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

control tower. These were the most coveted seats in the navy and when he was counting up the pluses in his life Garrison tried never to forget that. Sure his ascent to that lofty position had probably cost him his marriage, but this ship was his kingdom and this was his throne, as long as the Pentagon allowed.
    To his left, Merrick, the Boatswain’s Mate, steered four acres of US sovereign territory on its course across the South China Sea, the charmingly archaic wooden ship’s wheel a single concession to history in an otherwise twenty-first century machine. Beside him, Danes, Quartermaster of the Watch, kept track of navigation. Usually there was a lot of banter between them, but they had read Garrison’s mood, as had the other personnel up there. The heavy silence was broken only by the E2C Hawkeye on the deck a hundred feet below, blasting off on its routine sweep of the other fleets in the sector. The computer screens around Garrison teemed with constantly updated information, all you needed to wage war anywhere on the planet at the tap of a key. But right now he wasn’t looking at any of them.
    All this mighty hardware and all he could do was stare helplessly at the images on his phone. There was no disputing their identities; whoever took the pictures made sure the faces were in full view. They had even dragged what remained of Tex out of the chopper. Tex the whooping cowboy was the most popular; Price, reserved, a gentleman in the making; Kean, a heartbreaker that boy; Faulkner, solid, built to last; Deacon, little more than a kid. And then Olsen,on his last tour. He was the one Garrison felt worst about. He had sent him to watch out for the others.
    Once there was a time where images such as these were vetted, censored and filed away, never to be seen. They even relied on the news agencies to destroy any that could cause offence or upset. All that was gone. Every man and woman on the ship would have seen them by now. One face was missing though. Where was Kovic?

9
    French Concession, Shanghai
    Standing by his kitchen window, Kovic rehearsed his questions for Cutler, and which piece of his mind he might want to give him. Louise’s departure had further darkened his mood, but he was determined not to lose it, tempting as it was. At least he would get some answers about what the fuck had just happened.
    In the courtyard below, an argument was under way about a washing line that had snapped, dropping some of the laundry on to the ground where the next-door neighbour’s dog had peed. He listened to the vicious exchange between the two elderly women who had shared the same subdivided apartment for forty years, but only ever traded insults, usually about each one’s dead husband’s infidelities. The guilty dog started barking and then someone turned up their radio to drown out both the dog and the row. Louise said she didn’t know how he could stand living with all the noise. The truth was he hated silence. Silence made you listen out for sounds, so it was harder to switch off. That was another thing he liked about his adopted home. All over Shanghai, quiet was in short supply.
    He slid his laptop into his backpack, tried the sunglasses one more time, tossed them away and shut the door.
    As he emerged from the stairwell the old ladies suddenly stopped screeching at each other and looked at him. They waved tentatively then started another exchange in lower tones, clearly about him. They took particular interest in him whenever Louise was around. They would have seen her leave. Perhaps the change in her expression had given them a hint that something was up. Despite their nosiness he liked them. He generally engaged them in conversation about the minutiae of Shanghai life, the pace of construction, the smog, the recent scandal about infected pork, bidding them farewelljust as they edged the conversation towards his ‘beautiful friend’ and ‘future plans’. Any sign of increased intimacy – or the opposite –