Hostile Contact. Gordon Kent

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СКАЧАТЬ had a hand around his left biceps. Qiu had a copy of The Economist in his other hand, also the side on which he wore his watch, which he now raised to read. He held Bobby in place, watching the seconds tick off. Bobby wanted to scream at him—he was wasting time that Bobby could use to find the American inside the Orchid House!

      “I will go inside in precisely two minutes and twenty seconds,” Qiu said to the watcher by the door. He gave Bobby a shove and let go of his arm. “You stay out of my way!”

      Bobby ran for the south entrance, all the way around the building.

      Now he was in for it.

      

      Jerry saw the man with the bandaged hand framed in the bright sunlight of the east door.

      Jesus, this thing is fucked.

      Jerry’s mind was racing through the ramifications of a Chinese surveillance team. Now he had to think who the man with the bandaged hand was. Not your typical NCIS special agent. Military. Fairly recent wound—from the dustup when they’d brought down Shreed? It must be Craik. He checked the face against his memory of the old squadron photo. Where was Dukas? Why were the fucking Chinese here?

      They could have followed Bobby Li, but his tradecraft made that unlikely. They could be here for another reason entirely. Or one of his own could have brought them. Like Ho. Or—he hated the idea, but he had to consider the possibilities—Bobby Li.

      What didn’t occur to him, nonetheless, was that it was his own signal, which he had used to draw Craik and Dukas to Jakarta, that might also have drawn the Chinese. It didn’t occur to him then, because, if it had, he would have had to consider that George Shreed had actually been a traitor.

      

      Qiu entered on the second and hurried down the path, wondering where his team was, why none of them was supporting him. He stopped to photograph an orchid, allowing himself twenty seconds of the three minutes’ time he had scheduled for the approach to the site. The other man would be doing the same. He was suddenly scared. These tough CIA Americans were legendary—beautifully organized, skilled, always dangerous. Where was his team, now that he thought of it?

      He looked around. Leaves and flowers were everywhere, like a nightmarish wallpaper; then, glimpsed through them, he saw faces, a hand, an ear. One of his own people? The other side’s? He moved more slowly.

      

      Jerry saw somebody flash in and out of his chosen killing ground, and he hesitated. His crosshairs registered on the back of Craik’s neck and his finger took up the slack of the trigger, but he hadn’t decided.

      Somebody seemed to step toward Craik—a dark shape, hanging back on the left side of the bench. Jerry saw black hair. Bobby.

      Alan got to the edge of the clearing in the center of the maze. A man in a windbreaker was there just ahead of him, panting as if he had been running. He had The Economist. Alan shifted his own copy to make sure it would show.

      The other man’s eyes were wide, almost crazed. His first meeting, Alan thought.

      “You ever go AGIP party?” the man croaked at him. That was not quite the code. “AGIP Christmas party” was the code.

      Oh, shit.

      Bobby Li had reached the edge where panic becomes madness. Qiu was inside by now, and the American was standing across the space that Bobby knew was Andy’s window on the meeting. If Bobby took another step, he would be visible to Andy. Shoot, he thought. Shoot the American! His life, his family, his future hung on a gunshot. All because of—not because of Andy. Not because of George. Because of these two outsiders in this Orchid House in this foreign place—these interlopers, these meddlers, these oppressors—

      “Did I see you at AGIP Christmas party?” he cried, realizing he had said the code words wrong.

      The American across the open space looked relieved. He, too, was carrying The Economist. He gave the reply signal: “I was with a Dutch girl.”

      Shoot! Bobby screamed inside his head. Did he say it aloud? No. And then he saw Qiu coming up behind the American. Bobby had the envelope full of newspaper in his hand and he stuck it out, shaking so hard the paper inside rustled and crackled. “Take it!” he cried. “Gift—for you—take it!”

      The American put out a hand, but didn’t take it.

      And Qiu, eyes horrified, backed against the wall of plants as if to sidle around the American, but what he was looking at was The Economist in Bobby Li’s left hand.

      Bobby went over the edge.

      It was Qiu. It was all Qiu’s fault.

      Bobby flipped the safety on the Walther and began to shoot.

      The Chinese man made a little “O” of surprise, and the American dove over a table of orchids.

      Bobby just went on shooting. Three into Qiu, two down the path, one where the American had disappeared, one into Qiu again, and the slide locked open because the clip was empty.

      

      Jerry heard the first shot and had a dizzy moment when he thought he had pulled his own trigger, and then he recognized the smaller, sharper report of a handgun. Shot after shot. Jesus! Then the Orchid House erupted in shooting, at least three guns on the north, west, and northeast. Glass began to break overhead and shower down.

      It was a bust.

      He rolled the gun in the mat and threw junk over it and swung himself off the platform.

      

      Alan landed on his maimed hand and fire raced up his arm, but he rolled clear of a tangle of flowers and raced down the maze. The bastard had a gun, had fired at him. But how could he have missed?

      Alan could hear at least three guns firing then, not all together, but two of them were close. He pressed past a tool shed and grabbed a pair of wicked-looking scissors from a table. Any port in a storm. Another shot was fired, so close that he saw the muzzle flash through the flowers and realized that he was separated by only a screen of plants from the main trail. He couldn’t tell whether the shot had been fired at him or not, but he flung himself around the next corner.

      Bobby Li heard the shots as if through deep water, as if they were fired by somebody else. The young Chinese was down, lying on the trail, and Bobby headed for the west exit. He thought he was safe unless Andy had actually seen him fire the gun. If he hadn’t, Bobby could blame the shooting on the American. He could say that the American had shot Qiu.

      But suddenly there was more shooting, all around him. Qiu’s team were now shooting at Andy’s team, and he was in the middle.

      

      Alan moved through the maze of trails, unable to consider anything beyond his next cover. His hand pulsed with pain as he stumbled through a display, knocking plants in all directions. He threw himself behind a collection of tools and handcarts right at the edge of the greenhouse wall, determined to get his bearings before panic and paranoia eliminated his ability to think. He lay panting, trying to be silent. There was another shot. Were they shooting at СКАЧАТЬ