Eye for an Eye (37 page)

British East Africa

€75,000

A short bald man with round gold-rimmed glasses stepped to Koo’s right, also admiring the head.

“The hunting was good that year,” said the man.

“It’s not for sale,” replied Koo. He turned, without looking at the man, and left the taxidermy shop.

*   *   *

Koo walked slowly, on thin cobblestone sidewalks, toward the Seine, stopping to look in the windows of different art galleries, chocolate shops, and patisseries. He didn’t look behind him.

Koo knew he was possibly being watched, and the next few minutes were important. The chances they were following him were slim but real. After all, Koo himself had spent his first years at the ministry doing nothing except surveillance of other ministry agents. It had always struck him as being inefficient and uneconomical. And yet he’d discovered two different traitors during his time in the surveillance unit, both ministry agents who’d gone to work for Russia.

If they were following him, looking back could be construed as paranoia, a cue; it had the potential to cause more men to be called in. And so he walked casually, pretending to enjoy the warm fall afternoon despite the speed with which his heart now beat.

He replayed the exchange at Deyrolle:

The hunting was good that year:
We must meet immediately.

It’s not for sale:
Shakespeare and Company.

At the Seine, he turned right and walked in front of the small booksellers and antiquarians who lined the banks of the river. He aimed for Notre Dame and its ornate spires.

Inside the main door to the cathedral, he stepped quickly to his left, then sprinted down a set of stairs to the basement. He ran down a dimly lit hallway, past a man in vestry garments, who did not even look up. At the end of the hallway, he went through a small wooden door to another stairwell, this one darkened. He went down to the next level, using his phone light to guide him. At the next landing was another door. He opened it and stepped into an alley, a recessed flood channel at the back of the cathedral, two stories below ground level. Koo climbed an iron ladder attached to the masonry and was soon back at street level, near the verdant lawns that flanked the cathedral. Koo walked quickly to the street. Across the busy traffic, he saw the sign:
SHAKESPEARE AND COMPANY
.

Inside the crowded bookstore, Koo climbed thin stairs to the second floor, then passed customers browsing old, used books. Near the back, he stopped at a shelf of dust-covered volumes, next to a door that said
EMPLOYEES ONLY
. He pretended to browse, glancing around him until, finally, there was no one else in sight. Koo removed a key from his pocket, placed it in the door lock, and turned.

Koo stepped into the small office, shutting the door quickly behind him.

Against the wall sat an old wooden desk, piled high with documents, bills, and paper, much of it yellowed and frayed. Two chairs were next to the desk, along with an old, torn leather club chair, which served as the desk chair. A beautiful glass lamp on the desk provided the only light in the windowless room.

Two people were seated in the chairs, waiting for Koo. In the left chair was a woman in a stylish black trench coat, with brown hair that was combed neatly back and a serious look on her pale, unattractive face. Koo had never met her before but knew exactly who she was: Veronica Smythson, head of MI6 paramilitary operations.

In the other chair was someone Koo did know, the man who’d recruited him to be a double agent for MI6 six years before: Derek Chalmers, the head of the agency, his blond hair longer and more unruly than Koo remembered.

“Hello, Koo,” said Chalmers. “Please sit down.”

Koo sat down in the leather chair, saying nothing.

“It’s time to make preparations,” said Chalmers. “We’re bringing you in.”

Koo stared at Chalmers impassively, without emotion.

“Why?”

“You’re going to be exposed,” said Chalmers.

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

Koo stared at Chalmers. He knew the day might come. Indeed, sometimes he dreamed of it, of the day, the time, the place he would go, the day everything would be wiped clean and he would be brought in.

“Where will I be sent?”

“You know we can’t tell you that.”

“Do I have a choice about where I am to go?”

“No,” said Chalmers. “I’m sorry.”

Koo reached to his pocket and removed a pack of cigarettes.

“Do you mind?” he asked, looking at Smythson.

“Not at all,” she said.

Koo lit a cigarette, then took a long puff.

“So tell me about the operation,” said Koo, exhaling.

“It has to do with the ministry,” said Smythson. “More than that, I cannot tell you. Excepting, of course, your role.”

Koo nodded, and suddenly it made sense now.

