Dying Breath (Cobra Book 2)

by Blake Banner

  I had to smile. He was quiet for a long while. Finally he said, “Through our agents and supervised by our agents.”

  She shrugged. “You got yourself a deal, Li.”

  They all raised their glasses and toasted. I read on about the political corruption in America back in the ’20s and ’30s. Their conversation shifted to more mundane subjects like illegal hunting in African nature reserves, the latest shows on Broadway and prostitution in Bangkok. I ordered a black coffee and a Macallan, and sat and thought while I pretended to read.

  I hadn’t learned a lot more than I knew already. I had added detail, but not much more than that. Except that there was a deal going down; a deal in which a corporation represented by Gutermann, Goldbloom and Browne would be granted exclusive distribution rights across North America for a vaccine manufactured by the Chinese. The brigadier had asked for information, if I could get it. I wondered if this was the information he was after, and whether I should now focus on the kill. I turned a page and stared unseeing at the print.

  Something told me the brigadier would not be satisfied. He would want more. He would want to know, a vaccine against what? Either way I would need to get into the suite. Whether it was to collect intel or kill these bastards, I would have to get inside. Like Li had said, sometimes you run out of options. Killing him inside the UN was out of the question—security was too tight and getting away would be almost impossible. That left the route from the hotel to the UN complex, and on that route the risk of collateral damage was unacceptably high. That left the hotel and the suite. As there was no way to predict his and Yang Dizhou’s movements within the hotel, my only realistic option was to break into the suite. Whether I did that to get information on the deal, or to kill them, at this stage made little difference. I had to get in, and then I had to get out.

  I sipped some coffee and followed up with a slug of whisky which I rolled around my mouth for a while, enjoying the thought of how much Cobra would be paying for that sip.

  There were six possible points of access to the suite, and most of those could be eliminated straight away. I could enter through the floor, through the ceiling or through one of the side walls from a neighboring room. All those four options would entail some form of demolition and could therefore be eliminated immediately. That left just two points of access: the front door and the window.

  Going in through the front door would mean avoiding hotel security, which I had already been told was cutting edge, neutralizing the guards on the outside, opening the door, then neutralizing the guards on the inside. That would leave the bodyguard and the chauffeur, and May Ling. Though they would have to be faced sooner or later whatever my point of entry was.

  Which left the window. Entering through the window, if done correctly, could mean getting direct access to Heilong Li and Yang Dizhou without having to tackle the guards on the door. But it would also mean approaching up, or down, a sheer steel and glass wall, fifty-four floors above ground level.

  An interesting prospect.

  I called the waiter, signed my bill and took my book up to my room. There I tossed it on the bed and dialed a secure number on my cell. It rang twice, then the brigadier’s voice spoke.

  “Harry, tell me.”

  “I’m at the Mandarin. I followed Heilong Li and Yang Dizhou to the UN this morning and I’ve just had drinks and dinner about fifteen feet away from them.”

  “I hope you’re being discreet. This is not Afghanistan.”

  “Yes, sir. I will also remember to brush my teeth before I go to bed.”

  “What have you learned?”

  “He had dinner with three people aside from Yang Dizhou. A big slob called Gutermann, a woman in her forties name of Goldbloom and a guy in his sixties, name of Browne. They discussed a licensing contract for a vaccine…”

  I reported the content of their conversation and he was quiet for a while. Finally he said, “There was no mention of what this vaccine was for.”

  “None. I know you said you wanted intel, now I’m wondering whether this was the intel you were after, or whether you want more. You stressed to me once that we are not an intelligence gathering agency. Our job is to execute people.”

  “That’s quite true, Harry.” He said it like he’d never thought of it that way before.

  “So you want me to execute these bastards or you want me to find out what color panties they wear?”

  “Let me ask you a question. In your honest opinion, do you think they have electronic files in their suite relevant to this vaccine?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I think we have little choice but to collect it. But don’t let that take precedence over your primary mission. Execute them and collect whatever intel you can find in the form of documents, paper or electronic.”

