Gunmetal Gray

CHAPTER SEVEN

He failed.

The drive lasted over an hour and through it all Court was hot as hell on the floorboard, especially with his face hooded, and much of the drive took place in stop-and-go traffic, bringing the American with the two men resting their feet on him to the brink of nausea many times.

But at least they were heading in the right direction. A half hour into the drive Court could feel the vehicle begin to ascend as it took winding and steep roads, which told Court they were on Hong Kong Island, south of Court’s hotel in Kowloon, and it also meant they were heading exactly where he wanted to go.

They were going to the Peak.

The air cooled as they ascended, but much less so under the hood, which was soaked with perspiration and stifling. Court felt a wave of nausea coming on, and he had a panicky vision of choking to death in his own vomit, but before he could either calm the fear or succumb to it, the vehicle lurched to a complete stop on a steep incline. Court was pulled out and onto his feet and led forward again. He had another brief moment’s panic as the disembodied image of himself being walked off a cliff flashed in front of his eyes, but the image was dispelled when he heard a door open. His soaking-wet hood was slapped by icy air-conditioning as he was led forward, and then he was helped slowly down a spiral staircase.

He felt like he was being led through multiple doorways, and then he was pulled to a stop and pushed down into a comfortable leather chair. Here he sat quietly for a few seconds, listening to the sounds of men moving around him.

The bag came off his head abruptly, and he blinked because of the sweat, but not the light, because quickly he saw this room wasn’t especially bright. He was in a small parlor, with a pair of chairs facing a sofa, and a wooden table between them. Court sat in one of the chairs, his back to the entrance of the room, and in front of him on the sofa sat another man, a steaming mug of tea on the side table next to his chair.

Court rubbed the sweat out of his eyes, focused on the man, and then faked surprise, because he wasn’t surprised; he was pleased. He found himself exactly where he’d hoped to be, sitting in front of exactly who he’d hoped to be sitting in front of.

Sir Donald Fitzroy was in his early seventies, but at the moment he seemed older than that. He was drawn, tired-looking. Though he wore a suit and tie, his wispy gray hair was slightly askew, as if he’d been lying down.

Sir Donald looked at Court as if he were seeing a ghost. When the older man recovered enough to speak, his voice was even more gravelly than Court remembered it, though admittedly, it had been a couple of years since they had spoken. “Good lord, lad. I didn’t know who they’d plopped in front of me, but I certainly did not expect you.”

Court looked around a little more now. There was no one else in the room, and the door behind him was shut.

“Quite a taxi service you’re running.”

Fitzroy shook his head, waved a hand in the air. “You know the way the world turns, so I’m sure you sussed out the fact that those aren’t my men that brought you here.”

Court knew Fitzroy was a prisoner in this home, just as Court himself was. He knew much more about what was going on than he was letting on, but for operational reasons, he needed to play dumb.

“You look a little tired, Fitz, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Fitzroy shrugged; Court could tell the old man was still sizing up Court, trying to figure out himself just what was going on. He joked, “You know… it’s Hong Kong. Twenty-four-seven nightlife and nonstop revelry for me.”

Court made no reply.

“How long have you been in town?”

“Got here yesterday on a freighter from Singapore.”

“Why?” The question was a challenge. Fitzroy seemed suspicious of Court turning up like this.

Court looked back over his shoulder at the door to the room, outside of which he was certain several of the men who kidnapped him still stood. “I came for the legendary hospitality.”

Fitzroy turned his nose up at this. “Looking for me, were you?”

Court nodded. “Heard a rumor you were here.”

“A rumor?”

“I was in London; I know a guy who knows a guy. I’d rather not say anything else about that, but I was told you moved your operation here.”

“Temporarily,” Fitzroy confirmed.

“How temporarily?”

The older man coughed. Court could see intense strain on Fitzroy’s face. He glanced quickly to his right, towards an ornate cloisonné planter with a leafy bush growing in it. While looking at the planter Fitz said, “That remains to be seen. Not up to me.”

Court looked at the greenery himself while he replied, “You aren’t running the show here, are you?”

“No. The gentlemen you just met are looking after me at present. They are treating me well, until an order comes from on high telling them to do otherwise.”

Court leaned back. “And why would they get an order like that?”

Fitzroy hesitated again. He seemed reluctant to bring Court deeper into what was going on, and Court found this curious. He’d expected Fitz to be relieved by the Gray Man showing up on the scene, but instead, the older man was clearly wary.

Court waited the man out, though, and finally the Englishman explained. “I agreed to do a job, and I put some of my best men on it. The best since you, that is.”

“You flatter.”

“Anyway, the job didn’t get done. The blokes you just met work for the holder of the contract, and they seem to have their collective panties in a twist about the fact that I’ve failed them.”

Court took this in. “You know, Don… this isn’t the first time in my life I’ve thought to myself how much easier things would be for everyone if you traveled with a fucking security detail.”

Fitzroy smiled, but the expression just looked at once both tired and sad. “I learn from my mistakes, lad. I have had bodyguards for the past couple of years. Here I used a local company. They are top-notch, know the ins and outs.”

Court said, “And they hit the bricks when these goons showed up.”

Fitzroy said, “Just as well… it would have been a bloodbath. There are a lot more men here than I had watching my back.”

Court said, “Not that I profess to be an expert or anything, but the men who bagged me looked like they could be from mainland China, and they might be intelligence officers.”

