For a moment, Bishop lurched from the present and was reminded of the one love of his life. He wondered if he and Tessa could ever have made it like these two had: doubtful. He also wondered if she’d ever cared for him as passionately as he had once cared for her: possible. Finally, he wondered if she’d stay pissed at him forever for adding her to the no-fly list: undoubtedly.

  His wayward thoughts were interrupted by Zhao sitting up with an expectant look on her face. “And how do you two gentlemen know each other?” Zhao’s delivery was a little too quick. She’d have to work on her subtlety.

  The Pope’s eyes narrowed, and his face grew hard. “Like he said, we met in London. But that’s not where I got to know who he really was. That came later. Your little shit of a partner royally screwed me over.”

  “Look, if you could possibly overdramatise the story, that would be great.” Bishop smirked. Addressing Zhao, he gave his version of the story. Several years before, the UK and US were on a joint mission to apprehend a notorious terrorist recruiter who had been tracked to Macau. It was meant to be a joint collar, but at the last minute Bishop had absconded with the suspect and extradited him to England, allowing the mother country to take credit for the collar.

  Zhao screwed up her face. “That seems highly unethical.”

  Folding his arms, The Pope said, “You’re not fucking wrong.”

  “Oh, come on, the Prime Minister thanked the US.” In a lower tone, Bishop added, “Buried deep in the fourth paragraph of the PM’s statement. Can’t think why he still holds a grudge.”

  “It seems like a complete mystery.” Zhao shook her head.

  Bishop went on. “The suspect had information critical to His Majesty’s interests which couldn’t wait for the Americans to claim their pound of flesh. We obtained the intelligence and many lives were saved in the process. I’m not going to apologise for that.”

  The Pope shook his head and poured himself more wine. His body language was less tense now. He wasn’t a field agent, and not well-versed at masking his emotions; the truth had clearly lessened his anger. “You could have asked.”

  “Yes, because the US are normally so generous in their handling of espionage matters.”

  The Pope tilted his head in acknowledgement. “So, what do you want?”

  “I need to find him.” Bishop leaned forward. “I know you can help me.”

  Frowning, The Pope stretched his arms behind his head. “I may have heard a whisper or two.” Bishop knew that meant shouts. Understatement was one of The Pope’s most annoying traits. He had cultivated a network of informants over his twenty years in the country; that doesn’t get turned off overnight.

  Bishop waited. Sometimes silence was the best interrogator. The Pope went on. “With the six he’s killed, I think—”

  “Six?” Silence no longer an option, Bishop sat up. “We’ve only heard of three, four if you count the politician who survived.”

  With a frown, The Pope took a swig of his drink. “Seems some of us are better informed than others, eh? Who’re yours?”

  Bishop paused. The intelligence he had was top secret. The Pope could be playing him, but he doubted it. He weighed up whether to share what he knew.

  “This is like a lethal game of Go Fish,” Zhao said with a half-smile. Bishop was warming to her.

  He sighed. There was no use withholding the information. In order for The Pope to divulge anything, Bishop would need to give up what he had.

  “Zhou Cai, Commander of the Ministry of State Security. Yao Qing, a cultural attaché at the UN. A third was found in his home with a TV cord wrapped around his neck. And an unsuccessful attempt on an underling in the Defence committee of the National People’s Congress.”

  With a sage nod, The Pope placed his glass carefully on the table. “He killed a soldier in a field, a kid really, after attempting to assassinate Jiang Huang from the Defence committee. Then there’s the latest, just yesterday.”

  Bishop held his breath. A recent victim would put him within one day’s travel. Far closer than any MI6 intelligence placed him.

  The Pope went on. “This one was self-defence, it seems. Best my sources can make out, a member of the local police force stumbled on a Western man on a bus acting suspicious. It wasn’t until afterwards that the authorities figured out who it was.”

  “What happened to the police officer?” Zhao’s despondent face told Bishop she already suspected what the answer would be.

  “Argento shot him in the face and fled. The officer died at the scene.”

  With a nod, Bishop kept his voice quiet. “Where is he?”

