—
Five minutes later, Riegel stood again on the walkway on the roof and stared through the crenellations at the moonlit gardens. The scent of the apple orchard in the distance mixed with the cold darkness. Riegel hoped to clear his head a bit, to get away from Lloyd and the Tech and the Belarusians and the incessant radio reports from the watchers in Paris who had yet to see anyone and the kill squads who had yet to kill anyone. His phone chirped in his pocket. His first inclination was to ignore the call. It was probably one of the foreignintelligence service chieftains wondering why their team hadn’t checked in and how the fuck they could have all been wiped out working on a commercial job. Riegel knew he’d spend months or years smoothing over this catastrophe, and that was only if the Lagos contractdidget signed by eight a.m. If not, and Riegel did not want to even think of this, but if not, he’d likely lose his job or at least his position. Laurent had too much riding on this to not put every possible pressure to bear.
Riegel felt like his head was on the chopping block much like Lloyd’s. Not literally like Lloyd. Riegel was certain Laurent would eventually order Riegel to have Lloyd killed if the operation failed. Riegel would not die for this fiasco like the young American, but still, his career would be ruined if his corporation’s excesses in Africa were brought to light by that shameless son of a bitch, Julius Abubaker.
The phone rang again. With a sigh that blew vapor into the night, he pulled the phone from his pocket.
“Riegel.”
“Sir, it’s the Tech. There’s a call for you on the landline. I can send it to your mobile.”
“The landline? You mean the château’s phone?”
“Yes, sir. Wouldn’t say who he was. He’s speaking English.”
“Thank you.” A click. Riegel asked, “Who is speaking, please?”
“I am the guy you just can’t quite seem to kill.”
A chill ran up Kurt Riegel’s spine. He did not know Fitzroy had given his name to the Gray Man.
After a moment to collect himself, he said, “Mr. Gentry. Itis an honor to speak with you. I have followed your career and consider you a very formidable adversary.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“I’ve been looking over your file.”
“Interesting?”
“Very.”
“Well, read up, Kurt, because I intend to pull my file out of your cold, dead hands.”
Kurt Riegel chuckled aloud. “What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to make a social call.”
“I have hunted all manner of quarry in my life, big and small, including quite a few humans. This is the first time I have had a social conversation with my prey shortly before the kill.”
“Same here.”
There was a short pause. Then Riegel laughed. His laughter carried across the dark expanse of the château’s rear garden. “Oh,Iamyourprey now?”
“You know I am coming for you.”
“You won’t make it, and if you somehow do make it to Normandy, you certainly won’t make it to me.”
“We’ll see.”
“We know you are in Paris.”
“Paris? What are you talking about? I’m standing right behind you.”
“You are a funny man. That surprises me.” Riegel said it with a chuckle, but he could not help himself from looking back over his shoulder and at the empty walkway around the château’s roof. “We have all your known associates covered with literally dozens of watchers.”
“Really? I wouldn’t know.”
“Yes. You must be going from one old friend to the next. You are identifying my surveillance teams because you are good, but you are not good enough to become invisible. So you must turn away from your potential source of aid. Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink.”
