He was thankful the police had decided the direct route was not a viable option. It meant the trip was longer, but at least they would be alive by the end of it. The van hit another pothole and Bishop nearly hit his head on the roof. Astrid grinned in amusement.
He did his best to ignore her beauty. It had been insane for him to think about falling for this woman. He had thawed the ice cap of his soul for her and had paid a hefty price for it. Bishop felt the ice cap freezing over once more, likely for the last time.
Tilting her head, she beamed pleasantly. “You could have let me fall to my death. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, but I’m wondering why you saved me?”
“What can I say? I was momentarily overcome with sentimentality.” The edges of Bishop’s mouth hardened. “The moment has passed.”
Astrid’s eyes lit up. “I do so like being quoted, it makes me feel important.”
“You may have been once, but no longer. Soon you’ll just be a prisoner with a number. You’d best get used to it.”
“You could let me go.” She waggled her shoulders and did a convincing imitation of an innocent angel.
Bishop let loose a hearty laugh. “I could. But it’s more likely this van will turn into a flying unicorn.”
Astrid smirked. “Would we still be in the van when it turned into a unicorn? Because eww.”
Bishop offered no reply.
She shrugged amiably. “It’s a shame, really, that you and I didn’t meet in different circumstances.” Bishop scoffed, but she went on. “No, I honestly mean it. We’re cut from the same cloth, you and me. You feel it, I know you do.”
“Are you trying to charm me? Really? You remember the stabbing?” Bishop made a motion to emphasise the point. “You stabbed me. You sliced me like a grapefruit. I have many fond memories in life: my first teenage love, firing my first gun, getting the job at MI6, those triplets in Belize, but I assure you, my good woman, your torture wasn’t one of them.”
“Oh, you know what I mean. You can’t say we didn’t have chemistry. Even knowing who you were, who you represented, I couldn’t bring myself to end you.”
“Bullshit.” Bishop was angry now. He did his best to keep the venom from his tone. “In that torture chamber I was close to death and you wanted to see how long I could last. Don’t turn your sadistic torture into some romantic gesture. It’s like a rhino trying to mate with a chihuahua—it just doesn’t fit.”
With a shrug, Astrid inspected the filthy floor. “If that’s what you want to believe, fine. All I know is truth. In spite of the roles we were playing, we connected. You felt it, I know you did.”
There was no way Bishop would confirm it. He would never give her the satisfaction. Before he knew the truth about her, he had broken many rules for Astrid. There’d been an enigmatic quality about the woman that made him challenge his own beliefs and play loose with the tenets of his profession. He rubbed the fresh scar on his side. It still twinged.
“I’m truly am sorry we didn’t meet in a different part of our lives, Charles Bishop.”
The woman was mad. Completely and utterly insane. She had to be, surely? Did she honestly believe that a smattering of nice words meant Bishop would let her go with a fond farewell and a packed lunch? Notwithstanding the tiny, insignificant fragment of attraction that remained, he knew her true self, the utter blackness of her soul. Somehow, after all that had happened, she seemed to genuinely believe they still had a connection. Was she completely delusional or a convincing actor? Bishop was too tired to know and too jaded to care. Soon Astrid would no longer be his concern.
In reply to her question, Bishop slipped into a stony silence. It only amplified the noise of a revving engine outside. Someone was apparently incapable of riding their motorbike without throttling the hell out of it.
“For what it’s worth, Charles, I’m truly sorry.”
Bishop’s face creased in confusion. “For what?”
Astrid gripped her seat tight. “This.”
Something unseen clanged loudly against the side of the van. It was followed by another on the other side. They were being attacked. Gunfire erupted from all flanks. Unable to see what was going on, Bishop extracted his pistol. The two petrified police officers did the same, pistols shaking in their hands. Astrid seemed entertained.
Bishop wished there were windows so he could see what was going on. Urgent shouts erupted from everywhere. The van sped up, seemingly trying to outrun their foes. More shouts, more gunfire. An explosion rocked the van, sloping everything sideways. They’d blown a tyre and the van fishtailed wildly.