  Swirling the liquid in the glass, The Pope stared at it contemplatively. “He’s a good man.”

  “Apart from all the face shooting?” Bishop could hear the emotion he’d allowed to creep into his tone.

  The Pope held his gaze. “I don’t know what’s compelling him to do what he’s doing, but you know him. This isn’t him. He’s better than this. He’s a good man.”

  Bishop didn’t move. “I know.”

  “A good man who’s doing some crazy shit.”

  The MI6 agent’s face remained neutral. “I know that too.”

  “Will you at least talk to him first?”

  “I’m not going to promise something I can’t—”

  The Pope shook his head. “You talk to him first or I give you shit, Bishop. Okay? That’s the deal. I’ll supply you the means to find him if you promise to talk to him first. Find out why he wants to start World War Three. If he’s fucking nuts, fine, put a bullet in him—hell, you can have one of mine.” The Pope leaned forward. “But I know the man, and so do you. I’m having a damn hard time believing he’s doing all this for shits and giggles. If you’re a mile away, watching him through a sniper’s scope, you’ll never find out. Talk to the man. Look him in the eye. I owe him that. You owe him that. That’s my price.”

  Leaning back, Bishop scrutinised the ceiling. He could lie to The Pope and say, “sure, I’ll talk to him”, and then assassinate him just the same, but that didn’t sit right with him. He could see where The Pope was coming from. If the situation was reversed, he’d likely ask the same. Bishop prided himself on being a man of his word. He wouldn’t lie to The Pope if he could avoid it.

  “Alright. I’ll talk to him first.” Bishop meant it. If circumstances made it difficult or impossible then he’d have to live with that, but he would do his best to keep his word.

  Bishop was just opening his mouth to ask for a location when Ying Yue came running into the room.

  “Lawrence, the perimeter alarms have gone off.”

  The Pope’s head snapped around to Bishop, his eyes narrowed, then he rushed to the kitchen and rummaged around in a drawer until he found what he was looking for. He aimed a remote at the TV, which came alive. On screen was grainy night footage, split into four images, different locations exterior to The Pope’s mansion. Each image was similar. Black-clad troops wearing balaclavas and tactical webbing, creeping forward with carbine assault weapons.

  The Pope turned to Bishop. “You brought this into my house!”

  Everyone was on their feet. In the kitchen, The Pope and Ying Yue were engaged in an urgent, hushed discussion.

  Zhao leaned over to Bishop and spoke in a hushed tone. “Master of disguise, my skinny arse. They must have tracked you via CCTV in the subway.”

  Remaining quiet, Bishop assessed the formation of the attackers. They had a minute at best. He turned to The Pope. “I’m genuinely sorry.”

  “If they make me leave this country because of you I’m hunting you down, Bishop. You understand me?”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  The Pope scrambled to the corner of the open plan room and pushed aside a reading chair. He heaved up a heavy trapdoor.

  With one eye on the footage of the encroaching troops, Bishop asked, “What do we do now?”

  From the hole in the floor, The Pope threw Bishop a shotgun. “We fight.”

  Chapter

  Five

  Arming Zhao and his wife, The Pope closed the trapdoor and slid the chair back into place. Ying Yue held the firearm with such hesitancy Bishop assumed she was inexperienced with firing weapons. Zhao, on the other hand, grasped hers with both hands, checked the balance, counted the shells and cocked the shotgun with confidence.

  Dashing to the nearest wall, The Pope pressed some unseen button and a portion of the wall slid silently aside. Behind it, a bank of servers and IT equipment blinked away on racks. Flipping down a protective clear plastic cover, The Pope slapped a large red button on the wall. Instantly the equipment smouldered, smoke billowing from inside the computers.

  The Pope pressed a button and the wall slid back in place. He sped away. “Follow me.”

  Before they reached the other side of the room, the door they had entered through blew off its rails. Four assault troops burst through the chaos of smoke and shouts, with several more taking defensive positions in the hallway. A similar blast behind them, combined with even more shouts, told Bishop they were cut off, outnumbered and outgunned. Beside him, Zhao’s grip tightened around the shotgun.

