The Gray Man

critical nature of my firm’s need.”

“I hope I can be of service.”

“I’m certain of it. I am here to discuss an event that took place twenty hours ago in Al Hasakah.”

Fitzroy cocked his thick head and smiled. “You’ve got me there, lad. Must admit I don’t recognize the name.”

“It’s in eastern Syria, Mr. Fitzroy.”

Donald Fitzroy’s practiced smile faltered, and he said nothing. Slowly he lowered his cup to his saucer and placed it on the table in front of him.

Lloyd said, “Again, I apologize for the way I am rushing this along, but time is not merely crucial in this matter, it is virtually nonexistent.”

“I am listening.” The Englishman’s warm smile of ten seconds ago was dead and buried now.

“Around eight o’clock local time last evening, an assassin took the life of Dr. Isaac Abubaker. He was, you might know, the Nigerian minister of energy.”

Fitzroy spoke with a tone markedly less friendly than before. “Curious. Any idea what the Nigerian minister of energy was doing in eastern Syria? The only energy to be mined there is the fervency of the Jihadists who congregate before sneaking into Iraq to fuel the conflict.”

Lloyd smiled. “The good doctor was a Muslim of radical thought. He may have been in the area to offer some material support for the cause. I am not here to defend the man’s actions. I am concerned only about his assassin. As it happens, the killer survived, escaped into Iraq.”

“How unfortunate.”

“Not for the assassin. The killer was good. He was better than good. He was the best. He was the one they call the Gray Man.”

Fitzroy crossed his legs and leaned back. “A myth.”

“Not a myth. A man. A man of great skill, but ultimately a man of flesh and blood.”

“Why are you here?” Fitzroy’s voice held none of the paternal charm of their earlier conversation.

“I am here because you are his handler.”

“His what?”

“His handler. You vet his contracts, supply his logistical needs, assist him with intelligence, collect from the payers, and forward compensation to his bank accounts.”

“Where did you hear this nonsense?”

“Sir Donald, had I the time, I would offer you every courtesy you deserve, we could verbally fence, and I would feint and you would parry and we’d both strut around the room until one of our swords scored a killing strike. Unfortunately, sir, I am under a tremendous pressure, which forces me to dispense with the customary pleasantries.” He sipped his coffee again and made a little face at the bitterness of the brew. “I know the assassin was the one called the Gray Man, and I know you run him. You can ask me how I know this, but I will just lie, and our relationship in the next few hours depends upon our ability to speak frankly.”

“Go on.”

“As I said, the Gray Man crossed into Iraq but missed his extraction, because he foolishly engaged a superior insurgent force in a firefight. He killed or wounded ten men or more. Saved an American National Guardsman and recovered the body of another. And now he is on the run.”

“How do you know the Gray Man was the assassin of Dr. Abubaker?”

“There is no one else in the world who would be sent on that mission, because there is no one else in the world who could pull off that hit.”

“And yet, you say, he made a foolish mistake.”

“More evidence I am right. The Gray Man was once an operative for the U.S. government. Something went wrong, he was targeted by the CIA, and he went into hiding from his former masters. His soured relationship with Langley notwithstanding, the Gray Man is still very much an American patriot. He could not ignore a helicopter crash and eleven dead Americans without finding a measure of retribution.”

“That is your proof?”

Lloyd smoothed the drape of his suit coat. “It has been known by us for some time that the Gray Man had accepted a contract for the Abubaker hit. When the good doctor died as a result of foul play, there was no need to speculate as to the identity of his killer.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lloyd. I am an old man; you will have to connect the dots for me. What are you doing in my office?”

“My company is prepared to offer you a threefold increase in contracts if you will only assist us in the neutralization of the Gray Man. Without going into unnecessary detail, the president of Nigeria is asking us to help him bring justice down on his brother’s killer.”

“Why LaurentGroup?”

“That would involve unnecessary detail.”

“You will find it to be quite necessary if this discussion is to continue.”

FOUR

Lloyd hesitated. Nodded slowly. “Very well. Two reasons. One, my firm has a powerful and far-reaching security apparatus, and the president thinks we have the means at our disposal to handle this situation for him. We’ve done other little odd jobs for the Nigerians in the past, you understand.” With a wave of his hand Lloyd added, “Good customer service.”

Fitzroy’s eyebrows rose and touched.

“And two, Julius Abubaker feels he has some leverage over us. We have a large contract pending signature. It was on his desk when your man killed his brother. The president leaves office in less than a week. He’s given us until then to avenge his brother’s murder.”

“What sort of a contract do you have pending his approval?”

“The sort that we cannot afford to lose. Did you know, Sir Donald, that Nigeria not only produces an abundance of oil, but they also produce an overabun dance of natural gas? This gas is completely squandered, bubbles up at their oil wells and drifts into the atmosphere to the tune of thirty billion tons a year. A complete waste of energy and profit.”

“And LaurentGroup wants the gas?”

“Certainly not. The gas is a natural resource that belongs to the good people of Nigeria. But we alone have the technology to cap their wells, pipe the liquefied gas to port in Lagos, transport it to refineries in our dual-hulled, temperature-controlled tankers, and refine it for the Nigerians. We’ve spent four years and over three hundred million dollars on R & D for this project. We’ve built ships, we’ve retrofitted shipyards to build more ships, we’ve negotiated land rights for the pipeline.”

“All without a contract to export the product? Sounds like LaurentGroup needs new lawyers,” Fitzroy quipped.

Lloyd, a LaurentGroup lawyer, bristled. “We had a contract with Abubaker. His people found a loophole. We fixed the unfortunate error and needed only the wave of his pen over the document to seal the deal and begin operations. And then your man killed his brother.”

“I still don’t see the connection.”

“The connection, if you will pardon my language, is that President Abubaker is a prick.”

Fitzroy noticed something in the young solicitor’s agitation.

“I think I have it. Your office was at fault for the loophole in the contract. Your masters have sent you on this errand to fix your cock-up.”

Lloyd took off his thin glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose slowly.

“A minuscule oversight that wouldn’t justify five seconds’ consternation in any courtroom in the civilized world.”

“But you are dealing with the most corrupt nation on earth.”

“Third most corrupt, actually, but your point is valid,” said Lloyd. He pressed a fresh smile into his lips just