“Triple it.”
Fitzroy shook his head. “Bollocks. Too much. And before you start prating on about how I am a cheap bastard, I’ll tell you that’s not my call, old boy. China is footing the bill, and China won’t accept your terms.”
“Then the extra two hundred percent will have to come out of your pocket, won’t it? Looks like solving this little problem for you just might save your life, so I’d say that puts me in the driver’s seat.”
“Selfish prick,” Fitzroy said.
Again, this talk was just for the mics. The two men had professional respect for each other. It used to be genuine affection, and Fitzroy still felt the same about Gentry. But Court had cooled to the relationship after Fitzroy had deceived him once before. Still… as far as Court was concerned, he did owe Fitzroy his life for an affair that took place after.
Court felt personally indebted to Fitzroy, but he wasn’t going to reveal any compromise whatsoever to the Chinese listening in to the conversation.
Now Court asked, “Do we have a deal?”
“You and I have a deal, but as I said, you’ll have to pass muster with the man who holds the keys to the door locks, and the leashes on the armed guards.”
“So… when do I get to talk to this Mr. Dai?”
“Not for me to say.” He looked past Court now, towards the entrance to the room. “But if I had to guess, I’d say you’ll get to meet him right about now.”
Two security men in trim black suits had entered the parlor behind Court. They walked straight to him, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pulled him to his feet.
As he was shuffled out, Fitzroy stood quickly. “Lad. Good luck. When you’ve done the job, I’ll see that the funds are wired directly into your account. You and I can speak again when I’m back in London.” A hesitation. “Don’t come back here. There’s really no need.”
Court understood. Fitzroy was telling him to run. To forget about any foolish attempt to save Fitzroy when it was all through.
Court wondered if Fitz somehow understood the truth: that Court’s successful fulfillment of his true mission here would probably lead to Fitzroy’s death at the hands of Chinese intelligence.
And Fitz would rather he paid that price than have Court come back here to try to save him.
Court gave what he felt might be his last look at Donald Fitzroy, and then he turned and followed his minders as they led him out of the room.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Fifteen minutes later Court sat in a modern home office space three flights of open stairs above where Fitzroy was kept. A massive projection television screen adorned one wall in front of a comfortable seating area, and beyond that sat a conference table for twelve. At the far end of the room from the entrance, an enormous black desk sat right in front of open sliding glass doors leading to a balcony that Court estimated to be larger than Fitzroy’s entire quarters downstairs.
This residence surely cost tens of millions of U.S. dollars, so it was no surprise that the balcony and office sported jaw-dropping views of the skyscrapers of Hong Kong Island, Victoria Harbor, and, beyond that, the southern tip of the Kowloon Peninsula.
Court sat in a leather wingback chair in front of the desk and snuck glances out past the balcony. He imagined he could probably pick out the Peninsula hotel in the hazy distance if he looked long enough for it, but instead he focused on other buildings, trying to orient himself, to pinpoint his location for use later. He did not want to give away what he was doing, so he returned his gaze to the man seated behind the desk in front of him.
Dai was in his late forties, healthy-looking, and he wore a dark suit with a shiny gold necktie. A bit of his parted gray-black hair hung over his forehead, but otherwise he was perfectly composed, and Court detected the posture and bearing cues of a military man.
But the man’s background was less important to him than the man’s present disposition, and Dai’s eyes told Court what he needed to know. The man had suspicious, almost paranoid eyes, and they had spent all of the previous two minutes scanning Court’s face while both men sat in complete silence.
Court glanced out the balcony doors again at the skyline in the distance, waiting for Dai to speak. He did his best to give off a slight air of insolence. He would not show any fear, subservience, or deference, because Court didn’t want to give this man any reason to think for a second he’d had anything to do with the disappearance of the two Chinese officers from the evening before.
No, Court was just a hired hit man looking for work, fresh off a boat from London and now held against his will by a bunch of guys who were also holding his handler hostage.
He wasn’t scared; he was pissed.
In addition to Dai, five more men occupied this sprawling office, either sitting on the sofa in front of the projection TV or standing at ease in the corners. They were Dai’s bodyguards; that was clear to Court. He could see butts of pistols in shoulder holsters, and one of the men by the door had a submachine gun hanging under his right arm, but none of them were particularly on guard at the moment.
Finally the man behind the desk spoke, and Court fought any expression of relief that the examination was over. “I am Dai.”
“Okay. I am Joe.”
“No. You are Courtland Gentry. The one they call the Gray Man. We know who you are. We came to Fitzroy in the first place to secure your services, but he told us he fired you years ago.”
“He’s an asshole and a liar,” Court said. “He didn’t fire me; I quit.”
Dai regarded this comment in silence. Court hoped the comment, along with Dai’s listening in of the conversation between Gentry and Fitzroy, would convey a quagmire of complicated but ultimately irrelevant issues between the American and the Brit. It would help solidify the ruse that Gentry had come to Fitzroy just at this time out of need, nothing more.
Dai said, “Whatever reason you left his stable of contractors, when we found out you weren’t with him any longer, he offered up two other teams of men to fulfill his contract. Both failed.”
Dai’s command of English was impressive, Court thought, even if his accent was strong.
Court said, “And now, like a rat to cheese, I’ve come back. Lucky you. I’ll do the job. I’ll start today.”
Dai ignored the American’s comment. “You are quite legendary. We have followed your exploits around the world. Most recently you were in Washington, D.C. Making yourself even more of an enemy of your countrymen, from the look of things.”
“That was a misunderstanding. I went home to clear things up. Nobody wanted to listen. Now it’s time I go back to work.”
Dai nodded slowly, taking in Court’s words, tone, mannerisms, and expressions like he was trying to solve a puzzle. He said, “When you went to Wu and inquired about Fitzroy, you gave him the address of your hotel. Did you not think it possible he would sell you out to us?”
Court doubted Wu had sold him out. It was much more likely that the MSS had been listening in to the conversation. Still, he said, “I was counting on it. Wu would sell me intelligence about Fitzroy, and then he would sell whoever had Fitzroy intelligence about the man looking for him. I figured whoever had Fitzroy would come to me to see who I was.”
“And how did you know anyone had Fitzroy?”
“That’s easy. Sir Donald doesn’t take vacations. He came here for an urgent work matter; then his staff in London lost contact with him. It was a simple thing to guess he’d been snatched by the men who hired him.”