Gunmetal Gray

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

When Court just sat there looking at her, Zoya said, “The complete list of possible responses includes ‘yes’ and ‘no.’”

Court struggled for the words. “Well… from what I understand, ‘the Gray Man’ is a term coined by Interpol several years ago. The Gray Man was the guy they blamed when something happened and nobody knew who did it.”

“No… the Gray Man is a former CIA operations officer who went into the private sector as an assassin after he was targeted by the Agency. The SVR knew that much.”

Court continued equivocating. “Right, I’m saying that just because there is an allegation that an assassination was conducted by the Gray Man, that doesn’t necessarily—”

“Yes or no?”

Court hesitated. Then he said, “Yes.”

Zoya’s mouth opened slightly, and it hung there a moment. Softly she said, “Wow.”

Court added, “But when I told you I could connect you with Agency people who will take care of you, I meant it. I talked with someone who would be very interested in speaking with you about coming to the U.S. for asylum. On your terms, of course.”

“How is it you are here chasing Fan for the CIA?”

Court said, “The problems between me and the Agency got straightened out, more or less. After that, I agreed to work for them again on a contractual basis. I was sent to Hong Kong because Fitzroy was there working for Colonel Dai, and Dai was holding him hostage, encouraging him to get the job done. The Agency inserted me into the mix, had me go and take the job for Fitz and the Chinese. I was just supposed to gain intel for the Agency so they could get an assault team in to snatch Fan.

“I realized early on that if Fan was taken by the U.S., then Fitzroy would die. I owe Don my life… another long story. I was trying to capture Fan myself, to use him to earn Fitzroy’s release.”

“What was the plan after that?”

“I was going to fuck Colonel Dai over and give Fan to the Americans anyway.”

Zoya looked at Court as if he were insane. “That was a pretty ambitious plan.”

“When I say it out loud, it sounds a little hokey. And it got even more complicated when Fan told me he didn’t want to go to the U.S. He wants to go to Taiwan.”

Zoya said, “I hope you can take some constructive criticism.”

“Sure.”

“It sounds like you are trying to make too many people happy.”

Court looked to the carpet a moment. “Welcome to my world.”

Zoya said, “But you can’t possibly still be considering infiltrating the Chamroon estate now. Can you?”

Court shook his head. “No. If we can get out of here, it will just be purely to save ourselves, and to warn the Agency that the Chinese are here in numbers in Phuket. Dai’s men will kill Fan, but maybe I can save the American paramilitaries heading here now. Those guys are assholes, but they’re also my friends.” He shrugged. “Of course, if we leave, Fitzroy will still be here with Dai, so I am sure he will be killed.”

Zoya pulled the fitted sheet off the bed and began tying it with the others. While she worked, she said, “No offense, Mr. Wonderful, but that’s only a problem for you and Fitzroy. I don’t even know the guy.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Court cussed under his breath. “Fucking Fan. Why did he have to send that damn e-mail? We could have saved him if Dai hadn’t shown up.”

Zoya continued tying the sheets. She said, “I thought you just said Fan didn’t even want to go to the U.S. If that was the case, why would he contact the U.S. ambassador?”

Court walked around the room now, looking for anything he might use to aid them during an escape. “I guess he changed his mind, figured we were the only ones who could save his ass.”

“Okay,” Zoya said, “but if he’s the guy who knows all the Chinese computer hacking secrets, how is it he can’t manage to send an e-mail without China not only hacking it but pinpointing where it came from?”

Court stopped looking around. “That’s a good question.” He sat back down on a chair in the corner, thought it all through. Zoya just watched him while she worked, understanding that he knew more about this entire affair than she did.

Finally he said. “It’s a setup.”

“What’s a setup?”

“The e-mail is a setup. Like you said, Fan doesn’t want to go to the USA. He wouldn’t have sent that e-mail to the U.S. ambassador on his own, especially not in a way the Chinese could access. My handler told me the e-mail was caught in a spam filter. Fan would know how to get something by a filter. He wanted it to get lost in the spam so the U.S. wouldn’t see it, but the Chinese would see it.”

“The Chinese were the intended recipients.”

“That’s right. Think about what Kulap Chamroon knows, either from the news or from Fan himself. He knows there are three nations after his prize: Russia, the USA, and China. Russia got wiped out at the Black Pearl, and the USA sent a total of one dumb asshole to rescue him.”

Zoya got it. “That leaves China.”

Court agreed. “That leaves China. China sent a shitload of gunners to the Black Pearl, set the place on fire, defeated the Russians, and killed a lot of Chamroon’s men. Kulap made Fan send that message to an e-mail address Fan knew China had access to. Maybe Chamroon told Fan he’d cut his dick off if the Chinese didn’t show in Phuket.”

Zoya sighed. “Perhaps it was just his thumb.”

“Yeah, maybe. But however he got Fan to comply, there is some kind of a trap waiting for whoever hits that property.”

Zoya wasn’t buying all of it. “But… the colonel just said the e-mail was traced back to Phuket. If it really was Fan who sent it, he’d have to be here. Fan is worth a lot of money to Kulap. Would he put him in the middle of the place where he knew the Americans were coming?”

