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

slipping as pure rage forced its way up like coffee through a percolator. He jabbed the air between them with a frostbitten forefinger.
    ‘I put my life on the line to get them back over the border, dragged them half a mile and then some guys came out of nowhere – or more precisely out of China – and assassinated them.’
    ‘The snow was pretty deep, huh?’
    Kovic nodded.
    ‘Visibility pretty bad?’
    Kovic nodded, wondering where this was going.
    ‘So pretty disorienting – low vis, battle fatigue, unfamiliar landscape—’
    ‘Where the fuck’s this going?’
    He could feel the tempting catharsis of losing it reaching out to him like one fateful drink to an alcoholic. Go on, just deck him. You know you want to.
    Cutler sighed. ‘I’m only preparing you for what may be ahead.’
    He reached into an attaché case next to his chair and produced a manila folder. He flipped it open. Inside was a clutch of photographs.
    ‘You better have a look at these.’
    He pushed them across the desk.
    The photographs were in colour, but because of the snow and the bad light, you could have been forgiven for thinking they were monochrome. Even the blood looked grey. It was the same vehicle, the shitbin DPRK jeep he had commandeered for their escape. It looked like it was in the same position as they had abandoned it. But in the photo it wasn’t abandoned. Arranged inside the vehicle were the corpses: Olsen, Kean, Price, Deacon and Faulkner, but that wasn’t all. With them were three others – judging by their uniforms, Chinese.
    Kovic looked up at Cutler, who was staring intently at him. He looked down again, lifted up one still, angled it at Cutler and pointed at the Chinese.
    ‘They’re fakes.’
    Cutler said nothing. Kovic felt his battered face heating up. He studied the pictures some more.
    ‘These others, they’re not the North Koreans. They’re in Chinese Army fatigues.’
    ‘Beijing aren’t confirming. There seems to be some uncertainty . . .’
    His voice trailed away.
    ‘What are Beijing saying?’
    ‘Nothing. It’s pretty shaming.’
    Shame, embarrassment, loss of face: the stuff of Chinese nightmares.
    ‘Who took these?’
    Cutler shrugged. ‘They were uploaded overnight on to a photo-sharing site. Soon as they went viral the account was closed. We’re assuming it’s North Korea.’
    Kovic looked again. He didn’t feel like assuming anything. In the background, clearer in the daylight, were the border post and the fence. A flag was flying from the sentry box that Kovic didn’t remember seeing. Someone had gone to one hell of a lot of trouble with these.
    ‘And Langley’s saying this is all North Korea’s work?’
    ‘That seems logical.’
    ‘Except for the executioners who took off into China, which is very much not logical.’
    Cutler studied his hands. ‘Well, that’s your recollection. We’ll need corroboration.’
    Kovic glanced at the recorder. This was turning into an inquisition. He wasn’t having that.
    ‘Either the intel was corrupted, someone wanted us to fail from the start, or the mission leaked. Which was it?’
    Cutler looked perturbed. ‘That’s a matter for investigation.’
    ‘Fucking right it is. Where did the intel come from? Who gave you Highbeam ?’
    He waved the question away. ‘Langley have a team in Seoul looking into all that as of twelve hours ago.’
    ‘That’s not an answer.’
    Cutler sighed. ‘It’s Beijing deep cover – I can’t go into any detail.’
    Kovic stared at him. He had been responsible for some of the Agency’s best coups across the entire Eastern theatre. It was thanks to him that they had traced the mole in Langley who had been Beijing’s entry into the CIA’s mainframe. He had also busted Berkhoffer, the Silicon Valley ubergeek turned supposed philanthropist whose set-up in Shanghai turned out to be a front for ripping off patented US pharmaceuticals. And Kovic had his own networks of moles deep in the Chinese bureaucracy whose