around the interior of the van.
That’s why Argento was untouched when Bishop had arrived at the station. He hadn’t been interrogated. Yet. Chang wanted to conduct his questioning away from other departments. The van was the perfect place. It also made disposing of the body far easier.
“Whatever this is,” Bishop shook his handcuffs, “it isn’t sanctioned. In fact, I’m guessing your whole damn operation is off the books. Why have weapons stashes around the country? If this was legitimate you wouldn’t need black SUVs roaming the countryside, would you? You’d have police, the army, air force and dog catchers coming down on us faster than you could say little red book. But you don’t, do you? You were the one who suppressed the fact that it was Argento who’d been photographed at the farm because you wanted him for yourself. And why leave Argento languishing in a cell overnight? That seems slapdash, unless it was the most secure place you could get with limited influence and funding. No,” Bishop sniffed, “you’ve got your own agenda and it certainly doesn’t have a governmental stamp of approval, at least not yet. I wonder who you’re working for, Chang?”
Throughout his rant, Bishop scrutinised Chang’s face. He wasn’t terribly good at concealing his surprise and emotion. There were cracks, some Grand Canyon-wide, in his features. The man was a walking billboard.
Chang’s manner put Bishop on edge. There was an ever-present danger to the man. He was like a crouched lion, ready to tear you to shreds at a moment’s notice.
“Enough babble.” With a tilted head, Chang attempted to appear charming. He failed miserably. “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
Chang shot Bishop a solid punch to the solar plexus. It was a good jab, efficient. It took the wind out of his sails for a few seconds.
The older man’s face reddened. “Where is it?”
Finally, they got to the point. Bishop was amazed it had taken so long, given that his team could be speeding in any direction. He also recalled what Mr Shaved Head had said at the dinosaur park—something was going down on Friday. Chang was on the clock, and the rapidly approaching deadline was making him desperate.
Bishop wondered how long he could hold out. Not long, based on the brutality of their warm-up tactics. He just had to buy the others enough time to get as far away from Chang as possible.
Bishop was ready to begin. “We’re referring to Argento as an it, now, are we?”
Chang raised his hand to strike but appeared to think better of it. Brutality was more effective when used sparingly. He leaned in menacingly. “Where’s the case?”
Bishop didn’t immediately reply. For several seconds, he wondered if Chang was referring to Argento as a case. But that didn’t make sense. “What case?” The agitation on Chang’s face was obvious. He thought Bishop was playing dumb. He wasn’t. He really was dumb. “No really, what case?”
Chang drew back his hand to slap Bishop, but Zhao softly placed her hand over the older man’s arm to stop him.
She watched Bishop as she spoke to her superior. “In all our time together, he never once mentioned the case. He may know nothing of it.”
What was the case? More importantly, what was inside the case, and why was Chang so interested in it? All this time Bishop had believed Argento was their prize, but was there something else at play here? What was Bishop missing?
Bishop’s whole mission dynamic had changed. He was glad he’d disregarded his initial assignment parameters; everything was far muddier and more complex than it had seemed at Vauxhall Cross. This wasn’t a wet job. This didn’t require a blunt instrument. There was far more going on.
When it all boiled down to it, Bishop only had one mission now: stop Chang.
A garbled message came through the radio at the front of the van. Yang, the sometimes torturer, sometimes driver, had an urgent conversation with Chang. The head of State Security turned slowly to Bishop, his face twisted in a sadistic expression.
“Your friends have been spotted on a traffic camera.” He leaned in so Bishop could witness his glee up close. “Shall we go find them? I look forward to watching your face when you see them tortured and killed due to your ineptitude. Would you like that, Bishop?” He spat his name like venom.
The bastard was going to intercept Bishop’s team. He was going to lay a hand on Tessa. Bishop couldn’t allow it. The MI6 agent’s jaw clenched. He closed his eyes and steadied himself.
Chang assessed Bishop, from his bare feet to his matted hair. “You know something, Bishop? Before the day is out you’ll be begging me for your life.”
Bishop grinned a bloody smile. “You first, Chang. You first.”
Chang clicked his fingers. Yang started the engine and within seconds the van was heading out of the industrial car park. In a few quick turns it was on a highway. It was early morning, and the traffic was heavy on the other side of the highway, presumably meaning the van was headed away from the city.
The van swerved around a slow-moving tractor too quickly, sending Chang and Zhao stumbling against the rear of the van. This was Bishop’s one chance. With his hands grasping the handcuffs on the roof of the van, Bishop’s legs shot out towards Yang in the driver’s seat. Hoisting his manacled feet over the driver’s head, Bishop looped the chain of the handcuffs around the driver’s neck and pulled. With the balls of his feet pressed firmly on the back of the headrest, he pushed with everything he had. Yang’s hands left the wheel as he clawed at the chain strangling the life from him.
Chang lunged forward, hitting Bishop’s legs to dislodge them, but they held true like they were set in concrete. Despite repeated thumps of his fists, Chang couldn’t remove Bishop’s feet. In the reflection in the rear-view mirror, Bishop saw Yang’s face turning purple.
Gritting his teeth, Bishop heaved and sprung his feet off the headrest and heard a satisfying crack from the front of the vehicle. Yang’s neck had snapped. Realising that the van was veering off the road, Chang scrambled towards the steering wheel.
As the van careened across the highway towards oncoming traffic, Chang struggled to correct their course.
Horrified, Zhao turned to Bishop. “You've killed us all!”
Looking at Chang at the front of the van and the rapidly approaching red truck, Bishop smiled and said, “Mission accomplished.”
Bishop kept smiling right up until they crashed.
Chapter
Eleven
Chang wrenched the wheel as the truck before them swerved to avoid the collision. The big lorry careened off the road into an embankment, and the out-of-control van tore forward into oncoming traffic. Handcuffed to the roof, Bishop was under no illusions about his fate. He just hoped it would be quick.
With no foot on the accelerator, the van slowed. But not enough. A green Ford saw the oncoming van and slammed on the brakes, but too late. Neither vehicle was at full speed, but it mattered little. The crash was still awful.
The two solid masses colliding produced a deafening cacophony of sound. Solid metal folded like paper as fragments of plastic and glass flew in all directions.
The front of the van crumpled and Chang was launched through the front windscreen. Zhao’s untethered body flew forward and smashed sideways into the back of the driver and passenger seats. Bishop, shackled to the roof, clung to the chains, trying not to lose his hands. The impact threw him upward into the roof and everything went black.
When Bishop came to, his ears rung and his wrists felt like they were on fire. He could hear the hiss of escaping steam and the death-rattle clank of a dying engine. The impact had been far slower than it could have been, but it was still brutal.
