One minute after that, he was back at street level and wearing a canvas jacket taken from one of the men. The blood on his dark brown pants was concealed by the morning’s shower. Through the mist he walked, purposefully but without haste, towards a bus stop near the Charles Bridge. A slight limp in his gait, but nothing else differentiated him from the ever-increasing throngs of people on the street, each beginning their workday commute.
—
Fitzroy had been offered a small room with a cot to rest, but he refused on principle. Instead, he dozed fitfully in the conference room in a high-backed executive chair. Around his slumped form, the Tech moved from terminal to terminal, and Lloyd made call after call on his mobile. The security men stood both inside and outside the door throughout the night.
Sir Donald awoke at six thirty and was just sipping blackcoffee when the Tech called across the room to Lloyd. “Sir. The Albanians are not checking in.”
Lloyd had been sitting in a chair across from Fitzroy, drinking coffee and staring at a map of Prague. He looked up at his man, shrugged his shoulders, and pursed his lips. “Hard to do when you’re dead.”
The Tech remained hopeful. “We have no way of knowing—”
Lloyd wasn’t listening. He spoke mostly to himself. “One down. Eleven to go. That didn’t take long.”
Fitzroy smiled behind his coffee cup, and Lloyd noticed this. He rose to his feet, circled the mahogany table, and kneeled in front of Sir Donald. In a soft voice he said, “You and I may seem like adversaries, but we have the same goal here. If you are secretly celebrating the Gray Man’s victory, remember that as he gets closer to his target, the stakes will rise. The quicker he is put in the dirt, the better it is for you, your son, your daughter-in-law, and your precious little granddaughters.”
Sir Donald’s smile faded.
—
Over an hour later, Fitzroy’s satellite phone chirped. Lloyd and his men immediately went into silent mode. Sir Donald pushed the speakerphone button just after the third ring.
“Court? I have been trying to reach you. How are you?”
“What the hell is going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“Another kill squad just tried to zap me.”
“You’re joking.”
“Do I joke?”
“Admittedly not. Who were they?”
“I’m pretty fucking sure they were not Nigerians. Three white dudes. Looked Central European. Didn’t have time to pull IDs. If they were any good, they wouldn’t have been carrying them, anyway.”
“Abubaker must still be using hired hands. No surprise, considering his deep pockets. Are you injured in any way?”
“Yeah, I am, but not by these clowns. I took a bullet to my thigh in the plane yesterday morning.”
“You’ve been shot?”
“No big deal.”
Lloyd reached quickly for a notepad and jotted this information down.
“Son, there has been a complication.”
“Complication? I’ve had to take down eight guys in the last twenty-eight hours because of some breach in your Network. You’re damn right there’s been a complication!”
“The Nigerians know I am your handler.”
The satellite connection went quiet for a moment. Finally Gentry said, “Shit, Don. How did that happen?”
“Like I said . . . a complication.”
“Then you are in just as much danger as me. It’s just a matter of time before they come for you, too.” There was concern in the younger man’s voice.