  “OK.”

  “Have you a plan yet?”

  “Yes.”

  “When do you plan to execute it?”

  “Tomorrow night, when I’m not weighed down by a T-bone steak and half a bottle of 2014 Pomerol.”

  “I see you’re making good use of the company expense account.”

  There was no trace of sarcasm in his voice and that made me smile. I let the smile show in my voice. “Camouflage, Brigadier.”

  “All right, I’ll be waiting for your report. Be careful.”

  He hung up and I stood looking out at the night, with the constellations of New York City lights scattered against the black sky. I’d be careful. I had no other option. I was out of karma and in the hands of fate, climbing down the sheer face of a glass and steel building, fifty-four floors above Columbus Circus.

  Chapter Five

  The Oriental Suite was located immediately below a vast terrace, roughly trapeze shaped, that overlooked Columbus Circus. It was about a hundred and twenty feet across at its widest point, a hundred and twenty at its deepest and just thirty-six at its shallowest. There was a broad lawn at its center and the general idea was that the terrace would be used for parties or outdoor events. I had learned from Bobby the buttons that right then the terrace was closed for cleaning and repairs.

  My copy of Heilong Li’s schedule told me that from nine PM till late he and Yang Dizhou would be at a private meeting with the delegates from the European Union’s External Action Service at their offices within the United Nations complex. Exactly what kind of delegates was not clear, but that didn’t worry me. You didn’t need to be a genius to work it out. What the intel didn’t supply, my imagination could make up. They were the kind of delegates who bought and sold licenses and privileges in the “national interest” of the emerging European Federation. The important thing was that Heilong Li and his bodyguards would not be in the suite at that time.

  So that morning I had taken the Cobra to Eastern Mountain Sports, on Broadway, and I had bought a few things I hadn’t packed: a harness, thirty yards of mountaineering rope and a set of suction cups for my hands and feet. I had also bought a black, woolen hat which could be easily converted into a balaclava, some black pants, sneakers and a sweatshirt.

  I spent the rest of the morning in the gym, had a light lunch and in the afternoon I reviewed my plans, read The Glass Key and slept, and generally stayed out of sight.

  I rose at seven, had a cold shower and dressed. From my suitcase I took out a few things from the false bottom: a set of night-vision goggles, a pair of latex gloves, my Maxim 9—an internally suppressed 9mm semiautomatic—which went in a holster under my arm, my Sig Sauer P226 TacOps, which went in a holster on my right thigh, and my regimental Fairbairn and Sykes fighting knife, which I slipped into my boot.

  Over my shoulder I hung a canvas bag for anything I might want to bring back with me.

  And into my pocket I slipped a diamond-tipped glass cutter.

  Next I pulled on my coat, stuffed my woolen hat in my pocket and stepped out into the passage at around the time that Heilong Li was stepping into his private reception with the EU delegates.

  It was an eight-floor c
limb but I didn’t take the elevator. I slipped into the service stairwell and took the stairs at a steady run. I came out of the stairwell on the fifty-fourth floor into a long passage. The lights were off, but sixty feet to my right I could see a faint glow. I made a sprint in that direction and came out into a broad lounge, maybe forty or fifty feet square. There were scattered nests of armchairs and low tables, large potted palms and a bar. Under the high ceiling, the place seemed vast, silent and still in the darkness. The only illumination was the light from the city, which filtered in through the enormous glass plates that made up the wall on my left. Through it I could see the terrace, littered with sacks of sand and cement, bricks and other pieces of construction material. Against the wall, partially covering the glass, was a huge frame of scaffolding. And on the right, set in a steel frame within the glass wall, was a door.

  I crossed the floor on silent feet, hunkered down by the door and examined the lock. It was set in a steel plate clamped to the glass. There were no cables and no sensors. I stood, stepped back, pulled the Maxim 9 from my holster and blew out the lock.

