The Gray Man (8 page)
Barnes had activated the ramp from the front of the cabin. A second later, the aircraft began another steep climb.
As Court scrambled to grab on to the netting over the pallet on the floor in front of him, Barnes appeared near the bulkhead. The dark-clad operator had slung a parachute rig onto his back. Apparently he figured this plane had taken all the damage it could, or perhaps he worried the pilots were dead from stray gunfire. Barnes held the bulkhead webbing with all his might and fired burst after burst in Gentry’s direction, one-handed, with his M4 as the ramp opened fully behind the Gray Man.
Court reached behind him with his free hand and stripped the gun off Markham’s neck just before the dead man rolled out of the plane and into the darkness. The pilot continued his climb, and soon McVee’s body slid past Gentry and out into the night. Perini’s body was lashed into his seat, and Dulin’s corpse was still secured in the bulkhead webbing.
Gentry and Barnes were the only two left alive.
Court held on to the submachine gun with his right hand, and his left hand squeezed the net on the pallet. His glove had twisted on his fingers, and he knew he could not hold on much longer. His boots kicked at the deck of the plane to try to find purchase as the climb angle grew steeper and steeper.
He was seconds away from falling backwards down the ramp.
But Gentry had one last chance. He lifted Markham’s rifle and fired a long burst over the pallet at Barnes, hitting him squarely on his chest plate, slamming his head back against the bulkhead hard enough to knock him out cold. The aircraft’s incline was forty-five degrees now, and the wounded Barnes lost his hold of the webbing, dropped to his knees, and rolled down the length of the plane towards the rear hatch.
This was Gentry’s ride off the damaged aircraft and he did not want to miss it. As the incapacitated operator bounded past, Court let go of the pallet and pushed off the floor with his boots and kneepads. Gentry leapt to his right and grabbed hold of the unconscious man by the parachute harness, and they sailed together out the open hatch and into the night sky.
Gentry hooked his arms around Barnes and crossed his legs behind his back. The L-100 disappeared above them, and soon the roar of the engines was replaced by the howl of the wind.
Court grunted and screamed with the effort of holding on as tightly as possible. He did not dare reach for the ripcord of the chute. If he lost his tenuous hold, he would never find it again in the black night sky. He was reasonably sure this rig would have a CYPRES automatic activation device that would pop the reserve at seven hundred fifty feet if its occupant was still in free fall.
Gentry and his would-be killer tumbled end over end through the cold blackness.
One of Court’s hands found a good hold on the parachute’s shoulder strap, so he released the other hand to find a similar grip. Just as he let go, he heard a one-tone beep that lasted less than a second.
Then the reserve chute deployed.
Court held on with one hand. This parachute was not meant for two people, one of whom was kicking and yanking, desperate to get a firmer grip, so the men fell too fast and spun around like a whirligig.
This continued for just a few seconds before Gentry began to vomit from the vertigo. He did not have far to fall, but his nausea had already turned to dry heaves before they slammed together on the ground.
Court’s impact was muted by landing squarely on the man in the chute. He checked on the other operator. He’d landed hard, face-first, with Gentry on his back. Court found no pulse.
Once on terra firma, Gentry got control of his heaving stomach, grabbed his thigh and writhed in pain for a moment, and then recovered enough to sit up. The first hues of morning were glowing to his left, showing him the way east.
Now that he had his bearings, he took stock of his surroundings. He was on flat ground, at the bottom of a gentle valley. There was a brook close enough to hear and goats bleating in the distance. The dead operator lay broken, the reserve chute flapping behind him in a cool, predawn breeze. Court searched the man’s gear and found a medical blow-out bag on Barnes’s hip.
He sat down on the grass and did his best to treat his wound in the dark. He assumed he had a long walk to reach the border and wanted to patch his injured leg so it could stand the trek. It was a clean wound, in and out, no major vascular or orthopedic damage, nothing much to worry about if you treated it early and well and did not mind days or weeks of throbbing discomfort. Gentry puked bile once more, his body and his mind just catching up to the chaos of the past five minutes.
Then he stood and slowly began walking north towards Turkey.
SEVEN
Fitzroy sat across from Lloyd on the couch in his office. Even as the older man listened to the other end of the satellite connection, his angry eyes did not flicker away from the young lawyer.
“I see,” said Fitzroy into the phone. “Thank you.” He terminated the call and placed the phone gently on the table in front of him.
Lloyd stared back, hopeful.
Fitzroy broke the staring contest with a gaze to the carpet. “It seems they are all dead.”
“Who’s dead?” asked Lloyd, the tint of optimism ever growing in his voice.
“Everyone but the flight crew. I am told there was a bit of a dustup in the aircraft. Courtland did not go down easily; no surprise there. The pilot found two of my men’s bodies in the back, no sign of the other four. Blood on the floor, walls, and ceiling, over fifty bullet holes in the fuselage.”
“My firm will compensate you for the damages.” Lloyd said it matter-of-factly. He cleared his throat. “But they did not find Gentry’s body? Could he have survived?”
“It appears not. There was a lot of gear lost, the plane flew for miles with its rear cargo door open, and among the unaccounted-for items is a parachute, but there’s no reason to assume—”
Lloyd interrupted. “If our target is missing out the rear of an airplane along with a parachute, I can hardly convince the Nigerians the job is done.”
