“That’s right,” Russ said, ominously. “I do. You are the one who isn’t in control. You can’t run away, you have to come after me, just like I planned. Good-bye, Court. I’ll see you next when I kill you.”
Whitlock hung up the phone with a smile on his face. He heard it in Gentry’s voice. The Gray Man was committed to the cause, and he would play his part to the very end.
Fifteen minutes later Whitlock parked his car on Verrewinkelstraat, pulled the ski bag out of the backseat, and began walking up the street. In moments he’d entered a forested stretch of private property midway up a steep hillside, and he trudged across frozen ground under a canopy of bare trees. Crows flew above him as he ventured deeper into the woods, heading west now, and after a hundred yards he took a narrow path that passed on a hill above a frozen pond full of trash runoff from the neighborhood higher on the hill behind him. He continued for a minute more, and then he ended up at the tree line, overlooking the expansive backyard of a farmhouse. Beyond the yard the landscape dropped off down the hill into a shallow valley, at the bottom of which were train tracks and then a residential neighborhood. Beyond this was another hill, sparsely populated by the residential Brussels neighborhood of Uccle, and then, some twelve hundred yards distant, near the crest of this hill, the ancient Dieweg Cemetery lay, in perfect view of Russ’s position here at the edge of the trees.
A small greenhouse sat in the backyard of the farmhouse at the edge of the trees, and Russ entered the tiny building and stowed the ski bag containing his Accuracy International rifle.
Twenty minutes later he was back in his BMW and heading north, toward the city.
The midmorning sun shone bright on the blanket of snow that covered Brussels. Ruth stepped out of a small side entrance to the Gare du Nord with her oversized sunglasses protecting her from the glare, and a new hat on her head further shielded her eyes from the sun.
As soon as she’d arrived at the station she stepped into a boutique and bought new clothes from head to toe, and then made a beeline to a bathroom where she began working on her disguise. She put her blond wig on, fixed her makeup, and changed into her new clothes. She wore her hair down, bangs low just over her eyes, and a pair of chic eyeglasses completed the look.
When she left the station she was certain she had not been followed, and she was equally certain she was completely unrecognizable.
She caught a taxi to La Maison Degande, an exclusive men’s suit maker on Avenue Louise, and here she crossed the street to a café and ordered coffee and a croissant. She sat in the window and kept her eyes on the street while she ate her breakfast.
Ehud Kalb usually dropped in to Degande for fittings when he was in Brussels. This was known to Mossad, but she did not know if it was known to CIA. If it was, she thought it possible Whitlock would use this known point of access as the location for his assassination attempt.
That said, Ruth knew Dieweg cemetery was the more likely place for the hit. It was the most open and therefore the most vulnerable site, and while Kalb did not always go to Degande, his entire reason for coming to Brussels was to go to the cemetery to pay his respects at the grave of Piet De Schepper.
Still, while she waited for Gentry to make it into the city to become her own personal action arm, she knew she needed to keep an eye out for the other American assassin.
FIFTY-TWO
After a half hour in the café with sightings of neither Whitlock nor Kalb, Ruth decided to walk Avenue Louise to increase her coverage area around the suit maker. She’d made it only a few blocks when a black Mercedes-Benz four-door pulled up to the curb in front of her.
The door opened, and Lee Babbitt climbed out alone.
Ruth stopped in her tracks, turned in the opposite direction, and began casually walking away. She heard the car drive off, and then, from behind, she heard, “Ms. Ettinger. I’m alone. I just want to talk. I’ve sent the rest of my men away.”
She turned back to him, and he put up his hands in apology. “I tried to call you, but apparently you misplaced your phone.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“One of my guys saw you in the café in front of Degande.”
Ruth did not believe him. She knew her disguise was complete, and she was an expert at covert surveillance. She’d seen no one suspicious in the area, certainly not one of the Townsend cowboys she’d run into in Sweden and Germany.
But she did not let on that she found his explanation for her compromise suspect. Instead she said, “So, Mr. Babbitt. Why are you here? Are you here to help me stop your employee from killing my prime minister, or are you here to kill an innocent man?”
“I won’t get into Gentry’s guilt or innocence. Your bias is stronger than my need or my will to convince you, but I do think we can work together.”
“In what way?”
“You want Dead Eye, we want Gentry.”
“Do you believe Dead Eye has gone rogue?”
“I feel certain he has,” he said, adopting a grave tone that she really did not trust. “We tracked him here last night but he… he got away. I think he is the real threat to your PM. I see that now. Our mutual friends in Langley, Virginia, are, unfortunately, not convinced. I am afraid their threat matrix only has room for one rogue ex-singleton operator. Occam’s razor, Ms. Ettinger. The simple solution is usually the correct one.”
“They need to expand their horizons.”
Babbitt shifted from one foot to the other in the cold. “As for Gentry. I realize you feel like he is being treated unjustly.” Babbitt paused. “The question you have to ask yourself is this. Is Gentry’s life worth more than that of your prime minister?”
Ruth said, “Go on.”
“I can lead you to Russell Whitlock. Today, before Ehud Kalb arrives.”
“And the price for this prize, I assume, is me leading you to Court Gentry.”
“That’s right.”
“You are playing a very dangerous game, Mr. Babbitt. If I tell Tel Aviv you are using the leader of our nation as a bargaining chip—”
“I have more contact with Tel Aviv than you do. They aren’t listening to you right now, and that surely won’t change before something very bad happens to your PM. I am just suggesting you tell Gentry where Whitlock is. He will go there, and we will stand back and let nature take its course.”
She looked away. Thinking over what was being offered.
Babbitt said, “I know the trouble you are in. You could go to prison.”
“I don’t care about that. I only care about saving Kalb.”
“That is my objective, as well.” He smiled a little. “My secondary objective, admittedly. But still, I want to avoid any harm to your PM. He is a good man.”
Ruth hesitated a moment longer, then she nodded slowly. “I can deliver Gentry to you.”
“Call him now. You can use my phone.”
“He doesn’t trust phones. I have to meet with him, face-to-face.”
“Where and when?”
“I tell you that and my leverage is gone, Mr. Babbitt.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
She gave Babbitt the number to the phone she’d purchased the previous day in Sweden, and she promised to call him by noon.
Babbitt said, “I will warn you now, my dear. If you attempt any sort of a double cross, we won’t be able to save your PM from Russ Whitlock. He was trained in the same program that created Gentry, you know. They are two very dangerous individuals.”
“I will call you. You need to be ready to produce Whitlock when I do.”
“That’s not going to be a problem,” he said.