  There was a phut! A hard smack of lead on steel and the splintering of glass. I stood motionless, listening. No other sounds came to me, except the sigh of night air and the quiet hum and wail of city noises as the door swung slowly open. I stepped out into the night.

  I found a sack of cement and placed it against the door to keep it closed, then made my way to the parapet. There I identified Heilong Li’s suite, marked the spot and went to secure one end of my rope to the scaffolding. I took off my coat, pulled on the harness, fitted the rope to the clamps and returned to the parapet.

  Heights don’t bother me, but looking down the sheer, dark face of the building into the void, for a moment I felt the lurch of a hollow, empty sickness in my gut. I ignored it, pulled the balaclava over my face, attached the cups to my boots and my hands and slipped over the side. I was fifty-four floors up with only emptiness beneath me, and the suction cups keeping me attached to the sheer, shiny glass wall.

  Progress was agonizingly slow. One suction cup at a time: right hand, clamp to the glass, suck out the air and seal; left hand, release the vacuum, slide the hand down, clamp to the glass, suck out the air and seal; right foot release the vacuum, slide down, clamp to the glass, suck out the air and seal; left leg… And all the while the sense of emptiness behind and beneath me grew more intense, as the parapet receded above me, farther out of reach.

  I focused my mind, following my personal mantra, “concentrate attention through observation,” and pretty soon I had descended some fourteen feet to where I had calculated, according to the specs I had found on Google, was Heilong Li’s bedroom. There I bent my knees to my chest, locked the suction cups on my boots to the glass, side by side, gripped the rope with my left hand and, with the glass cutter, cut a wide circle, describing a circumference around my body.

  When I was done, I fixed the suction cup on my left hand to the glass in front of my belly and gave it a sharp smack with my right fist. I heard the brittle crack as the cut yielded to the force of the blow and, controlling the give of the rope with my right hand, I slid gently, by degrees, through the hole I had cut in the glass.

  It was an awkward landing. It was very dark and I discovered, by touch and error, that there was a small, round table just below me and, to either side of it, an armchair. It didn’t help that I had four-foot glass disks attached by suction pads to my left hand and both my feet.

  I released my right foot, managed to get purchase on one of the chairs, settled the glass on the chair beside my foot and released the other boot. I let go the rope by degrees till I was squatting on the chair beside the glass, then stepped to the floor, released the last suction pad and pulled the night-vision goggles over my eyes. The world turned black and green and shapes began to emerge.

  Six feet away was an emperor-sized bed. I froze. In the bed there was a form, a person, sleeping. The hair and shape slowly resolved themselves into a woman. Her back, a shapely, attractive one, was turned to me. On the bedside table, on the far side of the bed, was a silver bucket, glinting green, with a bottle of champagne in it. Two glasses stood beside it. One very slow step took me to within three feet. I was thinking, hard and fast.

  It was not yet ten o’clock, and this woman was out cold. That was unusual. For a second I considered it might be a trap, but dismissed the idea. It was too elaborate and nobody but me knew I was coming. Another step took me to the side of the bed and then I saw the mirror and the silver box. Coke, champagne and who knew what else. This girl was out for the count. Even so, it affected my plan.

  My plan had been to take out the four guards by stealth, search the suite at my leisure for information on the vaccine, and then take out Heilong Li and Yang Dizhou when they got back—after any interrogation which might seem necessary. But now, with this girl sleeping in the bed, the risk of her waking up while I was at work was too high. My priorities had to change and adapt. First priority now had to be securing any documents, electronic or otherwise, that might shed light on Heilong Li’s vaccine, before executing the hit. I could not risk waking the girl.

  I scanned the room. It was maybe twenty foot square. Beyond the bed there were a couple of armchairs and beyond them a long, six-door wardrobe. To the left of the wardrobe was a passage that I figured led to the en suite bathroom and the bedroom door. Up against the wall, about twelve feet from the end of the bed, there was a desk. A black leather swivel chair was pushed up against it, and on the desk was a laptop computer. I crossed the room, unplugged it and slipped it into my canvas bag. Then I hunkered down and, one by one, carefully pulled open the drawers in the desk.