Bishop turned to the driver’s cabin and yelled, “Don’t brake!”
The driver braked.
The officer at the wheel clearly didn’t know not to apply brakes with a blown tyre. The van spun, and all four in the back were flung around like washing in a machine. Bishop kept Astrid at bay with his boot, not wanting her to get close to him or his weapon.
With a deafening crash, the van shuddered and rocked so much it nearly toppled over, before landing the right way up with a thud. A burst of gunfire coupled with the sounds of smashing glass and brief screams of pain told Bishop that the driver and his offsider were dead.
Blood ran from a cut on Astrid’s cheek. Under his boot, she smiled. “You should have let me go when you had the chance.”
More automatic fire and agonised screams. Then silence. That was worse. Silence meant Bishop didn’t know where he stood, what was happening or what his next move should be.
The rear of the van erupted in a blinding explosion. Unable to see anything, Bishop waited for a bullet. None came. Perhaps it was the boot wedged on their boss’s neck and the gun barrel aimed at her forehead.
Smoke cleared and Bishop could see better. The two police lay facedown on the van’s floor, their guns cold, having never been fired. Three muscled men and two equally intimidating women in camouflage fatigues aimed multiple weapons at Bishop.
“Is this my Uber Eats order? Please tell me you remembered the extra salad dressing this time.”
“Give up, Bishop, it’s over.” Astrid glared at him.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the sound of this Beretta in your face.”
“You need to let me go. You have my word you’ll be set free. You don’t let me go, you’ll be dead within the minute.”
“You’ll kill me anyway.”
“I just said I’d let you go.”
“You’ll forgive me if I’m somewhat sceptical about your honesty in this and all matters.”
Astrid sniffed. “You have a choice.” She lifted a palm. “Certain death.” She lifted the other palm so her hands were either side of his gun. “Or the possibility of living. The odds you want to attach to that are up to you, but they’re certainly higher than zero. Let me go, Charles. You might see out the day, maybe find those triplets in Belize.” Her face turned cold. “You have three seconds.”
A burning pit of anger welled deep inside him. Anger at not taking the right precautions in escorting the head of Kali. Anger at the situation he had been forced into. Anger at more lives lost. But most of all, anger at Astrid. This should have been over. She shouldn’t have the upper hand yet again. The woman was as formidable as she was wicked. He couldn’t let her win.
Grinding his teeth, Bishop furiously buried the gun barrel further into her skull. A simple twitch of his finger would cause it all to end. It would be final. It would be quick. An elegant solution to a complex problem.
But no.
Bishop eased off, released the hammer, took his finger from the trigger and held the Beretta skyward, disarmed. He took his boot off Astrid and she exhaled deeply. Snatching the weapon from him, she brushed past him wordlessly.
It wasn’t chivalry that spared her life. Nor was it the fear of sacrificing himself for King and Country. It was pure bloody-mindedness. Astrid needed to be held accountable for her crimes, to aid in the dismantling of her arms empire. Someone had to haul her treach
erous arse into a court of law.
Bishop had no illusions about the worth of her word. He just hoped for a quick death. A warrior’s death; one worthy of such a blunt instrument. Since entering the espionage business Bishop had known his fate would not be to grow old and die lying in his own shit in a retirement home for elderly spies. He always knew his fate would come far sooner. And be more brutal.
He turned to Astrid. “Let’s get it over with.”
After a brief conversation with her saviours, Astrid turned to him, stone faced. “You spared my life. I’ll spare yours.”
“My, how gracious of you.”
Her face turned positively angelic. Astrid beamed. “You’re right, I am very gracious.”
Astrid pivoted and kicked Bishop in the thigh, right where she’d shot him the first time. “A little graciousness.”
The pain was excruciating. In agony, Bishop smacked the rear of his skull on the van’s floor. His hands darted to the wound. It hurt like a bitch.
Astrid leaned over him, chuckling. “Okay, not that gracious.”
Through clenched teeth, Bishop yelled, “Stop wounding me, woman.”
