Kiss My Assassin Read online

  Bishop shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “There aren’t many places to hide in the desert. We tracked him down and—”

  “No, not that. The white knight swinging on a vine thing. That’s mixing your metaphors to an appalling degree. Have a white night saving, sure, but the Tarzan illusion with the vine makes it a lazy metaphor, not to mention contradictory. Imagine the extra weight of the suit of armour? And let’s not even get into the subject of jock sweat. It’s very confusing, is all I’m saying.”

  If Astrid had meant to alarm him by mentioning Oleg’s passing, Bishop was determined not to show it. He’d given her far too much already. Below his bravado, Bishop was indeed alarmed. There had been the tiniest glimmer of hope that Oleg would come to his rescue if he somehow made his way to the villa without transport, and also miraculously discovered the torture room. Now even that implausible prospect was dashed.

  Bishop was alone. He would die alone. Just like he always knew he would.

  As for Oleg’s passing, Bishop didn’t know how to feel about it. He almost certainly despised the Russian. Never trusted him. It was because of him that the whole mission had been blown. And yet, Bishop still felt remorse at his death. If he had more time, perhaps he could explore that. He didn’t, so he moved on.

  “Why fake your own kidnapping?”

  Astrid rolled her eyes as if the question was simplistic. “It kept you occupied, didn’t it? Had you running around solving that particular puzzle while ignoring others.”

  She had a point. They had wasted too much time searching for her. When they stumbled on the thugs at the station who could have provided answers, she shut them down without mercy.

  Still wishing to delay the inevitable for as long as possible, Bishop decided to change the subject. “So, what was really going on in the tent? You weren’t auctioning salt and pepper shakers, we all know you were selling commodities far more valuable.”

  Bishop didn’t want to reveal that he had no idea what those commodities were. They clearly assumed Bishop knew more, so he would play into it. If they thought MI6 was better informed than they were, they might be forced into acting rashly.

  A flash of red smacked across Astrid’s face. “You are not the interrogator here!” Her lungs heaved, her features flushed. “What the fuck is it with your questions? You are the one tied up. You are the one being given the third degree, not the other way around!”

  She had a temper. Bishop would remember that. Perhaps he could use it. Even now, in the precarious position he was in, he strategized.

  Ignoring the tirade, he kept his tone civil, as if Astrid’s outburst hadn’t occurred at all. He turned to Temple. “You really think with all those people attending the auction it was going to remain secret? Ministers of defence, of finance. You’ve grown too big, drawn too much attention. You are out of the shadows whether you like it or not. There’s no scurrying back now. Your time is done and you know it.”

  He highly doubted they did, but Bishop thought he may as well try to convince them. Better to fill them with dread, and hope they made a mistake that would be their undoing.

  Temple waved a dismissive hand, his features patronising, like he was addressing a child. “Nothing you saw was illegal. A simple auction of antiques for anyone watching. Even if someone could connect the dots to its real purpose, they would be hard pressed to prove it. Our tracks are too well covered. Our organisation, our people are perfect.”

  Bishop shook his head. “There are certain things that are perfect. A cup of Earl Grey on a winter’s morning. James Brown’s horn section. This lady’s arse.” Astrid smiled but said nothing. He went on. “But people are most certainly not perfect. They make mistakes, their values and priorities shift, or they see the writing on the wall and do what they must to protect themselves. Your little empire is not as perfect as you think it is.”

  The two exchanged glances. That had them thinking. Just like Oleg’s subtle mention of a mole at MI6, the mere thought had planted a seed. Bishop intended on watering it. Had someone in their organisation been compromised? If so, who? What had they told? Their imaginations would be running wild.

  “Despite your precautions we know perfectly well what you were auctioning. You may as well have held it at Scotland Yard. Your overpriced little sale wasn’t as secret as you think.”

  “Overpriced?” Temple snorted. “Really? I thought he got the plans to the Black Falcon at a bargain basement price. Our fault for placing it at the start of the auction, I guess. Live and learn.”