  In the first there was just hotel stationery, a couple of pens and a few boxes of Montblanc ink cartridges. I slid it closed again and opened the one below it. Three A4 lined notebooks with nothing written in them. Still squatting, I took a long step to the other side of the desk and opened the bottom drawer. It was empty. I closed it and heard the girl in the bed sigh and move. I froze and waited until there was only silence, then slipped open the top drawer. Inside it was the jackpot: a detachable hard drive and a diary. I put the hard drive in my bag and opened the diary. The pages were crammed with Chinese characters. I closed it and dropped that in my bag too, wondering what my next move was.

  As it was, that decision was taken out of my hands. A piercing scream tore the darkness apart and was rapidly followed by another, with promises of a third on the way.

  I rolled and came up on one knee with the Maxim in my hand. The girl was sitting up in the bed with her hands plastered to her cheeks, her mouth gaping open and her eyes screwed shut. She drew a deep breath and another hysterical scream tore from her throat. I jumped to my feet, ramming the Maxim back in my holster. Two long strides got me beside her and I clamped my right hand over her mouth and my left against the back of her head. I pressed hard, hurled her back on the bed and put one knee on her belly. I pressed my face close to hers and hissed, “Shut up!”

  She wasn’t listening and screamed into my hand, trying at the same time to bite my palm. I leaned closer and rasped again, “Shut up!” Then her right hand, armed with inch and a half long nails, was clawing at my face through the balaclava, threatening to tear the damned thing from my head. I released her mouth. The scream that came out of it then was like a long, silver needle, piercing and deafening. I pulled the Maxim from my holster again and shoved it in her face. She screamed again. The door burst open and light streamed in down the short passage, casting a luminous wedge along the white wall, bisected by two huge dancing shadows.

  I swung the weapon around as the shadow melded with the vast bulk of a man in a brown suit who came barreling around the corner. I double-tapped. The Maxim spat silently and one slug hit his throat while the other tore into his forehead. Both erupted almost simultaneously from the back of his skull in a shower of black blood and gore. The girl screamed and kept screaming.

  Then three guys were in th
e room and charging at me, big black forms stumbling over the dead hulk of their comrade. I tried to fire but the screaming, hysterical girl was clawing at my face and the shot went wide. Then a fist-like hunk of rock smashed into my chest and hurled me against the bedside table and the wall. The lamp fell to the floor and I went after it.

  Then it was chaos. A guy was shouting in Chinese. In my peripheral vision I saw the girl, luminous and naked, jumping from the bed. One of the guys was going after her. Two giant shadows loomed over me on the floor. A foot rose to stamp on my chest and I knew I would die. My right hand, still holding the Maxim, was pinned under my body. I squirmed, shifted and fired.

  It was luck fueled by desperation. His right foot was raised high, ready for the stamp. The slug tore into his left shin just above his ankle and shattered the bone. He screamed and fell back, with his foot twisting away at a grotesque angle.

  Then from the mêlée a massive fist gripped my shirt collar and dragged me to my feet, while another equally massive right fist pounded at my face. I tried to weave and duck, but it was impossible and the blows hurt like hell. Three punches grazed me and I knew if the fourth connected I was dead. I rammed the Maxim in his face, but this guy knew what he was doing. He grabbed the barrel in his left and levered it back toward me. I released the trigger, went with the flow of his movement and smashed my right elbow into his jaw. It was a blow that would have put most men’s lights out. He grunted and took a step back.

  I didn’t waste time. I delivered a side kick to his right knee and followed with a roundhouse kick to the side of the same knee. I heard it crunch and he let out a weird noise that was all about pain. I leveled the Maxim at his head and was hit in the side by a freight train that hurled me across the room and smashed me against the mahogany foot of the bed, knocking all the air out of my lungs. I dropped to the floor and needles of pain shafted through my chest, paralyzing my arms and legs.