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Fitzroy added, “And this mission, it was undeniably righteous.”
“Or I wouldn’t have done it,” Court said. “It was a terrorist, Egyptian but living in Turkey. He had a couple of close-protection guys with him at all times, but he also had a larger group that trailed him for additional security, staying back far enough to not draw attention to their principal.
“My job was to eliminate the target; Lancer’s job was to hold up the security response. We thought that if the vans full of shitheads came, Lancer would just dump some rounds into their vehicles. Drop a few of the target’s henchmen, slow down their approach.”
Court’s voice drifted off, and Fitzroy picked it back up. “But Scott Kincaid came up with his own plan without telling anyone. He made and employed improvised explosive devices, blew up a pair of minivans full of terrorists, which wouldn’t have been a problem, but he did it on a busy street next to Kizilay Square. Shrapnel killed three civilians, injured twenty-two.”
“I’d just done my job four blocks away,” Court said. “I heard the explosions, the sirens, the screams. I got the fuck out of there. Met Lancer at the safe house later that night, he acted like everything went off without a hitch.
“Saw the carnage on TV the next morning as we were breaking down the place. A minute later we were in a fistfight. A few seconds after that we were swinging blades at each other. Police came before we damaged anything other than furniture; we both escaped, but I was intent on killing that son of a bitch.”
Court sighed. “I told Fitz here I’d never work with Lancer again, and I never saw him after till the other night.”
Fitzroy added, “Tudor told me back when he hired Lancer a couple of years ago. I strongly recommended against, but Jack said he needed a man with Kincaid’s skills.”
Zoya said, “But it’s been years. How do you know Tudor still handles him?”
“I spoke with Jack just a couple months back. He mentioned that Lancer was still in his employ. Earning a ransom, from the sound of it.”
“You and Tudor stay in touch?”
“As I said, I like to keep abreast of things. I’ve never lost my zeal for the work, even if I no longer do it myself. From time to time he feeds me information.”
“And what do you do for him?”
Fitzroy smiled. “It’s not what I do for him. He reaches out to me periodically because there is one thing he thinks I can provide him. One thing that he really wants.”
“What’s that?” Court asked.
When Fitzroy did not immediately respond, Zoya turned to Court and answered the question.
“You.”
Court cocked his head in confusion.
Fitzroy nodded. “He knew that I ran an asset named Gentry. Found that out from Lancer. He knew that Gentry from CIA was the Gray Man. Found that out when he was at MI5. He’s never seen a picture of you, that I know of, but he’s aware of all the lore about your exploits.
“I hear from him anytime something big happens in the world. The assassination in Bosnia, the thing in India, New York City four or five months ago. The killing of the Russian assassin in Berlin. He thinks you did it all.” Fitzroy looked deeply into Court’s eyes, no doubt for some indication he had done these operations, but Gentry wasn’t giving anything away, so he continued. “He reaches out, asking if I’ve heard anything about where you were, who you were working for.
“What Tudor really wants is you. The amount of money you could generate for him. Of course I tell him he’s daft. I don’t talk to you, and you wouldn’t work for anyone who ran Lancer in the first place, so what’s the bloody point? But he’s relentless about adding you to his stable of hit men.”
Court was bewildered. “I’m not going to work with some asshole who’s running a psycho Nazi killer who’s in the process of assassinating a shit-ton of innocent scientists and engineers.”
“I agree with every word you just said there but ‘innocent.’ We don’t know why these people are being targeted. They may well be the root of the problem that we’re now trying to solve. Anyway, I’m not taking you to him so that you can work together; I’m taking you to him so you can find out about Scott Kincaid. He would drop Lancer for you to work with him, which means he might very well turn on Lancer and his operation if you just say you will work with him.
“Whether we reveal your identity or not depends on what cards we have to play when we get there, but it’s nice to know we have an ace in the hole.”
“Okay,” Court said. “Let’s go see this son of a bitch and find out what he has to say for himself.”
Fitzroy sighed. “Best you let me do the talking, Court.”
“Yeah. Best,” Zoya agreed.
TWENTY-NINE
Drone pilot Carlos Contreras sat alone in a webbed chair in the cargo hold of the Cessna 408 SkyCourier as it buffeted through the darkness some seven thousand feet above the Yucatán coastline. There was a portal near his head, but he ignored the view out the window in favor of the three laptops open in front of him, each one’s ruggedized case affixed to an aluminum table with double-sided tape.
In its passenger plane configuration, the cabin of the SkyCourier can seat nineteen, but this model had been set up as a cargo hauler. Purchased by a Mexican package delivery service that went bankrupt shortly after it was delivered, it had then been put up for sale in an online auction. After a few months with no interest, an offshore company based out of Antigua suddenly purchased the aircraft at its asking price, the paperwork was handled remotely and wire transfers sent from a Cyprus bank to the seller’s bank in Mexico City, and then an Irish pilot and Mexican loadmaster were hired to take delivery of the aircraft just four days prior.
