The Gray Man

The stupid bastard should be enough of a good company man to go ahead and kill himself, but you can’t expect that kind of loyalty from a lawyer. No offense, Lloyd from Legal.”

“No! No, Riegel, you’ve got it wrong. We need someone else killed.”

Riegel cleared his throat. “Go on, then.”

Lloyd told the VP of Security Risk Management Ops of the assassination of Isaac Abubaker, the president’s refusal to sign the repaired contract without proof of his brother’s killer’s own death.

Kurt snorted. “We climb into bed with these dictators, and then we act surprised when they grab us by the nuts.” Riegel’s English was flawless, idiomatic American. He sat down behind his desk, grabbed a pen, and pulled a notepad across the leather blotter to him. “So we need to ID the hit man and dispose of him?” asked Riegel.

“He has already been identified.”

“You just need him eliminated? I was expecting something more complicated than this after Mr. Laurent’s phone call.”

“Yes, well, this assassin is no slouch.”

“The trouble with private killers is all in the identification. If you know who he is, I’ll have him found and dead within twenty-four hours.”

“That would be ideal.”

“I mean, unless we’re talking about the Gray Man. He’s a couple of cuts above the rest.”

Lloyd said nothing.

After the American’s long hesitation, Riegel said, “Ach, so! We are talking about the Gray Man, aren’t we?”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

It was Riegel’s turn to pause. Finally he said, “Certainly a complication . . . but not a problem. He is extremely good at keeping a low profile, hence his moniker. He’ll be hard to find, but the good news is he will have no reason to expect we are coming after him.”

Lloyd remained silent yet again.

“Or will he?”

“I arranged an attempt on his life last night. It failed. He survived.”

“How many men did he kill?”

“Five.”

“Idiot.”

“Mr. Riegel, the Gray Man is clearly no idiot. His history shows us—”

“He is not the idiot! You are the idiot! A damn lawyer who tries to orchestrate a hit on the greatest alpha killer in the world. Some poorly planned, cobbled-together, hurriedly executed disaster of an operation, no doubt! You should have come to me immediately. Now he will be on guard, expecting whoever it was who organized the attempt on his life will just try again.”

“I am no idiot, Riegel. I have his handler in my custody. I have persuaded him to help us locate Gentry.”

“Who’s Gentry?”

“Courtland Gentry is the Gray Man.”

Riegel sat up as erect and broad and square as the desk in front of him. “How is it you know his identity?”

“I am not at liberty to say.”

“Who’s his handler?” Riegel did not like being the one on the receiving end of such information inside LaurentGroup. He had his own intelligence network for that. That some shit American barrister was passing this intel around like it was common knowledge made Riegel ball his fists in anger.

“His handler’s name is Don Fitzroy. He’s a Brit, has a straight operation here in London, even does some work for us occasion—”

Riegel’s balled fists closed together tighter. “Tell me, Lloyd from Legal, that you have not kidnapped Sir Donald Fitzroy!”

“I have. And I have his son and his son’s family held at a LaurentGroup property in Normandy.”

Riegel dropped his huge shoulders and put his head in his hands. After several seconds he looked to his speakerphone. “I have been notified, in no uncertain terms, that you are in charge of this operation. I am to provide you men, materiel, intelligence, and any advice I have.”

“That’s correct.”

“Then why don’t I start with some advice?”

“Excellent.”

“My advice, Lloyd from Legal, is to apologize to Sir Donald for the gross misunderstanding, release him and his family, retire to your home, put a gun in your mouth, and pull the goddamn trigger! Crossing Fitzroy was a huge mistake.”

“You can dispense with the advice then and just supply me with more men. Right now I don’t know where the Gray Man is, but I do know where he will go. Fitzroy will send him to Normandy. He’ll be traveling overland, east to west. I don’t know his starting point yet, but if you give me enough support, I’ll send them everywhere across Europe to hunt him down as he gets closer.

“Why will he go to Normandy? To rescue Fitzroy’s family?”

“Exactly. He will be told Nigerians have kidnapped them and are holding them until Fitzroy turns him over. He will take it upon himself to rectify the problem.”

Riegel drummed on his desk. “I agree with your assessment. He does have a reputation as a paladin, and he won’t trust the French authorities.”

“Precisely. I just need from you a surveillance team and a kill team. Right now your crew from Minsk is guarding his family in France, but I’d like Gentry dead before he gets to Normandy, as time is of the essence.”

“This is the Gray Man. You need more than this.”

“What do you suggest? I mean, other than me killing myself.”

Riegel looked up to the far wall of his office. The head and shoulders of a wild boar stared back at him. Slowly Kurt nodded to himself. “To get this done in the time allowed, you’ll need a hundred watchers.”

“You can get me a hundred surveillance experts?”

“Pavement artists, we call them.”

“Whatever. You can provide that?”

“Of course. And you will need a dozen teams of hunter-killers, spread out and placed all along each possible route, coordinated by a central command center, each with an incentive to be the unit that finds and kills the target.”

Lloyd’s voice showed his astonishment at the scale of the undertaking Riegel proposed. “A dozen teams?”

“Not company men, of course. Too many chances for comebacks on LaurentGroup. Not local talent, either. Local boys would be known to local police, and that would compromise the hunt. No, we need foreign operators from parts unknown, as you Americans like to say. Hard men, Lloyd from Legal, if you get my meaning. Hard men who do hard jobs when no other solution can be found.”

“You are speaking of mercenaries.”

“Absolutely not. The Gray Man has either dodged or dispatched every gang of hired hit men sent after him in the past. No, to be certain, we will need established field units. Government hit teams.”

“I don’t understand. Whose government?”

“We have branch offices in eighty nations. I have good relationships with the internal security chiefs in dozens of third-world countries. These men run stables of operators in their countries to keep their citizens and their countries’ enemies in check.”

Riegel paused while he thought through his plan. “Yes, I will contact my government counterparts in offices in the third world, hard places where I am likely to find hard men without the faintest shred of scruples. I will contact these men and, within half a day of this very moment, there will be a dozen corporate jets flying back from these armpit countries. Each jet will be packed tight with the baddest boys and the biggest guns, and each team will be tasked with the same mission. They will all be vying for the chance to kill the Gray Man.”

“Like a contest?”

“Exactly.”