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, thereisstill something here youdowant.”
“There’s nothing I want bad enough to knowingly walk into a trap. Good-bye, Floyd.”
“It’s Lloyd, noF, doubleL, and you might want to stay on the line to hear my sales pitch.”
“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?”