  Bishop pushed down the barrel of her gun. “There’s no way we win this.”

  The other two followed his lead and lowered their weapons. The four lead assault troops disarmed them and stood at the centre of the room, a smoke haze swirling around them.

  One of the lead assault troops removed his balaclava. Across the right side of his face was a distinctive purple birthmark. The man Bishop had seen at the airport spoke quietly into his lapel mic. Ministry of State Security.

  The odds were almost even, but the opposition had the drop. Their weapons were drawn and aimed. No quick draw would succeed. Bishop dropped his shotgun and it clattered to the floor. The others did the same. They couldn’t win this one; it was over.

  From the original breach door, a tall man appeared. Mid-fifties, he had a severe face that had seemingly developed from a lifetime of scowling. It was a face that conveyed neither warmth nor joy. It was a cruel face.

  Stepping forward, he inspected all four, as if assessing their very souls. He didn’t appear to like what he saw. The Pope earned a particularly disdainful expression.

  The man’s expensive black suit and buttoned-up black shirt were expertly tailored. If he was a civil servant, he was a well-paid one. Bishop remained silent.

  Taking position in front of Bishop, the newcomer rocked on his heels. “It seems we have a common goal.” His English was flawless, with only a hint of an accent. “My name is Chang Yuchin. It seems we have a mutual objective. We have… an opportunity to work together to—”

  “You have no right to invade my home like this!”

  Chang slapped The Pope across the face. It was a decent backhander, delivered with force. To his credit, the big man staggered only slightly, but more importantly made no move to retaliate. The Pope stood tall and glared. Tough old bastard.

  “I have every right. And please don’t interrupt me in the middle of a diatribe. It’s most annoying.” Chang straightened his already straight jacket. “Now, why don’t we, as the Americans are so fond of saying,” he turned to The Pope, “cut the bullshit.”

  Bishop wondered how they had not only tracked him, but also knew about The Pope, and more importantly suspected that they knew Argento’s whereabouts. Kicking down doors seemed excessive. Either this was Chang’s usual methodology or they were desperate. Possibly both.

  Chang stepped forward and walked slowly in front of them, staring intently as he went. When finished, he swivelled and glared at them all. “You know what I want.”

  Bishop tilted his head. “What you really really want?”

  “What?” Chang’s head twisted towards him.

  Smiling amenably, Bishop shrugged. “So tell me what you want. What you really really want.”

  Face creased in confusion, Chang gave a slight shake of his head. “What on Earth are you— You’ve seen all these guns, yes?” Chang remained unamused. “I could have any one of these men shoot you right now.”

  Bishop gave a frowning nod. “If that’s what you really really want.”

  Lips pursed, Chang pivoted and walked away. His face grew red. “Jun!”

  An assault troop raised his gun, aiming it directly at Bishop’s head.

  Zhao stared at Bishop wide-eyed. Astonished, she asked quietly, “Do you have a death wish?”

  Retaining his affable persona, Bishop whispered, “The man can be rattled. He’s serious, under pressure, shows restraint but is prone to outbursts. That means he can be manipulated if handled right.”

  Zhao stared at Bishop with dual expressions: admiration and the belief that he was completely and utterly mad. Mind racing, Bishop assessed his options. There weren’t many. It seemed far too convenient for Chang and his Ministry goons to have arrived in force, ready to obtain the exact same information Bishop was after. Something didn’t add up. Did MI6 have a leak? Were they watching The Pope already? But these were questions for another time. First, he had to concentrate on not being shot in the face.

  “Tell me, Chang.” Bishop’s tone was casual, as if no firearms were pointed at him. “You’re after something. You say it’s in our mutual interest. I’m no expert on these things, but pointing guns at people and threatening to kill them hardly seems conducive to a mutually beneficial partnership.”

  “Ah, now you sound like a true MI6 operative.” Chang grinned. It was an icy, callous expression. “What made you think this was a partnership?” He waved his index finger in Bishop’s face. “I said we had the same goal, I did not state we were partners. The mistake was yours.”