Fitzroy bobbed his head to the left and right, as if trying to decide how to reply. He glanced again at the cloisonné urn filled with the large leafy green plant. With a shrug he seemed to settle on an answer. “I am an expert, and I can confirm your layman’s intuition to be spot-on. You now find yourself in a building full of Guojia Anquan Bu.”

“Which is great on lo mein,” Court said.

“It means Ministry of State Security. There are some other departments involved with this. In fact, it’s an MOD operation, at its core. But no matter, they are all members of the government of the People’s Republic of China.”

Court didn’t bat an eyelash; it would have looked inauthentic to fake surprise at this information. Instead he said, “You took a contract from Chinese intelligence to assassinate someone. An organization that imposes its will with an iron fist. An organization that puts its own citizens in front of a firing squad for saying the wrong thing in public. You failed your mission for them, and now they are holding you personally responsible.” Sarcastically Court added, “How could you have possibly guessed your employers would be such a bunch of dickheads?”

With his eyes flitting between Court and the planter, Sir Donald said, “I didn’t know I was taking a job for Chinese intelligence. I satisfied myself this was a corporate intelligence mission, nothing too messy. A rogue computer hacker on the run with a firm’s secrets, nothing more. These sorts of things happen with increasing regularity, and I’ve stepped in to help out on more than one occasion in the past.”

Court knew Fitzroy was saying he’d sent assassins to kill people, but Court made no mention of this. Court knew this well; he had been a killer under Fitzroy’s employ, after all. That Court always made certain his targets were worthy of the death he dealt made him feel better about what he did, but he didn’t judge the old British ex-spymaster for his different moral compass.

After all, Court was pretty sure that, on the whole, he was more fucked-up than Don Fitzroy.

The American said, “Let me guess. Once your assassin failed to terminate his target, to kill this hacker you mentioned, all the cutouts melted away, and the MSS showed up to register their disapproval.”

“Something along those lines. Actually, they allowed me a mulligan. A second chance to get it right.”

“And the second mission failed, as well.”

“That’s it.”

Court wiped the remainder of the perspiration off his face. “Backing up… what happened the first time?”

Fitzroy took off his eyeglasses and began cleaning them with a handkerchief. While he did this he said, “Not sure, really. The two blokes I sent were found in a Dumpster in San Po Kong. Eastern part of Kowloon.”

“Dead?”

“Quite.”

“And the second operation?”

“The second team was three men; they came with me from London. My best chaps.” He looked up from his work and put his glasses back on. “Best since you, without question. These chaps of mine went out into the field, with me to help them along the way with logistics and coordination with the Chinese… and then they promptly disappeared.” Fitzroy sighed. “That was three days ago, now. No word.” He turned back to the leafy plant in the corner and nodded towards it. “He showed up the next day and brought me here.”

“You’ve been kidnapped by a philodendron?”

Despite his obvious stress, a low chuckle came from Don Fitzroy’s belly. “I missed you, my boy.” He hefted his teacup and took a sip. “No. The man in charge of it all. A chap named Dai.”

“Who is he?”

“If he wants you to know that, I’m sure he’ll tell you.”

Court said, “I was asking around about you, and apparently he got word of my inquiries. He had me picked up and delivered straight to you. If he didn’t want me working on this job, I doubt he’d bring me here and let you tell me this much.”

Fitzroy’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve got it all wrong, lad. He’ll let you in on the particulars, and if he decides he doesn’t want you knowing any more, or if he doesn’t feel comfortable with you, he’ll just put a pair of bullets in the back of your skull and be done with you.” After a sly grin Fitzroy leaned closer to the planter. “I do hope he doesn’t mind my saying all this.”

Court changed gears, suddenly and dramatically. “Do you ever hear anything from your family?”

Court knew that Don’s daughter and his twin granddaughters were his life, but he also knew Fitzroy was playing to the audio equipment in the room. If the English ex-spymaster was smart — and Court knew he was very smart — then he’d distance himself from any potential compromise.

Fitzroy sniffed. “Same as ever. They can all go to hell. Don’t know about them. Don’t care.”

Court helped this ruse along. “You always were a selfish bastard when it came to family.”

“You get nowhere in this world with personal relationships. You probably know that even better than I.”

That sank in a moment; Court knew Fitz was just playing his part in this bit of theater, but the statement was true enough, and it stung. He saw the look in Fitz’s eyes, a regret for going too far with his words, for not thinking them through.

“You are an old, sour prick, Fitz.”

Fitz’s eyes hardened, and he remained in character. “And you are a young, sour prick who won’t make it to old age.”

Now the two men were just in the moment, railing against each other and finding a little enjoyment in the freedom of it.

But Fitzroy dispelled the moment. “Now it’s time for me to ask. Why are you looking for me?”

“You can guess. I need work. I’ll take this job no one else seems to be able to pull off.”

“You’re quite sure about that?”

“I’d prefer something a little less high-speed for my first job in so long, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say you have all your other ops on the back burner while you deal with this one.”

Another glance at the philodendron told Court that Fitzroy was about to speak for the benefit of the microphone. “I’d love to send you off on something else, but it is imperative I satisfy the contract here in Hong Kong before taking on other clients. You might have to be vetted by the employer first, but you have my blessing to get to work. Standard compensation package applies.”

“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.