“Stop giving me the chance.” Astrid’s face turned cold as arctic snow. “If I see you again, I will kill you Charles Bishop.”
“I have absolutely no doubt.”
With swift hand gestures, Astrid issued orders to her crew and they headed towards the waiting Range Rover. Curious locals were kept at bay by stern expressions and sweeping weapons.
The looks the locals gave Bishop varied. Some watched him with pity, many were curious, others glared at him with nothing short of outright anger. The police van had a broken axle and was undrivable. Walking back to port in his condition seemed an insurmountable task.
Raising his voice as Astrid walked away, Bishop said, “You saved my life and you’re leaving me here?”
Astrid turned and looked at the gathering crowd, a smirk creasing her flawless features. She turned to him. “Surely a man of your resourcefulness can figure it out?”
“Oh, certainly.” Bishop’s bravado was as genuine as a twenty-dollar Rolex. “I only meant you could have made it more difficult.”
With a sweet laugh, Astrid shook her head. “Maybe I will.”
A severe-looking woman with short, dyed blonde hair checked her watch. “We have thirty minutes before your flight starts boarding.”
Astrid nodded and slid into the rear of the vehicle. Before she slammed the door, she turned to Bishop and blew him a kiss. The SUV revved its engine and sped away.
Scrambling across the grimy floor, Bishop checked the two police officers for a pulse. The effort was futile; Astrid’s troops had been brutally efficient. One had a baton on his belt, Bishop grabbed it as the officer would no longer need it. The van wasn’t going anywhere either. He would need another way out.
Curious faces appeared around the periphery of the van. Bishop didn’t believe every resident of Cité Soleil was a vicious murderous thug, but that didn’t mean the gun battle hadn’t attracted some of the worst elements. He was most likely situated near the edge of the neighbourhood, and had no idea if these people meant him harm or were there to help. Bishop gripped the baton tight, just in case.
The sound of a vehicle approaching sent the locals scattering. Bishop couldn’t see the car, but heard the screech of tyres. A lone figure exited and walked towards the back of the van. He had a submachinegun and a serious disposition.
Eying the baton in Bishop’s hand, Oleg asked, “Are you going to beat me off?”
“Seriously man, I’m yet to be convinced you’re not doing that on purpose.”
He quickly brought Oleg up to date.
“Well, we better get to the airport then, da?”
There would be no second chances. As soon as Astrid left Haiti she would become a ghost. They had no other leads, no other way of finding her. Unless they made it to the airport, every sacrifice they had made, every life lost would be for nothing. Bishop wouldn’t allow the deaths to go unpunished. They would make it. They had to.
Bishop hobbled, his leg still smarting. As they rounded the corner of the police vehicle, Bishop’s face folded into confusion.
“Ah, Oleg? Where’s your car?”
Oleg scoffed. “It’s over…” His head darted around, perplexed. “It was right here!”
“Oleg, did you leave the keys in the car?”
“Yes, but…”
“It’s probably already parts, my friend. Most lawless place on earth, right?”
“Пиздец, Жопа, eбать, cука!”
“We can’t stay here, Oleg.”
“Da.” He composed himself. “Can you walk? We can head back to the dock.”
“I can walk, but we’re not heading to the dock.”
“What?” The realisation was slapped across his face. “No. Are you insane? We can’t! We won’t make it in time.”
The MI6 agent shrugged. “They took the long way. We know a shortcut.”
Bishop glanced towards Cité Soleil. A population of four hundred thousand with no government presence, embedded crime and armed violence.
Limping towards the driver’s side of the van, Bishop yanked the door open. Astrid’s militia hadn’t had time to strip the bodies of weapons. They both had a sidearm which Bishop pocketed. The radio had been shot out and was a sparking mess. Feeling nauseous, he sat on the bullet-riddled front bumper.
“You are insane.” Oleg eyes were wide with amazement. “Cité Soleil is known as the most dangerous place on the planet. It would be like… like…”
“Storming hell itself?”
“Yes. Exactly that.”