  Astrid nudged him and issued a frown. Project Black Falcon was the US Air Force’s next generation top-secret war plane, the latest stealth fighter. If Kali had their hands on the plans, that was a monumental coup. Not even Congress knew what the plane looked like or had seen any specs. Whoever could replicate the plans would have the biggest military leg-up of the century. Temple was right, a hundred million was a bargain.

  He’s talking, good. Use that.

  “I had all the other items, but I missed what the second was.”

  “The defence system upgrade specially designed to detect and destroy the Falcon fighters.”

  “Why are you telling him this?” Astrid pursed her lips.

  Amusement creasing his features, Temple replied, “Because I get to say the best part.” He turned to Bishop. “It doesn’t work. Not as far as we’ve been able to determine, anyway. The price kept going up. It was all I could do to keep a straight face. Amazing.”

  What Bishop would have given to be able to punch the smug grin off the arms dealer’s face. The arrogance was sickening. He did his best to stay on topic.

  “Whether it works or not, why would the Pakistani government need it?” Bishop thought for a moment. “Wait, not the government, a Defence Minister with a coup d'état on his mind. Okay, that makes more sense. What better way to bolster support for your military junta than by taking down the US’s shiny new technological wonder? Maybe it wasn’t so wild. I wonder who’s funding his little buying spree?”

  “It is not my place to ask questions. I am but a humble merchant.”

  “You’re dying for me to say merchant of death, aren’t you?”

  “I am supplying select members of the international community with what they need. At a fair market price, of course.”

  “A fair market price?”

  “Simple capitalism, isn’t it? The Pakistani representative wanted firepower superiority. He bought the chance to give a superpower a bloody nose. He bought power.”

  “He bought a dud. And a doll.”

  “And a doll, yes.” Temple gave Bishop an arrogant look, like an adult humouring a child who had failed to land a joke. “Very good. She said you were funny. I thought she was being magnanimous.”

  This went way beyond arms dealing. Selling the ability to take on a superpower went further than supplying a few crates of surplus rocket launchers. This was world shaping. Temple had joked about world domination, but this wasn’t far off. The fact that other traders had retired or gone missing meant this was a power play, no matter how he chose to downplay it. Kali meant to reshape the world from the shadows.

  Bishop was reminded of what Demir had disclosed before his untimely death. “A humble merchant won’t deliberately sell to your enemy twice as much if you fail to meet their excessive terms.”

  Temple frowned. “There are no rules to say who an arms dealer can trade with.”

  “Yes there are. Hundreds of them. The US Gun Control Act, for one, and that’s for licenced dealers.” Bishop shook his head. “Kali aren’t known or licenced. The former has already happened, which means the latter will never occur. Your clock is ticking, you just don’t know it.”

  “I’m not worried about the US government.” Temple’s face showed no hint of sarcasm.

  “Not worried about…” Bishop was unconvinced. “They have a few resources, they might come knocking. Say hi for me.”

  Believing Temple would be disinclined to
expand further, Bishop dropped the subject. Aware his own time was coming to an end, and that the torture would start at any moment, Bishop had one last question. “The third lot, the delivery to the Saudis. We all know it was more than a mere lamp.” Bishop distinctly remembered the words “arrange delivery within a week” being uttered by Temple during the auction.

  Astrid stepped forward and crossed her arms. “What was in the third lot, Bishop?”

  “Oh, you know as well as I do.”

  It was if the room had grown several degrees cooler. He felt an uncharacteristic need to tug his collar.

  Astrid’s gaze was unflinching. After several uncomfortable seconds, a slow grin creased her beautiful features. “You don’t know a thing, do you?” The amused expression enveloped her face and she crinkled her nose. “Oh, you silly, silly man. Were you honestly trying to interrogate us? How precious. You’re like a lab rat who thinks he can outsmart the scientist. You must know, no matter what you do you’re going to be sliced up by the end of this. Surely you know that? I’m bored playing nice and offering you cheese, little ratty.” Astrid extracted the biggest blade from the table of torture. “Time for your tests to really begin.”