  “You have no right to invade my home like this.” It was the first time Ying Yue had spoken. “I am Chinese. This is my house. We were doing nothing but just having dinner. This invasion is illegal.” There was no tremble in her voice, despite being the only one of the four with no training, as far as Bishop knew. Regardless, she was tough. Bishop liked her.

  “Is that right? Do archaeology professors usually brandish shotguns after dinner? Is this a thing?” Chang issued a bored sigh. “Let us get to the point, shall we? Tell me where Kevin Argento is within one minute or one of you will die.”

  To emphasise the point, he stared at his watch. The sudden escalation in tension had a different effect on everyone in the room. Bishop’s mind reeled, but he squashed the unwieldly thoughts and focused on the situation. He needed to keep everyone safe. He needed to de-escalate the snowballing danger in the room.

  He came up blank. He had nothing that would appease Chang. Bishop’s thoughts went to the only other avenue available to him. He assessed the position of every combatant in the room. He eyed every armed assault team member, rolling attack scenarios through his head.

  The black-clad soldiers remained unmoved, either through training or because they didn’t speak English. Ying Yue threw a hand over her mouth as panic invaded her eyes. The Pope grasped her arm, consoling his wife, then he puffed out his chest and clenched his fists. Zhao crouched lower, assuming a fighting stance.

  The Pope stepped forward. “You can’t possibly expect us to know the whereabouts of—”

  “You are my wasting time!” The anger Chang exuded was absolute. But just as suddenly as the rage had appeared, it dissipated. He breathed deeply and straightened his black tie, then tilted his watch so The Pope could see it. “The clock is ticking.”

  The man was clearly unstable. Calm and humourless one moment, enraged the next, with very little provocation. His wild mood swings made it difficult for Bishop to get a handle on him. He could be bluffing, waiting to see how they reacted. It would be insane to execute one of them without trying to torture or coerce them first. Shooting anyone would be the act of a madman. He had to be bluffing.

  Pacing before the four of them, Chang bellowed, “Five.”

  “Wait, if we could just…” The Pope’s tone was imploring.

  “Four.”

  The Pope straightened his back. “This is preposterous.”

  “Three.”

  “You’re not really going to…”

  “Two.”

  “Wait, please!”

  “One.” Chang’s eyes narrowed on The Pope. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Fine.”

  Chang clicked his fingers and pointed. A black-clad soldier stepped forward and aimed. Before any of them could utter a word of protest, he fired. In the bare room the sound was deafening.

  The body fell. It wasn’t like in the movies, where the victim is dramatically propelled backward. They simply collapsed. Lifeless.

  No one screamed. No one shouted. For several seconds there was nothing but stunned silence.

  Then the world spun up again. The Pope was the first to move. He dashed to the body, cradled her head and wailed. The bullet had entered Ying Yue’s body dead centre, obliterating her life instantly. Her face still showed the shock of the moment she died. The only comfort Bishop held was that it was a clean kill. Not that it was any comfort to her inconsolable husband.

  The Pope’s head snapped to Chang, unhinged fury carved across his face. The instant transformation was startling. Coiled, The Pope was about to launch himself at the harbinger of his pain when Bishop leapt at him. He tackled the big man to the ground, restrained him face down, arms pinned behind him. The Pope struggled against him, but it was futile. Bishop’s grip was as absolute as his determination. The former NSA man soon stopped struggling and resumed his pained wails.

  Lips next to The Pope’s ear, Bishop whispered quickly. “We’ll get the fucking bastard. Soon. Not now. We have to survive if we’re going to make him pay. Keep your head. We’ll get him. You have my word.” Bishop checked that no one had heard his words. “There’s a shotgun near your leg.”

  The Pope looked back at Bishop blankly, his face tear-stained, and nodded. He could comprehend the words spoken. His expression was still hate-filled, but he understood. Whether he was in a state to act was another story. Regardless, they had to fight back.

  Chang slapped his hands together like he was about to make a friendly announcement. “Now, where were we?”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20