The young man grinned and offered a well-manicured hand with a firm grip. “King’s College it was, sir, but I graduated from Princeton back home.”
They shook hands, and Fitzroy ushered the man to a sitting area at the front of his office. “Yes, I hear it now. Princeton.”
As Fitzroy sat in a chair across the coffee table from his guest, Lloyd said, “Impressive, Sir Donald. I suppose you learned all about sizing people up in your former profession.”
Fitzroy raised his bushy white brows as he poured coffee for both men from a silver service on the table. “There was an article about me. A year or two ago in the Economist. You may have picked up a few tidbits about my career with the Crown.”
Lloyd nodded, sipped. “Guilty as charged. Your thirty years in MI-5. Most spent in Ulster during the Troubles. Then a change of vocation to corporate security. I’m sure that flattering article helped with your business.”
“Quite so.” Fitzroy said through a well-practiced smile.
“And I must also confess that I’m pretty sure I’ve never met an honest-to-goodness knight.”
Now Fitzroy laughed aloud. “It’s a title that my ex-wife still mocks to our circle of friends. She likes to point out that it is an honorific of gentility, not nobility, and since I am clearly neither, she finds the designation particularly ill-suited.” Fitzroy said this with no bitterness, only good-natured self-deprecation.
Lloyd chuckled politely.
“I normally conduct business with Mr. Stanley in your London office. What do you do at LaurentGroup, Mr. Lloyd?”
Lloyd set his cup down in the saucer. “Please forgive my abruptness in requesting a meeting with you, and please also forgive the abruptness with which I come to the point.”
“Not at all, young man. Unlike many Englishmen, especially of my generation, I respect the acumen of the American businessman. Endless tea and cakes have hurt British productivity, there’s little doubt. So just let me have it with both barrels, as you Yanks like to say.” Fitzroy sipped his coffee.
The young American leaned forward. “My rush has less to do with me being American, more to do with the critical nature of my firm’s need.”
“I hope I can be of service.”
“I’m certain of it. I am here to discuss an event that took place twenty hours ago in Al Hasakah.”
Fitzroy cocked his thick head and smiled. “You’ve got me there, lad. Must admit I don’t recognize the name.”
“It’s in eastern Syria, Mr. Fitzroy.”
Donald Fitzroy’s practiced smile faltered, and he said nothing. Slowly he lowered his cup to his saucer and placed it on the table in front of him.
Lloyd said, “Again, I apologize for the way I am rushing this along, but time is not merely crucial in this matter, it is virtually nonexistent.”
“I am listening.” The Englishman’s warm smile of ten seconds ago was dead and buried now.
“Around eight o’clock local time last evening, an assassin took the life of Dr. Isaac Abubaker. He was, you might know, the Nigerian minister of energy.”
Fitzroy spoke with a tone markedly less friendly than before. “Curious. Any idea what the Nigerian minister of energy was doing in eastern Syria? The only energy to be mined there is the fervency of the Jihadists who congregate before sneaking into Iraq to fuel the conflict.”
Lloyd smiled. “The good doctor was a Muslim of radical thought. He may have been in the area to offer some material support for the cause. I am not here to defend the man’s actions. I am concerned only about his assassin. As it happens, the killer survived, escaped into Iraq.”
“How unfortunate.”
“Not for the assassin. The killer was good. He was better than good. He was the best. He was the one they call the Gray Man.”
Fitzroy crossed his legs and leaned back. “A myth.”
“Not a myth. A man. A man of great skill, but ultimately a man of flesh and blood.”
“Why are you here?” Fitzroy’s voice held none of the paternal charm of their earlier conversation.
“I am here because you are his handler.”
“His what?”
“His handler. You vet his contracts, supply his logistical needs, assist him with intelligence, collect from the payers, and forward compensation to his bank accounts.”
“Where did you hear this nonsense?”
“Sir Donald, had I the time, I would offer you every courtesy you deserve, we could verbally fence, and I would feint and you would parry and we’d both strut around the room until one of our swords scored a killing strike. Unfortunately, sir, I am under a tremendous pressure, which forces me to dispense with the customary pleasantries.” He sipped his coffee again and made a little face at the bitterness of the brew. “I know the assassin was the one called the Gray Man, and I know you run him. You can ask me how I know this, but I will just lie, and our relationship in the next few hours depends upon our ability to speak frankly.”
“Go on.”
“As I said, the Gray Man crossed into Iraq but missed his extraction, because he foolishly engaged a superior insurgent force in a firefight. He killed or wounded ten men or more. Saved an American National Guardsman and recovered the body of another. And now he is on the run.”
“How do you know the Gray Man was the assassin of Dr. Abubaker?”
“There is no one else in the world who would be sent on that mission, because there is no one else in the world who could pull off that hit.”
“And yet, you say, he made a foolish mistake.”
“More evidence I am right. The Gray Man was once an operative for the U.S. government. Something went wrong, he was targeted by the CIA, and he went into hiding from his former masters. His soured relationship with Langley notwithstanding, the Gray Man is still very much an American patriot. He could not ignore a helicopter crash and eleven dead Americans without finding a measure of retribution.”
“That is your proof?”
Lloyd smoothed the drape of his suit coat. “It has been known by us for some time that the Gray Man had accepted a contract for the Abubaker hit. When the good doctor died as a result of foul play, there was no need to speculate as to the identity of his killer.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Lloyd. I am an old man; you will have to connect the dots for me. What are you doing in my office?”
“My company is prepared to offer you a threefold increase in contracts if you will only assist us in the neutralization of the Gray Man. Without going into unnecessary detail, the president of Nigeria is asking us to help him bring justice down on his brother’s killer.”
“Why LaurentGroup?”
“That would involve unnecessary detail.”
“You will find it to be quite necessary if this discussion is to continue.”
FOUR
Lloyd hesitated. Nodded slowly. “Very well. Two reasons. One, my firm has a powerful and far-reaching security apparatus, and the president thinks we have the means at our disposal to handle this situation for him. We’ve done other little odd jobs for the Nigerians in the past, you understand.” With a wave of his hand Lloyd added, “Good customer service.”
Fitzroy’s eyebrows rose and touched.
“And two, Julius Abubaker feels he has some leverage over us. We have a large contract pending signature. It was on his desk when your man killed his brother. The president leaves office in less than a week. He’s given us until then to avenge his brother’s murder.”
“What sort of a contract do you have pending his approval?”
“The sort that we cannot afford to lose. Did you know, Sir Donald, that Nigeria not only produces an abundance of oil, but they also produce an overabun dance of natural gas? This gas is completely squandered, bubbles up at their oil wells and drifts into the atmosphere to the tune of thirty billion tons a year. A complete waste of energy and profit.”