The new arrivals from London were still just settling in when Sir Donald’s phone vibrated on the table next to his chair. A wire ran from it to a speaker box on the table. As Lloyd pushed the button to answer, the Tech shouted to the room that he was not yet ready to trace the call.
“Cheltenham Security,” said Sir Donald. His voice was tiring, scratched.
“It’s me,” said the Gray Man.
“How are you, lad?”
There was a long pause. Finally, “You told them about Guarda.”
Fitzroy did not deny it. He said softly, wearily. “Yes, I did. I am truly sorry.”
“Not as sorry as you’re gonna be when your family dies. Good-bye and good luck, Don.”
Lloyd stood in the middle of the room. Quickly he walked to the table, leaned over the phone, and spoke. “Good morning, Courtland.”
There was no reply on the line for so long that Lloyd picked up the little phone and looked at it to see if the call was still open.
“Who the hell is this?”
“Court, you may not want to be so hard on the good knight here. I am afraid I put him in an utterly untenable position.”
“Who are you?”
“You don’t recognize my voice?”
“No.”
“We used to work together. It’s Lloyd.”
There was nothing.
Lloyd continued, “From Langley. Back in the halcyon days, you know.”
“Lloyd?”
“That’s right. How have you been?”
“I don’t remember a Lloyd.”
“Come now, Mr. Gentry. It hasn’t been that long. I worked for Hanley, helped run you and some of the other assets on the sharp end back in the Goon Squad days.”
“I remember Hanley. Don’t remember you.”
Fitzroy could see that Lloyd was genuinely offended. “Well, you knuckle draggers and door kickers never were known for your social IQ.” He looked over at Sir Donald. Embarrassed, perhaps? He waved a dismissive hand. “Doesn’t matter. What does matter is, even though you may feel disinclined to come here to Normandy to help your fearless leader, you might consider keeping your current travel itinerary for now. Because, let me assure you, there
“There’s nothing I want bad enough to knowingly walk into a trap. Good-bye, Floyd.”
“It’s Lloyd, no
“Were you the one who put out the burn notice on me four years ago?” asked Gentry. His voice was measured and sounded dispassionate over the phone, but Fitzroy knew a question like that must come filled with emotion and intensity.
“No. I didn’t burn you. At the time I disagreed with the decision. I thought you still could have been useful to us.”
“So who burned me? Hanley?”
“That’s a discussion for another day. Maybe we’ll talk it over when you get here.”
“It’s a date. Bye.”
“At the moment you should be less worried about who burned you in ’06, and more worried about who will burn you tomorrow if you don’t drop in for a visit.”
Gentry snorted into the phone. “Can’t be burned twice.”
“Sure you can. When I left the agency, I took out a little insurance policy. I saw what happened to you and a few other men. I knew what barbarity the politicians who run the company were capable of when a heretofore successful operation falls out of favor with the men and women who have to testify before Congress. I told myself, ‘Lloyd, you’re too smart to go down like dumb old Court Gentry and the others.’ So I did what I had to do to ensure my survival.”
“You stole secrets.”
“Like I said, I’m a survivor.”
“You’re a traitor.”
“Same thing. I copied documents detailing operations, sources and methods, personnel files.”
“Personnel files?”
“Yes. I have them with me right now.”
“Bullshit.”
“Just a moment.” Fitzroy watched Lloyd thumb through some papers in a gold folder on the table. There was a stack of similar folders alongside the one the young American picked up. “Gentry, Courtland A. Born 4/18/74 in Jacksonville, Florida. Parents Jim and Lyla Gentry. One brother, deceased. Entered grammar school in—”
“That’s enough.”
“I’ve got more. I’ve got it all. Your agency history with the Special Activities Division and the Autonomous Asset Development Program. Your Golf Sierra exploits. Your known associates. Photos, fingerprints, dental records, et cetera, et cetera.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to come to Normandy.”
“Why?”
“That will be discussed when you arrive.”
The pause lasted long enough for Fitzroy to hear snippets from the second floor of the chateau below him. Elise was yelling at Phillip. Sir Donald knew the marriage was rocky, knew this pressure was the last thing they needed.
Finally Gentry spoke. “Do what you have to do, Lloyd. Put my documents out there; I don’t give a shit. I’m done with this.”
“Very well. I’ll spray your data to the world. Within a week, every mobster you’ve wronged, every enemy agency you’ve run against, every grumpy assassin you’ve beat out for a contract, they all will be after you. It will make the last forty-eight hours look like a vacation in a day spa.”
“I can handle it.”
“And Fitzroy dies. His family dies. Can you handle that?”
A slight hesitation. “He shouldn’t have screwed me.”
“Okay. You are a hard man, Court, I get it. But there is just one other thing I forgot to mention. Yours were not the only personnel files I filched from the agency. If you do not come to Normandy, I will distribute the names, photographs, and known associates files of all the operators in the Special Activities Division, active, inactive, retired, or otherwise indisposed. Every company triggerman will become just like you: burned, hunted, left hung out to dry because their services have been rendered useless and their names are popping up on every search engine on the Internet.”
It was a long time before Gentry spoke. “What the fuck is all this about? Why would you do that, just to get to me?”
“This isn’t just about you, you arrogant shit! You are insignificant in the scope of the real objective. But I need you here. I need you here, or I will scorch the earth clean of America’s best covert operators. I’ll see that every SAD asset and all their known associates are hunted dogs!”
Court Gentry said nothing. Fitzroy cocked his head, thought he could hear the clacking cadence of a train over tracks in the background of the connection.
Lloyd next said, “Of course, it will take a few days to dump all the personnel files of you and the SAD boys onto the net. There’s so damn much of it. I’ll have to start with something else. If you’re not here bright and early tomorrow morning, the first to check out will be the Fitzroy family downstairs. I figure I’ll begin with the little ones. The first-in, first-out principle. Know what I mean? I’ll kill the babies, kill the parents, and then top off my morning by killing old man Fitzroy here.”
