The sniper just shrugged as he scanned the near distance. “If you were on the scene, I would not have. As it was, I did not have leadership. I made the decision to shoot. That is what I do unless told otherwise.”
Riegel nodded. He regarded his sniper for a moment. “I saw the body. The entry wound. Good decision or not... it was a magnificent shot.”
The Belarusian lowered his eye from the scope of his Dragunov but continued his survey of the orchard. He betrayed not a speck of emotion. “Da.It was.”
Lloyd was tired of being ignored. “Look, Riegel. You’re wasting time. Even if Gentry does make it here, which he won’t, do you really think he’s going to come running straight up the middle of the yard?”
“It’s a possibility. He will do whatever he considers his best option.”
“That’s insane. He’s not going to storm the castle by himself.”
“I have to prepare as if he will. His options will be limited.”
“Well then, why don’t you line the fucking garden with land mines?” Lloyd’s sarcasm was delivered with utter derision.
Riegel looked at him a long moment. “Would you know where I can get some land mines?”
Just then, Lloyd’s phone chirped in his pocket.
“Yeah?”
“It’s the Tech here. Gentry is calling on Sir Donald’s phone. I can forward the call to you.”
Lloyd hit the speakerphone on his unit. “Do it.”
“Hello, Lloyd.” Gentry’s voice was tired.
“So you slipped the noose again. I was hoping to be standing over your charred remains sometime this evening.”
“No. Instead, your rented thugs just killed a seventy-five-year-old American hero.”
“Right. A terminally ill, out-to-pasture spy on the take. Excuse me while I dab the tears from my eyes.”
“Fuck you, Lloyd.”
“You’re in Geneva?”
“You know that I am.”
“Do you need me to fax you a goddamned map? Northern France is innorthern fucking France, not southern Switzerland. I don’t know why you went to see Maurice. Money, documentation, weapons, another gunman, whatever. None of that shit is going to make a damn bit of difference in the long run. The only thing you need to be worried about right now is time, because tomorrow morningwhen the little hand reaches the eight and the big hand reaches the twelve, it is open fucking season on little British girlies up here!”
“Don’t worry, Lloyd. I’ll be there soon.”
“Why are you calling?”
“I was sitting here worrying that you may begin to relax, you may think that I died in the explosion. The possibility that you might be having a comfortable afternoon was really beginning to chap my ass, so I thought I’d give you a ring, let you know to leave a light on for me tonight.”
Lloyd sniffed into the phone. “You just wanted to make sure I didn’t give the mission up for lost. Didn’t go downstairs and kill the Fitzroys because I don’t need them anymore.”
“That, too. I don’t know how many more hit teams you have between you and me, but all the goons on earth won’t stop me from getting my hand around your throat in just a few hours.”
The Tech ran up to the three men in the back garden. Out of breath, he held up a sheet of paper on which he’d hurriedly scrawled the words, “Sat Phone—no trace.”
Lloyd frowned. He said, “Court, your death is an inevitability. Why don’t you save us all some time, make things easier on everyone, and kill yourself, then put your head in a cooler and ship it up to me.”
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll supply the head. You get the ice chest ready. Soon enough, I’ll give you the opportunity to put the two together.”
“Sounds like a plan, buddy.”
