“American government men sat in a car outside in the street, seven days a week, for an entire year after you, shall we say,
“Szabo. This is serious. Look, I know you. I know you’ll let me buy my way back up. Just name your price. I can call a man and get money wired—”
“Sir Donald can’t purchase your path to safety. I don’t want his money.”
Gentry looked up at the man above him. His voice lowered. “I’d hate to hurt a cripple.”
“You were the one who crippled me!”
“What are you talking about?”
“You shot up my darkroom. You thought I’d forget?”
“I didn’t shoot
“No, you were shooting at the Chechen, hit a container of ammonium persulfate. Knocked the powder into a bath of aluminum water and . . . bang! The Chechen is dripping off the ceiling, and poor, helpless Laszlo is burned, the nerves of his lower body damaged from inhaling the toxic fumes.”
Shit. Court shrugged. “Whose fault is that? You were helping a terrorist enter the West. The CIA should have sent me back to finish you.”
“Maybe they should have, but I’ve since made friends with the good men of the Central Intelligence Agency. After the FBI came to talk to me, the agency came. They were the ones who told me you were the leader of the group that blew up my warehouse and ruined my legs. Believe it or not, these days, the local CIA station and Laszlo have a reasonably good working relationship.”
“Why wouldn’t I believe that? You always did play all sides.”
“I think our relationship will get even better now that I’ve called them and told them I have you locked away. They are on their way here to pick you up right now.”
The muscles in Court’s face twitched. “Tell me you did not do that.”
“I did. I am going to trade you to the CIA in exchange for a little detente. Our relationship is not so good that me handing over their number one target won’t make Laszlo’s life easier.”
“How long until they are here?”
“Under two hours. The station chief is ordering up a helicopter full of heavies from Vienna to take you into custody. I told him your reputation was overrated; old frail Laszlo captured you by himself, after all, but he was undeterred. You warrant a big operation just to carry you away. You will just have to amuse yourself in the meantime while you—”
“Laszlo, you need to listen very carefully to me.”
“Ha! Look at him shake. Look at the Gray Man shake like a little—”
“They aren’t sending a team to haul me away. They’ll send a wet team. There’s a shoot-on-sight directive against me. And when they come here to wax my ass, don’t expect them to just walk away and leave a witness behind. That’s not how these guys operate.”
Laszlo cocked his head, seemed to think this over, then said, “They won’t hurt me. The CIA needs me.”
“They only needed you until you made that phone call, you dumb son of a bitch!”
Szabo’s nerves began to show. He shouted, “Enough talk! If you think the grim reaper is on the way for you, maybe you should spend the next few minutes asking your God for forgiveness for your sins.”
“You, too.”
Laszlo Szabo’s wrinkled and confused face disappeared from the glass above Court.
Sir Donald Fitzroy’s mobile rang at three. Lloyd pushed the speaker button, though the call had not come from Gentry’s satellite phone.
“Cheltenham Security.”
“Good afternoon, Sir Donald. I am calling in regards to an important business matter.”
“Do I know you?”
“Our paths have not crossed, I don’t believe. You may call me Igor.”
Fitzroy was short with the caller. There was more than enough on his plate to where he felt no need to be polite to some heavily accented solicitor. “And you may call me not interested. I am busy. If you have legitimate business, you can bloody well contact my secretary and make an appointment.”
“Yes . . . well, the Gray Man seems to think he represents legitimate business to you. He told me to call, is insisting you will pay handsomely for his safe return.”
“The Gray Man is with you?”
“Indeed.”
“Which team are you with?”
“Which team? I am my own team, sir.”
Fitzroy and Lloyd looked at one another. Lloyd pushed the mute button. “I don’t think this is one of our hunters.”
Sir Donald tapped the button to allow the caller to hear him. “Let me talk to him.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible at the moment.”
Lloyd hit the mute button again. He turned to the Tech at the bank of computers on the wall. The young man said, “The call originated in Budapest, the Pest side. He’s got some misdirection software on it. I’ll try and get it pinned down.”
Lloyd looked up at the large map on the wall monitor. “What’s Court doing in Budapest, for fuck’s sake?”
Fitzroy ignored him and hit the speaker box in the middle of the table, releasing the mute yet again.
“I . . . I may be very interested in accommodating you, Igor. I just need assurance that my man is, in fact, in your care.”
“No trust in this world, that’s what’s wrong. Very well, Sir Donald. Give me a moment. I don’t move as quickly as I used to.” There was shuffling through the speakers for nearly a minute. Then finally, “Go ahead, Mr. Fitzroy, you may speak.”
“Lad? Is that you?”
Gentry’s voice, distant or muffled by something: “He called the agency. A kill squad will be here in less than ninety minutes, Don! I’m in—”
There was more scratching and shuffling over the speakers. Then the accented voice came back on the line. “You have one hour, Sir Donald. Wire five hundred thousand euros, and I will have your boy spirited away in plenty of time to avert a counteroffer from a competitor. Here’s the account number. Do you have a pen?”
A minute later, the call was disconnected. Both Fitzroy and Lloyd looked to the Tech. The young Brit with the nose ring shook his head.
“Budapest, Sixth District. That much we know. But I couldn’t pinpoint it closer. There are a quarter million phones in the Sixth District. He could have called from any one of them.”
Lloyd was annoyed but in too much hurry to show it. He turned to his captive. “Who does he know in Budapest?”
Fitzroy rubbed his forehead and shrugged.
“Think, damn you! Who would Gentry go see there?”
Sir Donald lifted his head quickly. “Szabo! Not in my Network, you see; an old counterfeiter, used to work for the Reds back in—”
Lloyd interrupted “Got an address?”
“I can get it.”
“My closest kill team is in Vienna, a hundred miles away. No way we can have them there in that time frame. We’ll have to pay Szabo off to keep Gentry out of the CIA’s hands.”
Fitzroy shook his head. “Forget it. Szabo is a snake. If he called the CIA, he did it to curry favor with them. He just called me because Gentry told him I’d pay for his release. Laszlo Szabo will take my money and still give him up to the CIA. He’ll fuck me over long before he’ll fuck them over.”
“Will the CIA take Gentry in or kill him?”
“Irrelevant. If they kill him, they’ll cover their tracks. The body won’t turn up for weeks, if ever. Abubaker