“Basically Dante’s Inferno.” Bishop nodded. “And if it means getting to Astrid, then yes, I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“We have no backup. Few weapons. No support. You’re a mess and we only have thirty minutes to traverse through the most hazardous location on earth.”
“Sounds like fun, doesn’t it? You in?”
Oleg sighed, slung the submachinegun over his shoulder and extended a hand to Bishop. “Come on then, let’s not keep the devil waiting. Time to storm the gates of hell.”
For several minutes, they hobbled down the winding streets of Cité Soleil unhindered. The houses, if they could be called that, were comprised of cement blocks with a metal roof. Most appeared to be made of scavenged material. There were no cars, at least none visible, nothing to provide them with a fast escape. Some of the dwellings were decorated with sick-looking plants, and there was the occasional basic shop selling sodas and cigarettes.
Residents were scattered around the streets, lounging on makeshift steps or battered plastic seats. They eyed the strangers warily, but none made aggressive moves. That may have been due to the prominent weapons they carried. The spies soon had a curious entourage following them, comprised mainly of young boys. It was perhaps the first time these people had seen a white face in the flesh. They may have been hanging around to see their first white person lynched.
Bishop recalled an article he’d read on the flight over. Someone had called Cité Soleil the microcosm of all the ills in Haitian society: endemic unemployment, illiteracy, non-existent public services, unsanitary conditions, unchecked crime and rampaging warlords. Given a choice, they hoped to avoid the last two.
Every corner, every window held potential menace. Bishop gripped his pistols tight, seeing every shadow and doorway as a threat. They walked as fast as Bishop’s injuries allowed, but it seemed the neighbourhood had been alerted to their presence and everyone was waiting for the inevitable confrontation. Warlords ruled certain parts of the neighbourhood with iron fists. It was inevitable they would cross paths with one soon. When they did, Bishop hoped to reason with them. If that failed, he’d attempt to bribe them with the few hundred dollars he had in his pocket. They had to get to the airport in time.
That’s if they weren’t shot first. Bishop had been shot enough for one day.
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sp; He was amazed Astrid hadn’t killed him when she had the chance. He doubted it was a repayment for saving her life. She didn’t seem like the sentimental type. So then why? Was it true she actually cared for him? Even a tiny, insignificant amount? It was possible, though Bishop doubted it. It seemed more likely that she regretted sparing his life, if only temporarily. Given his course to the airport, it was unlikely he would last the next hour.
Regardless of whatever complicated feelings Bishop had for Astrid, he had to take her down. The woman had to face justice for her crimes. The murders, the immeasurable blood on her hands, not to mention the manipulation on a global scale. She was a sadistic arms dealer and a danger to the stability of the world. Bishop had to become a blunt instrument to capture her and to make her pay.
Distracted from his thoughts, Bishop saw a ripple of excitement flow through the residents of Cité Soleil. Something was happening. The crowd grew in both size and volume. Angry shouts were hurled in their direction. Brave young men dashed towards them, only to retreat when they got too close. They were becoming bolder, more unruly.
Oleg and Bishop sped up. It was becoming more dangerous by the second. As they walked past an old woman on a rocking chair, she pointed at them and cackled loudly.
Bishop slowed and asked, “What’s so funny?”
She nodded towards a decrepit radio held together with sticky tape and hope. “You, ya anndan chou pouri. Da radio. Everyone here listens to da radio, in case da cops are stupid enough to try and hassle us again.” The accent was heavily Creole. She blinked several times, as if distracted by a thought. She turned to them, seemingly surprised they were still there. “Dere was an announcement. Be on de lookout for two white men, one pretty badly shot up.” She threw a crooked finger in Bishop’s direction. “There be a reward, a bounty on your head, kochon. Bring da men in, dead or alive and you gets five million American dollars cash.” She cackled again. “You in deep poupu, yessir! If I was twenty years younger I’d have already shot your arses, chen sal. You is both dead men, you just ain’t buried yet. Ha!”
Oleg turned to Bishop, then to the growing crowd. “Good to see the Saudi cash being put to good use, then. Why would she do that?”
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