The Gray Man

they just have to be you.”

“Shit,” said the voice through the line.

Fitzroy asked, “Where are you? I’ll send another team to pick you up.”

“Hell no, you won’t.”

“Look, Court, I can help you. Abubaker leaves office in a few days. He will leave with unimaginable wealth, but his power and his reach will be lessened once he is a civilian. The danger to you will soon pass. Let me bring you in, watch over you until then.”

“I can lie low on my own. Call me when you get more intel on the men after me. Don’t try to find me. You won’t.”

And with that, the connection died.

Lloyd clapped. “Well played, Sir Donald. Quite a performance. Your man didn’t suspect you at all.”

“He trusts me,” Fitzroy said angrily. “For four years he’s had every reason in the world to think I was his friend.”

The American lawyer ignored Sir Donald’s anger and asked, “Where will he go?”

Sir Donald sat back on the couch and ran his hands over his bald head. He looked up quickly. “A double! You want a head in an ice chest? I will bloody well get you a head in an ice chest! How the hell will Abubaker know the difference?”

Lloyd just shook his head. “Weeks ago, before the president demanded we kill him, he asked us for all the intelligence we had on the Gray Man. I happened to have photos, dental records, a complete history, et cetera. I sent that to him, thinking the son of a bitch would just kill Gentry himself before the hit on his brother was carried out. Abubaker knows your man’s face. We can’t use a body double or, as you suggest, a head double.”

Fitzroy cocked his head slowly. “How the bloody hell did you come by this information?”

Lloyd regarded the question for a long moment. He picked at a piece of lint on the knee of his pants. “Before I moved to Paris to join Laurent, the Gray Man and I worked together.”

“You’re CIA?”

“Ex. Definitely ex. There’s no money in patriotism, I’m afraid.”

“And there is money in hunting down patriots? Threatening to hurt children?”

“Good money, as it happens. The world is a funny place. I copied personnel files when I was with the agency. I planned to use them as a bargaining chip if they ever came after me. It’s just serendipity that these documents have proven useful in my current position.” Lloyd stood and began pacing Fitzroy’s office. “I need to know where Gentry is now, where he’s going, what he normally does when he goes into hiding.”

“When he goes into hiding, he simply vanishes. You can kiss your natural gas good-bye. The Gray Man will not turn up on anyone’s radar again for months.”

“Unacceptable. I need you to give me something, something about Gentry I don’t already know. When he worked for us, he was a machine. No friends, no family that he gave a damn about. No lover stuck away for those long nights after a job. His SAD file is about the most boring read imaginable. No vices, no weakness. He’s older now; surely he’s made associates of a personal nature, developed tendencies that will help us figure out his next step. I’m sure you can tell me something, no matter how trivial, that I can use to flush him out.”

Fitzroy smiled a little. He sensed the desperation in his young adversary.

He said, “Nothing. Nothing at all. We communicate via untraceable sat phone and e-mail. If he has a home or a girl or a family hidden away, I wouldn’t know where to tell you to look.”

Lloyd walked over to the window behind Fitzroy’s desk. The Englishman remained on the sofa and watched the uninvited guest pace the office as if Fitzroy himself were the visitor and Lloyd was the proprietor of Cheltenham Services.

Suddenly the American spun around. “You can offer him a job! An easy job for big money. Surely he won’t turn down a high-paying milk run. You send him on a new mission, and I’ll have a team there to ambush him.”

“Bloody hell, you think he’s survived out there this long by being a fool? He has no interest in earning wages at the moment. He’s busy blending into his surroundings. You had one shot to take him out, and you made a mess of it. Go back to your office and lick your wounds; leave me and my family alone!”

Fitzroy noticed a nervous twitch in Lloyd’s face. It was replaced, slowly, by a smile.

“Well, if you won’t help me use Gentry’s weakness to flush him out, I will be forced to use yours.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and smiled at Don Fitzroy as he spoke into it. “Pick up Phillip Fitzroy and family. They’re at their summer cottage in Normandy. Take them to Chateau Laurent.”

Fitzroy rose to his feet, “You bloody wanker!”

“Guilty as charged.” Lloyd’s tone mocked the Englishman. “My associates will hold your son and his family at a secluded property LaurentGroup owns in Normandy. They will be well taken care of until this matter is resolved. You will contact the Gray Man and give him their location, tell him the Nigerians are holding your only child, his adoring wife, and their darling little kiddies there. Tell him those black savages promise to rape dear Mommy and slaughter the rest of the clan in three days unless you give up your assassin’s location.”

“What good will that do?”

“I know Gentry. He is loyal like a fucking puppy. Even though he’s been kicked around a few times, he will defend his master to the death.”

“He won’t.”

“He will. He’ll take it upon himself to save the day. He’ll understand the police are useless, and he will move heaven and earth to get to France.

“You see, Sir Donnie, Court Gentry’s compass never has pointed true north. He’s a hit man, for God’s sake. But all his operations, both with the CIA as well as in his private practice, have been against those he deems worthy of extrajudicial execution. Terrorists, Mafia dons, drug dealers, all manner of nefarious ne’er-do-wells. Court is a killer, but he thinks himself to be a righter of wrongs, an instrument of justice. This is his flaw. And this flaw will be his downfall.”

Fitzroy knew the same about Court Gentry. Lloyd’s logic was sound. Still, the older man tried to appeal to the young solicitor. “You needn’t involve my family. I will do as you say. I’ve already shown you that. You don’t have to hold them for me to tell Gentry they are held.”

Lloyd waved a hand in the air, striking down Sir Donald’s offer. “We will take good care of them. If you try to trick me, some sort of double cross, then I will need leverage against you, won’t I?”

Fitzroy stood and crossed the room towards Lloyd, slowly and with menace. Although he was easily thirty years older than the American lawyer, the former MI-5 man possessed a larger frame. Lloyd took a step back and called out, “Mr. Leary and Mr. O’Neil! Would you step in, please?”

Fitzroy had given his secretary the day off; he was all alone in his workplace. But Lloyd had brought associates. Two athletic-looking men entered the office and stood by the door. One was redheaded and fair- skinned, on the downside of forty, with a simple business suit that bulged at the hip with the impression of a gun’s butt. The second man was older, near fifty, with salt-and-pepper hair cut in a military high and tight, and his jacket hung loose enough on his body to hold an arsenal tucked away from view inside.

Fitzroy knew muscle goons when he saw them.

Lloyd said, “Irish Republicans. Your old enemies, though I shouldn’t think we’ll give them much to do. You and I will be seeing a lot of each other in the next few days. There is no reason our relationship should be anything less than cordial.”

Claire Fitzroy had just turned eight years old the previous summer. It was the end of November now, and she and her twin sister Kate had expected to stay in London throughout the wet, gray, and chilling autumn without a break from the routine. Up each weekday morning early for the walk to her primary school on North Audrey Street, out of class and into thrice-weekly piano practice for Claire and vocal lessons for Kate. Weekends spent with Mummy in the shops or Daddy at home or on the football pitch. Each fortnight one of the girls would have a friend over for a slumber party and, as the dreary London skies of fall morphed into the drier but drearier skies of winter, all Claire’s dreams would turn to Christmas.

Christmas was always spent in France at her father’s holiday cottage in Bayeux, just across the channel in Normandy. Claire preferred Normandy to London, fancied a future for herself on a farm. So it had been a great