Court thought this over, too, and reflected back on what both Brewer and Colonel Dai had said. “It wasn’t traced to a wireless address inside the Chamroon estate; it was traced to a cell tower. Chamroon had Fan send it from somewhere nearby, but somewhere where he wasn’t going to be in the middle of a Chinese attack.”

“Where could that be?”

Court stood and went to the curtains covering the window out to the balcony. He moved them to the side and peered out. A guard with a pistol in his shoulder holster leaned against the railing of the balcony smoking a cigarette. He pointed angrily to Court, telling him to get away from the sliding balcony door, but Court just looked past the man, down to the ocean far below and out to sea. “Do you know how to spoof a call from a cell phone tower?”

Zoya said, “Of course. You take apart your cell phone and rewire the antenna in it to a directional antenna. Of course, you can’t walk around with it, the antenna will be several times larger than the phone itself, but if you point it at a tower you can make the call look like it came from one place when you are someplace else.”

Court smiled broadly. Something about this Russian woman’s command of tradecraft turned him on, and he was pretty sure that meant he was nuts.

He said, “You’re exactly right.”

Zoya shook her head now. “But you need line of sight on the tower. That’s the only way. This island is mostly jungle. How are you going to find a direct line to—”

Zoya stopped talking, walked quickly over to Court, and looked out past the balcony, to the big, flat ocean to the south.

She said, “That yacht.”

Court nodded. “Damn right. The Medusa.”

“Chamroon owns the yacht?”

“I doubt it. That would be pretty obvious. No… it will be owned by someone he controls, or someone he made a deal with. It’s registered in Genoa, whatever that’s worth. Whoever is on the yacht is holding Fan, and probably protecting Chamroon.”

“You are very smart, Mr. Gray Man.”

“It’s not intelligence. It’s mileage. I’ve seen a lot over the years.”

Zoya wasn’t listening; she was already thinking about their predicament. “If we got out of here, found a way to make contact with your people to stop them from walking into the trap, and then went to the yacht to grab Fan, you could then use Fan to trade for that old guy in the other room.”

Court joked, “Right, that’s all we have to do.”

Zoya smiled, realizing all she had just said. “You aren’t the only one around here who can come up with a crazy plan.”

Court stepped back into the living room where Fitzroy was seated and found his former employer sitting calmly in the darkness, doing his best to enjoy whiskey he did not truly respect, knowing this might well be his last. Court told Sir Donald they would attempt to break out, and Fitzroy should keep the faith, because they had a plan that might allow him to survive the night.

Fitz didn’t seem to believe him, but he kept a stiff upper lip, and he wished Court and his Russian friend Godspeed.

Court and Zoya stood together in the dark bedroom right before beginning their operation. Court took her in his arms, and she looked up to him, but he could feel her misgivings. He said, “When you told me your name earlier… I should have told you mine. I’m sorry.”

“I was upset about that. But I didn’t know at the time you were a world-famous secret agent.”

Court shrugged. “The most famous secret agent on the planet. What does that get me?”

“Killed, one would assume. Somehow you managed to beat the odds.” She added, “Chad.”

“It’s Court. Court Gentry.”

Zoya nodded. “Good luck, Gray Man.” She went up on her toes and kissed Court. It was quick and more friendly than romantic, but it was enough to make him feel better.

Court let her go. “Good luck.” They separated; Court went to the living room and Zoya stayed in the bedroom.

Court and Zoya decided to attempt their escape exactly sixty minutes before the Chinese attacked the Chamroon estate. They reasoned that all the Chinese forces would be moving to their predeployment positions, except, of course, for the ones left behind to guard the prisoners here at the safe house. After dealing with the men on the balcony, Court and Zoya hoped to make it down to the boats at the water by the time the gunfire started nearby, providing them with a slight distraction.

Major Xi had nearly a dozen men at the house with him, but he’d stationed only two on the balcony overhanging the water behind the suite where the captives were being held. Apparently Xi had decided no one would be foolish enough to try to make an escape down the sheer rocky cliff, especially late at night.

Zoya opened the curtains to the balcony, right where Court had done so earlier in the evening. Court was still in the living room, standing at the balcony door there, but he had not moved his curtains yet.

Zoya could see one guard sitting at a small table, facing her direction. A second man was closer to Court’s side of the balcony, standing there, hands on his hips.

The seated man saw Zoya, and he stood. He motioned for her to step away from the glass, but she smiled, nodded, and waved, then unlocked the balcony door. Pretending to completely misunderstand the man’s gestures, she opened the door, but did not step out.

In her American accent she said, “Sorry, I know to stay inside, but do you speak English?”

“Yes, I speak English. Close the door now!” The man reached for his pistol inside his jacket, but just to put his hand on the grip. He held it there, another indicator for the clueless American woman that he meant business.

As he stepped closer to the woman, his partner had reached into his own jacket for his pistol, and he faced the action twenty feet away.

He never heard the living room door to the balcony slide open.