Free Battlefield 4: Countdown to War by Peter Grimsdale Page A

years here. And he didn’t have a good feeling about what was round the corner.
    Finally Cutler finished the call, pocketed the phone, looked up and frowned.
    ‘You mean to say you’ve been walking around town like that?’
    Kovic was in no mood to be lectured.
    ‘Thanks for the welcome.’
    Cutler patted the sweat off his brow with a napkin.
    ‘Well, I just got in from Beijing so shouldn’t you be doing the honours?’
    Kovic couldn’t help himself.
    ‘I just got in from DPRK and a near-death experience; you arrived on the shuttle.’
    Cutler looked hurt. Just cool it, okay, Kovic said to himself. The Chief stared at him for a second, then, as if he had just received an urgent directive from his brain, completely changed his tone. His face contorted with sudden concern, he rose up from behind the desk like a crane – despite the short torso he had surprisingly long legs – came round the desk and grasped Kovic’s arm. He was about to shake his hand when he saw the swelling.
    ‘Holy Jesus.’
    ‘Frostbite actually.’
    Cutler retreated to his chair, shaking his head with long pendulous swings as if admiring the width of his desk.
    ‘I hope you realise how serious this is.’
    Another of his stock features was his uncanny ability to state the obvious.
    ‘I’m working on it.’
    Cutler ignored the sarcasm. He bent over his laptop and pressed his fingers into his cheeks, forming white blotches. He had a large bald patch surrounded by greying hair, which contributed to his pious, monk-like demeanour. Kovic found himself propelled back to his schooldays, called yet again to the despairing principal’s office to learn the punishment for his latest outrage.
    ‘The Chinese are taking it pretty seriously too. I just came by People’s Square.’
    But Cutler wasn’t listening. ‘We have one hell of a problem on our hands.’
    Kovic was familiar with Cutler’s tendency to ‘own’ the seriousness of the situation – as if only he could determine the true gravity of events. It was the same with Armistead who Kovic was allegedly pursuing. Cutler had lectured him on the need to get him ‘before it’s too late’.
    To begin with, Kovic’s policy of drowning Cutler in paperwork had kept him at bay. But then there had been a change. Cutler had started querying briefs and character assessments of his assets. He was being more assertive, more inquisitive about Kovic’s activities,and quick to find fault, warning him not to get too ‘intimate’ with his sources. Cutler was like a throwback to the darkest days of the Cold War; he mistook Kovic’s empathy with China for brainwashing.
    Cutler was still shaking his head. ‘It’s a real concern.’
    ‘It’s a real fucking concern that five men died, three executed.’
    He winced; was it the expletive or the mention of the method of death?
    ‘Okay.’ He let out a long sigh. ‘Take me through it from the top.’
    He touched the dial of a recorder. Nothing less than verbatim would do. So Kovic took him through it all right, lingering on the executions he had witnessed through his peephole in the snow.
    ‘And they definitely didn’t see you? You’re sure?’
    Cutler looked down at the desk, pressed a forefinger on an Oreo crumb, lifted it and flicked it away.
    ‘If they had, do you think I’d be here?’
    Cutler studied the ends of his fingers as if they might hold the answer. Eventually he said, ‘Too bad you didn’t have any witnesses.’
    Kovic thought about what this might mean. Ten years ago he would have considered his honesty was being questioned and possibly grabbed Cutler by the throat, a career ending choice. China had taught him to be smarter. To watch, listen, and wait.
    ‘Means you’re going to have to take my word for it.’
    ‘You didn’t want this mission.’
    ‘I went, didn’t I?’
    ‘But you were critical of it.’
    Kovic snorted. ‘With good reason.’
    Cutler glared. Kovic put his elbows on the desk.
    Now he could feel his restraint