  She turned to Temple. “What’s the time?”

  He checked his watch. “Ten past five.”

  Bishop had been out for a while, no wonder he was groggy.

  “Damn.” She glanced between the knife and Bishop. “We’ve played nice too long. We have to get a shift on. Can you check my flight is still on time? I’d hate to rush my enjoyment if I don’t have to.”

  Without a word, Temple bowed and left. With the two of them alone, the torture chamber suddenly seemed even frostier. Astrid turned slowly towards Bishop, a wry smile on her red lips. She strode towards him, her hips swinging confidently.

  In a voice that was almost a purr, she asked, “You really think I have a perfect arse?”

  “I can say without a word of a lie it is a thing of beauty. I don’t like to brag, but I’m somewhat of an authority on the subject.”

  Astrid giggled. For the briefest of moments, Bishop thought of her as the perfect creature he had first met. Too much had changed since then, but for a fraction of a second he relished the illusion.

  There was one more thing for Bishop to try. It was a Hail Mary combined with a last-minute pass at the eleventh hour with more than a dash of desperation. He had no more cards to play. He was about to bluff with a two. Not even a pair of twos.

  He spoke in his most seductive tone. “You didn’t shoot me at the railway. You didn’t shoot me at the dunes, either. You had chances but didn’t take them. I have to wonder why.”

  Astrid tilted her head, amused. “Oh god, is this where you ask if I love you or something? Please don’t, I’m nauseous enough already. Someone hit me with a car earlier and I’m not quite myself.”

  In spite of her smile, the coldness remained. The woman had utterly fooled him. That had never occurred before. In other circumstances he would be impressed. The woman was indeed unique.

  “What’s the deal with Temple? You work for him and he checks your flights?”

  Astrid’s face was creased in confusion. “Work for…?”

  “The head of Kali seems more of an accountant than I would have thought.”

  The giggle returned, this time unhindered by humour. “I don’t work for Temple.” Without warning Astrid leapt onto the table and straddled Bishop, the soft skin of her thighs resting on his hips. “He’s not the head of Kali, you silly man. I thought you were talking to him too much.” She tilted her head curiously. “You don’t know a thing, do you? What, you thought because he’s the man he must be in charge, is that it? How very tiny minded of you.”

  As Astrid stared down at Bishop the light illuminated the back of her head. She played with the knife in her hands, the blade gleaming. The knife edge came to his neck. Bishop dared not move a muscle.

  Slowly, precisely, Astrid drew the blade across his neck, shaving him in a dangerously slow movement. Her eyes told him she relished the sight of the blade against his skin. It nicked his throat and Bishop flinched. She lifted the knife, and with a fascinated expression examined his blood as it ran down the steel.

  Head turned, she finally looked him in the eye. “No, my love.” She licked the blood off the blade. “I am Kali.”

  Without waiting for a reaction she plunged the blade into his side. Bishop screamed like he never had in his life. Astrid’s eyes blazed with ecstasy.

  Chapter Ten

  Time was an illusion. Its passing meant nothing to Bishop. All he knew was pain. Mind-numbing, excruciating pain.

  Bishop had no idea how long he had endured the brutal torture, the agonising incisions to his body. He was sure somewhere in the world someone would be aware of the passage of time. Bishop would never meet them. Not that he wanted to. All he wished for was death.

  If anyone was to ask, he would embrace death like an old lover. He would dive headlong into the abyss without hesitation.

  But no one asked.

  He had progressed far beyond the point of endurance. If he were capable, he would beg for it to end, but he was beyond even that.

  Bishop shouldn’t have lasted this long. No human being should have. He wasn’t thankful for his body’s endurance, he cursed it.