“He was outnumbered five to one against a tier-one crew, all ex-Canadian Special Forces. Clearly I have fulfilled my end of our bargain. I ask you to now kindly carry out yours. Stop your threats to my family.”
Lloyd waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Abubaker wants proof. He demanded Gentry’s head in an ice chest.”
“Dammit, man!” said Fitzroy. “I did as I was told!” Fitzroy was angry, but he was no longer fearful for his son’s family. Shortly before Lloyd arrived, Sir Donald had called his son, had him collect his wife and children, and rush to St. Pancras Station in time to make the morning’s second Eurostar train to France. At this very moment they should be settling into the family’s summer villa just south of the Normandy beaches. Fitzroy felt confident Lloyd’s men would not find them there.
“Yes, you did do as you were told. And you will continue to do so. I have a very quiet but very ominous Nigerian back in my office who will not leave with my assurances only. I will need for you to ascertain the flight path of the pilots, and I’ll need to send a team to investigate—”
The phone on Fitzroy’s desk chirped with a distinctive ring of two short bleats. Sir Donald spun his head to it and then back up to Lloyd.
“It’s him,” said Lloyd, responding to Fitzroy’s obvious shock.
“That’s his ring.”
“Then answer it, and activate the speaker function.”
Fitzroy crossed the room and pressed a button on the console on his desk. “Cheltenham Security.” The voice that came through the line was distant. The words came out between labored breaths. “You call that a rescue?”
“It’s good to hear your voice. What happened?”
Lloyd quickly pulled a notebook from his briefcase.
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I’ll live. No thanks to the extraction squad you sent to pick me up.”
Fitzroy looked to Lloyd. The young American scribbled something on his notepad and held it up.
Nigeria.
“Son. I heard from the flight crew about the melee. These were not regular employees of mine. Just a mer cenary unit I had used once before. I was rushed to get a team together after the Polish pulled out.”
Nigeria.
“Son. I heard from the flight crew about the melee. These were not regular employees of mine. Just a mer cenary unit I had used once before. I was rushed to get a team together after the Polish pulled out.”
“Because of what happened in Iraq?”
“Yes. That whole sector has become a no-go zone after your little demonstration yesterday. The Polish refused to go in. The men I sent instead let me know they’d do anything for money, despite the risks. Clearly someone got to them, bought them off.”
“Who?”
“My sources tell me Julius Abubaker, the Nigerian president, is after your head.”
“How does he know I was the one who waxed his brother?”
“Your reputation, no doubt. You have reached the status where some jobs are so difficult or high-profile that they just
have
to be you.”
have
to be you.”
“Shit,” said the voice through the line.
Fitzroy asked, “Where are you? I’ll send another team to pick you up.”
“Hell
no
, you won’t.”
no
, you won’t.”
“Look, Court, I can help you. Abubaker leaves office in a few days. He will leave with unimaginable wealth, but his power and his reach will be lessened once he is a civilian. The danger to you will soon pass. Let me bring you in, watch over you until then.”
“I can lie low on my own. Call me when you get more intel on the men after me. Don’t try to find me. You won’t.”
And with that, the connection died.
Lloyd clapped. “Well played, Sir Donald. Quite a performance. Your man didn’t suspect you at all.”
“He trusts me,” Fitzroy said angrily. “For four years he’s had every reason in the world to think I was his friend.”
The American lawyer ignored Sir Donald’s anger and asked, “Where will he go?”
Sir Donald sat back on the couch and ran his hands over his bald head. He looked up quickly. “A double! You want a head in an ice chest? I will bloody well get you a head in an ice chest! How the hell will Abubaker know the difference?”
Lloyd just shook his head. “Weeks ago, before the president demanded we kill him, he asked us for all the intelligence we had on the Gray Man. I happened to have photos, dental records, a complete history, et cetera. I sent that to him, thinking the son of a bitch would just kill Gentry himself before the hit on his brother was carried out. Abubaker knows your man’s face. We can’t use a body double or, as you suggest, a head double.”
Fitzroy cocked his head slowly. “How the bloody hell did you come by this information?”
Lloyd regarded the question for a long moment. He picked at a piece of lint on the knee of his pants. “Before I moved to Paris to join Laurent, the Gray Man and I worked together.”
“You’re CIA?”
“Ex. Definitely ex. There’s no money in patriotism, I’m afraid.”
“And there
is
money in hunting down patriots? Threatening to hurt children?”
is
money in hunting down patriots? Threatening to hurt children?”
“Good money, as it happens. The world is a funny place. I copied personnel files when I was with the agency. I planned to use them as a bargaining chip if they ever came after me. It’s just serendipity that these documents have proven useful in my current position.” Lloyd stood and began pacing Fitzroy’s office. “I need to know where Gentry is now, where he’s going, what he normally does when he goes into hiding.”
“When he goes into hiding, he simply vanishes. You can kiss your natural gas good-bye. The Gray Man will not turn up on anyone’s radar again for months.”
“Unacceptable. I need you to give me something, something about Gentry I don’t already know. When he worked for us, he was a machine. No friends, no family that he gave a damn about. No lover stuck away for those long nights after a job. His SAD file is about the most boring read imaginable. No vices, no weakness. He’s older now; surely he’s made associates of a personal nature, developed tendencies that will help us figure out his next step. I’m sure you can tell me something, no matter how trivial, that I can use to flush him out.”
Fitzroy smiled a little. He sensed the desperation in his young adversary.
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