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Court had, a long time ago, rescued Fitzroy, his twin grandchildren, and his daughter-in-law from peril.
“They lost a lot, as well,” Court said.
“That they did.” Fitz watched the cat lap up the milk a moment, then said, “All I have is because of you, lad. Don’t you ever think I don’t appreciate what you did every single day of my life.”
“You’ve gotten me out of a jam or two yourself.”
“What I did was nothing. What you did for me…it’s the children. The girls. Someday, if you’re lucky, you’ll know yourself just what you have given me.”
A few seconds of awkward silence stretched out into a few seconds more. Suddenly he bolted upright in his chair.
He looked towards the coastline, still shimmering in the moonlight. “This dark business going on with the technology killings all over the world…you’re not involved in that bloody nonsense, are you?”
Court sniffed into the phone. “Yeah. But I’m strictly playing defense this time out.”
“Good lord.”
“I’m with Z,” Court said. Fitzroy knew Zoya Zakharova, so he understood. “A man involved with whatever’s going on came to her for help, and that put her directly in the crosshairs.”
“Tell me that she is okay.”
“She’s okay. We both are. We just know we can’t hide this one out. This has to be a big operation, especially considering all the other targets out there. We’re going to try to figure out our exposure, and you might be able to help.”
The Englishman sipped his brandy, then said, “You just tell me how.”
“I caught a good look at one of the assassins the night before last.”
Fitzroy said nothing. He just waited.
“It was Lancer. He’s older, balder, stronger…uglier, if that’s even possible. But it was definitely Lancer.”
An inhale from the Englishman, and then he said, “Back when he worked for me, I’d have wagered he’d be dead in a year. Now he’s one of the most successful hit men on Earth.”
“He’s alive, it’s everyone within fifty meters of one of his targets who’s dead.”
“I regret employing him for just that reason. And I regret pairing the two of you together back in Istanbul. A terrible mistake.”
“It was Ankara.”
“Right. Memory fails.”
“Tell me you are out of the game,” Court said. “Tell me you aren’t running Lancer in all this.”
Fitzroy sat back now. “Heavens, no, boy. I haven’t seen him since that operation with you. What was that, five, six years ago?”
After a pause, Court repeated himself. “So you’re out of the game? Completely?”
Fitzroy began to sip his brandy, but then he drank the entire snifter down. Wincing with the alcohol, he said, “I dabble. Nothing dangerous, I just keep in contact with certain players, here and there.”
He could hear the disappointment in the American’s voice. “Jesus, Fitz. You gotta stay retired.”
“That’s rich, coming from you, lad,” he replied, but there was no anger in his voice. “Look…I have nothing whatsoever to do with any of this madness, and I’m waiting it out to see what comes next.”
He heard Court breathe a sigh of relief before saying, “What do you know about Lancer?”
“I know enough. His name is Scott Kincaid. Former American Navy man.”
“Any idea who he works for now?”
