Both men laughed a little, and then Glazebrook said, “Wait. Didyouhave something to do with what happened to him?”
Tully did not answer the question. Instead, he said, “The Ulster boy who was killed in Bulgaria back in October. You heard about that, as well, I’m guessing.”
Glazebrook took a sip of port. “Only in passing. One of Maragos’s armed dolts, wasn’t it?”
Tully did not answer. Said, “They say the killer was a lone American.”
“I heard that, as well. Then the same American did the thing in Romania. Whoever the bloke was, he was not one of mine, by the way.”
“Any guesses who it might have been?”
Glazebrook looked at Tully quizzically. “Why are you asking? What’s your connection to this? The Ulster boy? The parents have hired you to find his killer?”
“Something along those lines. Of course, straightaway, I thought youmight be the man to speak to. You remain one of the most well-connected geopolitical personalities on this earth.”
“Flatteryisa crude tool, Bill, but often effective.” Glazebrook looked into the fire a moment. “You’ll only get guesses from me, you understand.”
“Certainly.”
“There are just a few Yanks who could have caused all that mayhem. A bloke code-named Lancer, he’s made a lot of news in the past few years, but I heard he got in a spot of bother and is currently imprisoned in Cuba. There was also a bloke called Dead Eye, a CIA hitter, quite good, but I know for a fact he’s been dead some time. Then there’s Saga, a killer for hire who worked with me for a spell but is now plying his trade on the dark web, no representation.”
The older Englishman thought a moment more, then said, “It could have been Saga. He could have pulled it off, I mean.” Glazebrook looked back to Tully. “But it wasn’t.”
“No?”
Glazebrook shook his head. “No. If the bloke that killed your countryman really was an American, then I believe it was none other than the Gray Man.”
Tully let out a little gasp.
“Of course, there’s no proof it was an American. Just because the surviving Bulgarians thought it was, how do they know an American accent? I could name twelve other men who could have done it, maybe more, including some from the UK.”
Tully nodded slowly, as if the thought had not occurred to him.
Then Sir Allen asked, “Who’s your client? What’s this all about?”
Tully took a long sip of port, so long Glazebrook made a face of bemusement. The Irishman finally said, “We’ve been friends a long time. I hope that has bought me a measure of trust from you.”
Sir Allen called for his butler to refill Tully’s glass. “Jeff? Jeff?” With an annoyed shrug, he refilled the glass himself, then said, “If I didn’t have a measure of trust for you, mate, you wouldn’t be in my home. Go on, then.”
“I want you to think back to the past as I tell you something.”
Sir Allen put the bottle back on the table between them, then gave arelaxed little chuckle. “Ah. Something from our shared history, then. Invoking ye olden days. Always gives me a bit of a chill.”
Tully hesitated.
Glazebrook prodded good-naturedly. “Well, spit it out, man.”
“Whetstone.”
Glazebrook’s smile faded, and his eyes flicked away, back to the fire. After several silent seconds, he said, “What are we doing here, Tully?”
“We’re talking abouthim. About Whetstone.” A pause, and then, “We’re talking about Campbell Coyle.”
Glazebrook’s arms crossed in front of his body. “We agreed ages ago, did we not, that none of that ugly business would ever come up again?”
“But ithascome up again.”
“That’s a name I had gotten quite comfortable forgetting.” When Tully did not respond, Glazebrook said, “Well then, what about him?”