“The American,” said Koo.

“Andreas,” said Smythson. “What is your knowledge of him?”

“It is the highest priority of the ministry,” said Koo. “Every agent in the clandestine bureau has been repurposed until he’s found and terminated. I would imagine there are other efforts going on as well.”

“Tomorrow, the American will be in Paris,” said Smythson.

Koo’s eyes became more alert.

“Do you have informants at any of the hotels?” asked Smythson. “A parking valet? A concierge? Front-desk person?”

“Yes. I have people at many of the hotels.”

“The Bristol?”

“Yes.”

“Does he work afternoons?”

“Yes, his name is Vonnes.”

“Good,” said Smythson. “This afternoon, you will show him a photo of Andreas. You will ask him to call you if he happens to see him; offer him money. Make the rounds. Make the same offer to all of your informants. It’s important that you show them the photo.”

Koo nodded.

Smythson reached to her right. She lifted a paper bag with the Shakespeare and Company logo on the side. She handed it to Koo.

He reached into the bag and pulled out an old hardcover edition of
Anna Karenina.
Koo lifted the cover. There were no pages. The book was a storage box, designed to look like a book. He pulled out a handgun. It was the same sidearm Koo already had, a slightly weathered 9x19mm QSZ-92 with an undermounted laser pointer. He popped the magazine. The gun was loaded.

“Tomorrow afternoon, just before four
P.M.
, your man at the Bristol will call you,” said Smythson. “You will be somewhere close by. What’s the first thing you should do?”

“Call it in.”

“Precisely,” said Smythson. “You call it in. What next?”

“Go immediately to the Bristol,” said Koo.

“Are there rules of engagement?” Smythson asked.

“It’s a TEP,” said Koo. “It means we are to take any risk necessary on behalf of the state.”

“I’m talking about procedural rules,” she said. “Do you have to wait for backup? Kill or capture? Day or night?”

“None of that. The only one is that we must have our microcamera mounted and running.”

“Can I see it?”

Koo reached inside his coat. He removed his handgun, a QSZ-92, the twin of the 9mm Smythson had just given him. He handed it to her.

Smythson examined it. At the end of the muzzle, a small silver bead, like the round head of a pin, was affixed.

“How is it engaged?”

Koo held up his watch. “A code typed into either our watch or phone.”

“Can Beijing turn it on remotely?”

“No.”

Smythson disassembled Koo’s weapon, taking everything but the barrel and handing it to Koo. She then took apart the other sidearm. She switched barrels, so that the handgun she’d given Koo now had the camera on it.

“It’s important that the camera be running when you enter the hotel,” said Smythson.

Koo nodded.

“Where will he be?” asked Koo.

“In the lounge. When you see him, you pull your weapon from your coat. You will shoot Andreas at close range, here, once.”

Smythson gestured to her chest, pointing at her heart.

“One kill shot.”

Koo listened but said nothing.

“But, as you might expect, there are other American agents in the lounge,” said Smythson.

She pulled two photographs from her trench coat pocket. One showed Katie, the other, Tacoma. She handed them to Koo.

“Your shots alert them,” continued Smythson. “They are part of the operation.”

“Who are they?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said.

She pointed at the fake book. Koo reached inside. He pulled out a neatly folded white T-shirt. It was unusually heavy.

“You’ll have that on,” she continued.

“What is it?”

“The shirt is embedded with a chemical. The man in the photo will be at a table in the lounge. When he sees you move at Andreas, he’ll stand up and shoot you.”

Koo said nothing.

“His gun will have blanks in it, Koo.”

A small grin flashed on Koo’s face.

“The first bullet misses, and you return fire. Then you step forward and shoot Andreas three more times, proving without question to your handlers that he’s dead. But you fail to kill the other man. He shoots from the ground and hits you in the shoulder. You fall to the ground. When you do, the chemicals in the shirt will combine and your shoulder will be covered in what appears to be blood. Wear something light above it, so that the blood is visible.”

Koo stared at Smythson, then his eyes drifted to Chalmers, who stared back.

“After falling, get up and run for your life,” said Smythson. “Hail a taxicab and run.”

“Where will I be taken?”