  All was still. He had been left alone with his agony. Astrid and Temple had taken turns torturing him. It was beyond pleasure for them. The gratification each took from his agonised screams only multiplied his dread, his acceptance of the inevitable.

  His initial bravado had long since been stripped away. When he first talked to them, they had been playing with him. They let him talk. They responded, giving him hope that he could find a way out. But it was all deception. There was only one way out.

  Bishop’s left eye must have been bloodshot, everything was tinged red and opaque. The gunshot wound in his leg was open and weeping. The knife gash in his side felt like it was on fire.

  His questions had stopped when he could no longer form words, only guttural, primal noises. That hadn’t halted his torment, though; it had only multiplied it. They wanted to see how far they could push him, how long he could endure. He was their plaything. A screaming, writhing plaything.

  The distant sound of a creaking door poked his drowsy senses. The sound of footsteps heightened it. It was ridiculous. He still held out hope that Paul or a fellow MI6 agent or an entire unit of Royal Marine Commandos would crash through the door at any moment. At this stage he’d settle for a Teletubbie with a butter knife.

  As the footfalls grew louder he could see that the person’s frame was large. Temple. Before the gruesome twosome had left together, Bishop vaguely recalled a comment about a plane flight. Astrid must have been packing. He hoped she dressed warm, he’d hate for her to catch a cold.

  Temple must have been there to finish him off. Then again, that may have been the optimism talking. Optimism was a curse. Bishop had no reserves left to call on. He was done.

  The figure approaching was a blur. Bishop couldn’t even make out if he had a cloak and a scythe.

  The shadow sighed. “You are hideous.”

  It wasn’t a French accent. It may have been the delirium, but Bishop could have sworn…

  “Were you put in a blender? It looks like you were placed in a blender.”

  With a level of concentration Bishop thought he no longer possessed, he focused on the face before him. It grimaced. It was an austere, polite grimace. The big Russian set to work on the manacles securing Bishop to the table.

  Through the haze of pain, Bishop managed to wheeze out, “Thank you.”

  “You saved my life, so I owed you.” Oleg shrugged as he unclipped the shackles. “We are even. Do not expect this to happen again.”

  Bishop rubbed his unchained wrists. “They said you were dead.”

  “They?”

  “Temple and Astrid. They are Kali.”

  Oleg stopped unhooking Bishop’s ankles. “A
strid is the enemy?”

  Bishop nodded. “She’s Kuolema, the head of Kali.” He sat up. The movement made him light-headed. He fought the nausea attacking his senses, attempted to gain focus, to stay alert.

  “They may have said I’m dead, but I am not.” Oleg freed Bishop’s last limb and winked. “Although I thought I may have been for some time. I was hunted. When I headed south I found tyre tracks to mask my prints. Their resources were spread thin and they must have missed me. I was fortunate, I think. When our taxi did not arrive, I hitchhiked back here.”

  “Zoya is dead. Astrid killed her.”

  “She killed the child? Is she truly that evil?”

  For a second, Bishop relived every knife thrust and maniacal laugh he had endured over the last few hours. “You have no idea.”

  Inhaling deeply, Bishop sat up, agony ripping through him. It felt as if red-hot pokers were being plunged into every incision in his body. Steadying himself, the pain ebbed and he regained a semblance of composure.

  Bishop coughed. He brought up bile and blood. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “There weren’t many places you could have been. Temple left in his car a while ago; he had a companion I did not see. It must have been Astrid. I waited to ensure there was no one else, then came searching for you down here.”

  “Wait… how did you even know there was a dungeon at all?”

  Oleg’s mouth twisted sideways into a sheepish smirk.

  “Did you hack our systems? Was it the mole?” At that stage, Bishop wouldn’t have cared if it was.

  “No, nothing so elaborate. I placed security cameras in your hotel room to observe your security devices.”

  “When did you… your hand. That’s how you injured your hand, breaking into my hotel room?”

  Oleg shrugged. “Da.”

  “You sneaky son-of-a-bitch.”