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At exactly the same time, both Q-UGVs began moving forward, one negotiating the soft gravel of debris of the trash-strewn parking lot at the dump, and the other splashing confidently through the swamp, shooing snakes out of the way with its noise and movement, until it finally climbed up on dry land.
The two Q-UGVs converged, bypassed a main road, and arrived at a small footpath in the jungle at essentially the same time. They then fell into formation, with One One leading One Two. Their speed quickened once the terrain smoothed out, and soon they began running forward at twelve miles per hour, directly toward the massive glass mansion’s lights over the trees, less than a kilometer in the distance.
•••
On the second floor of the mansion, Court listened in while Jack Tudor gave Fitzroy some backstory on his agent in the field working at the operations center. She was a German national, she’d been fired from her work at an intelligence center in Berlin for alcoholism, and she’d only accepted the job out of desperation after her husband had lost his position at a major bank.
Court had questions of his own about the woman and what she might be able to reveal about the technology killings, but he held his tongue because he was supposedly just here as window dressing: an unarmed security man following a geriatric ex-spy around on his trip to Mexico.
Soon enough, though, Court began to get the distinct impression he was not going to stay quiet for much longer.
Tudor finished his information dump about the German woman who was due to contact him any minute, then said, “So…let’s hear about the Gray Man. How will you get in contact with him?”
Don Fitzroy turned to look at his two bodyguards, and Tudor followed his gaze. “We’ll get to that,” Fitzroy said. “But first, do you have a way of calling Lancer off any more operations he’s tasked on?”
“He’s done. Did that op in Toronto, and that was the last one.”
Now Court spoke for the first time. “Not necessarily.”
Tudor looked up at the man by the staircase. “I beg your pardon?”
Fitzroy said, “My colleagues here have something to tell you.”
Court faced Tudor, who was still sitting on the chair across the room in front of the window. He said, “Four days ago, Lancer tried to kill my associate and me in Guatemala. We think it was an in extremis mission. He’d been tailing someone else, we came in contact with that someone, and, apparently, we were put on the list with all the others. You might think Lancer is done with his operation, but as you just said, your agent there in the OC said Cyrus was adding targets. Lancer could very well still be out there and working.”
Tudor was confused, so he looked to Fitzroy for clarification. “He tried to kill your bodyguards? What on earth for?”
Fitzroy said, “Hear the lad out, Jack.”
Court continued. “I know it was Lancer, because I know Lancer. He failed, but he got away clean.”
Tudor looked back to Court and said, “Well, I find that to be most odd, because you both look very much alive, and he does not often fail, especially when facing a couple of security officers.” He smiled a little. “No offense.”
Zoya spoke up now. “None taken, but we aren’t exactly bodyguards.”
Tudor looked back over his shoulder and put his eyes on his own pair of security men in the room. They stood on the opposite wall from Fitzroy’s pair, over near the entrance to the library, their hands to their sides but close enough to the pistols in their shoulder holsters. They each took a half step forward in a show of force, their eyes alert.
Fitzroy spoke softly. “Everyone just keep calm.”
To Fitzroy, Tudor said, “If these two aren’t your guards, then who are they?”
Fitz looked to Court, and Court nodded again.
The Englishman said, “I used to employ this lad. In a lengthy career, it is no exaggeration to say that he was, bar none, my very best asset.”
Tudor rose slowly from the chair, his eyes locked on the younger man standing in front of him.
Zoya spoke softly next to Court. “Yep. He gets it.”
“You’re Gentry?” Tudor said, his voice unsure. “The former CIA asset code-named Violator?”
Court looked around the room self-consciously. “Let’s not make a big thing out of it.”
“Prove it.”
Court rolled his eyes. “I don’t do tricks.”
“It’s him, Jack,” Fitzroy said. “In the flesh.”