“You call it in. Remember, you’ll be on a live feed to Beijing. You’re in pain. By the way, how do you say ‘pain’ in Mandarin?”

“
Téngtòng,
” said Koo.

“
Téngtòng,
” repeated Smythson.

“Yes.”

“Repeat it over and over as you ride in the cab. Our guess is, you’ll be directed to a safe house or back to your apartment. They’ll want to get you out of the country. Once we know where they’re going to exfiltrate you from, you hang up, and you’re done.”

“Done?”

“For good. We might need you to wait it out, but by suppertime you’ll be in the UK.”

Koo studied the photos of Katie and Tacoma. He held up the picture of Katie.

“Pretty,” he said.

“Yes.”

“What is her role?”

“She’s going to kill the other ministry agents who will be coming after you call it in,” said Smythson. “Don’t get in the way of her bullets, Koo; they’re real.”

Koo lit another cigarette, reclining in the leather chair, contemplating everything.

“What about Tammy?” asked Koo, looking at Chalmers.

Chalmers stared back.

“Xiua,” said Chalmers, “you know the drill. If she knows, if she does anything, it won’t work.”

Koo took a puff, nodding.

“If we’re successful, you have my word that we’ll make arrangements at the first opportunity,” added Chalmers. “But there are no promises.”

“By the way, no keepsakes,” said Smythson. “No photos, mementos—nothing. It all stays behind. A normal day at the office, so to speak.”

“I understand,” said Koo. “However, I must also ask: Is there no other alternative?”

Chalmers shook his head.

“This is important,” said Chalmers calmly. “Important enough to kill off one of MI6’s most valuable assets. By my estimates, you should have at least five million euros tucked away somewhere. It’s been my experience that others, after a similar transition, learn to be very happy. We will be there to support you at every turn. But you must also understand something.”

“Yes?”

“We’ve invested a lot in you,” said Chalmers, leaning toward Koo, his voice barely above a whisper, a polite but unmistakable hint of threat in his voice. “As you might have anticipated, you and Tammy will be under surveillance for the duration of the operation. I don’t need to explain to you what that means.”

71

SIR ELLY’S
32 ZHONGSHAN NO.1 ROAD
SHANGHAI

Ji-tao Zhu, governor of the People’s Bank of China, sipped from a martini glass as he sat alone, looking out at the Bund, Shanghai’s famous waterfront, the Huangpu River, and its most famous building, the Pearl Tower, a concrete needle that stuck up into the sky, with two large round balls, like pearls, strung at either end of the needle, one near the top, the other closer to the ground.

Like most top government officials, Zhu had a weekend apartment away from Beijing. His was in Shanghai.

On this night, Zhu did what he liked to do every Friday night he was in town. He sat in a seat at Sir Elly’s alone, having a cocktail, before heading into the restaurant for a private dinner with his mistress. That was another accoutrement enjoyed by Beijing’s governmental elite. Zhu, a short, stooped, pasty man of fifty, was no exception. If anything was a testament to the homely Zhu’s power, it was the stunning beauty of his mistress, a twenty-six-year-old Shanghai native named Tai-lin.

He sipped his cocktail, looking out on the neon-lit cruise ships and myriad party boats that moved around the harbor.

Zhu was used to getting a seat at the rooftop lounge. It didn’t matter what time Zhu showed up. Beyond being a regular customer, and a generally nice person, Zhu also happened to run the largest financial institution in China. It made sense to keep a seat warm for him.

Most Friday nights, the rooftop lounge was crowded with people, and his reserved chair at the rooftop bar was the only one available. For some reason, on this night, Zhu was the only person at the bar. He took a few more sips, relaxing, staring out at the Bund. At some point, he noticed another man seated at the far end of the bar. His back was turned.

Had he been there before? Zhu didn’t think so. Something about the man was familiar. Zhu finished his cocktail. He left money on the bar, climbed down from his chair, and walked toward Sir Elly’s, where he knew Tai-lin would be waiting.

“Tai-lin is not there,” said the man.

Zhu hesitated.

It wasn’t a loud voice, and the man’s back was still turned. Had he been speaking to someone else? Or, perhaps Zhu had misheard him?