Gunmetal Gray

CHAPTER SIXTY

Three days after Sir Donald Fitzroy was extracted by the CIA, he sat on his bed in his suite at the Mandarin Oriental Singapore and looked down at his injured hand. One of the best orthopedists in Asia had spent an hour with him yesterday, and there would be a surgery at some point to properly address the savage wound, but for now there was no emergency medical treatment necessary, so Sir Donald just treated himself with scotch, luxury, and solitude.

To that end, he sipped a twenty-five-year-old single malt that wasn’t half-bad.

He was feeling better now, and the turnaround began with the first thing he did when he left the care of the Americans: he called his daughter in the UK, spoke to her and his granddaughters, and laughed and joked and made funny sounds, and through it all he fought tears, because he could not remember ever being so thankful or happy for anything in his entire life as that damn phone call.

After he arrived he’d had clothes and food and booze all brought to his room, and he’d spent the last forty-eight hours or so looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the skyline, and while he wrapped himself in the splendor of comfort and riches and safety, he continuously checked a satellite phone he’d had purchased and delivered the moment he arrived.

He’d left a message with his secretary back at his office in London that she might get a call from a man reticent to give much information about himself. It wasn’t much to go on, but his secretary had been with him for years, and she remembered Gentry, his soft American voice, and she knew that he alone was to get Sir Donald’s satellite number.

It was noon on the third day when his mobile phone rang. He all but leapt across the expansive suite to get to it, but he answered it warily. “Yes?”

“The boys treated you okay?” It was Court.

“The men in black? Yes, of course. Quiet professionals, all.”

“Did they get Dai?”

“No. He was close by, watching the whole thing fall apart in front of him. I considered telling your paramilitaries that he was near, but that would have kept them on the ground longer than I wanted to stick around, and he probably would have run anyway.”

Court said, “Fair enough.”

Fitz said, “I owe you, lad. I owe you bigger than I can pay.”

There was a long hesitation, and then Court said, “You know people in Taiwanese intelligence?”

“Of course I do.”

“Good. Fan wants to go to Taiwan. I’d like to make it happen. Of course, the Taiwanese might decline to take him if he refuses to give them information, but he’ll probably agree to help them if they agree to let him live on Taiwanese soil. Taiwan intelligence can share his product with America if they want to.”

“I’d be happy to set up a handover.”

They talked about specifics for a few minutes. Court had a plan in mind; Don just had to connect Fan directly with someone at Taiwan intelligence and then step away, so it was nothing to the well-connected Englishman at all.

When that was organized, Don asked, “Anything else you need?”

“No thanks. I’m thinking about going dark again for a while.”

Fitzroy said, “That’s what I’m doing at the moment. Or my version of it, anyway. I’m at the Mandarin Oriental in Singapore. Come here, let’s get drunk together. Bring your girlfriend. The one you called a spider monkey.”

Court said, “CIA has her. It’s the best thing for her.”

“But not for you. She was good for you. You need friends.”

There was an extra long pause, and then Court said, “I wonder, when this is all over, if I end up finding out that you were the one who lied the least.”

Fitzroy looked down at his three-fingered hand. “That’s a bloody sad measure to use in appraising your friendships.”

Court sniffed. “It’s not about friendships. That train left the station a long time ago. It’s about alliances. It’s about making a pact with whoever can help me get through the day.”

Fitzroy shook his head. “Bollocks, Court. That’s not you. With you it’s about doing the right thing, come what may. You’ll do it with an ally, you’ll do it with an enemy, or you’ll do it alone. You’ll die before you go against what you believe in. It makes you the one good man in all this.”

“It makes me exploitable, and expendable.”

“Too true. No argument there, lad.”

Court changed the subject. “You are in Singapore? I figured you’d want to get back to the UK.”

“Heavens, no. I’ve got my own trust issues now that I have to deal with. MI6 used me for a job, the job went sideways, and they went home.” He smiled. “I am a bit of a man without a country myself after all this.”

“Welcome to my world.” After a moment he added, “We’ll see each other again someday, if it’s in the cards.”

Fitzroy smiled into the phone. “I’d wager that we will. Good luck to you, lad.”

“You, too, Fitz.”

Two days later Court Gentry and Fan Jiang stood in the doorway of a hangar at Kuala Lumpur International Airport, and they looked out together at the dull and cloudy morning. An Airbus A330-200 landed on the runway in the distance, taxied in their direction, then rolled to a stop on the tarmac just one hundred yards away. It wore the markings of EVA Air, a Taiwanese national and international carrier, and Court had followed its flight path on the Internet as it took off this morning from Taipei and flew straight here.

As a set of rolling stairs was driven up to the main cabin door, Court put his arm around the smaller Chinese man next to him. The two had spent a lot of time together over the last week, virtually every moment, and Court had found himself wholly enjoying the experience. They’d played first-person shooter video games at a hostel near the Malaysian border, lain in hammocks and drunk beers while watching surfers at the beach, and sat around in hot cheap hotels in the jungle playing cards. All the while Fan regaled Court with explanations of difficult mathematical concepts, few of which Court understood, but at least it helped the time go by.

The week had been easy and fun and he and Fan Jiang had become friends, but Court did not tell the younger man how nervous he was about today.

There was much that could go wrong here with the handoff to the Taiwanese, but at least the aircraft came from Taiwan and the men getting off the aircraft were Taiwanese intelligence officials. Court had used the Internet to look up the men Fan had been speaking with over the last two days, just to make sure this wasn’t some kind of an American double cross.

He couldn’t be certain it wasn’t, not even now as the Taiwanese officials climbed down from the Taiwanese plane that just arrived directly from Taiwan.

But then again, Court wasn’t a terribly trusting guy.

He forced a light tone to his voice. “All right, Jiang. You ready to go to Taipei?”

Fan nodded. “Yes, Chad. I am ready.”

Court went with the name Chad, just to give Fan something to call him.

The two Taiwanese spooks stepped forward, shook hands with Fan, and spoke for a moment, then shook Court’s hand, as well.

“Thank you for your assistance, sir,” one of the men said. “Mr. Fan tells me you have been incredibly helpful.”

Court replied, “Take care of him. He’s a good man.”

Court and Fan embraced.

Fan said, “Good-bye, brother. If you are ever in Taipei, I hope you will find me.”

Court smiled. “I hope you are hiding well enough that I won’t be able to.”

Fan nodded, wiped a tear from his eye, and turned towards the airplane. After bows from the two intelligence officers to Court, they turned and began walking with the defector between them.

Court stood there in front of the doorway watching them leave, then his eyes tracked off into the distance again, beyond the Taiwanese jet, beyond the runway and the airport terminal on the far side. As he stood there the cloudy day darkened even more, the air felt heavier, the gunmetal gray sky suddenly hung low and oppressive, as if all the possibilities of life had been squeezed down to this hundred-yard stretch of hot tarmac between himself and the plane.

From directly behind him he heard a voice. “Sometimes… there is no winner. Only losers.”

He did not turn around. He recognized the voice of Colonel Dai Longhai, knew the man had the drop on him, and he did not want to make any sudden moves. Instead he just watched Fan continue along the tarmac with the men, willed him to walk faster or to turn around with the Taiwanese so they could see the danger here at the hangar door.

To Court’s surprise Colonel Dai walked up onto Court’s left and stopped, his own eyes on Fan Jiang. Dai said, “I lose. You lose.”

Court turned and looked at Dai, and he realized now that the man’s hands were cuffed behind his back.

Now a new voice spoke up from behind. This man spoke American English. Strong, tough, and very familiar. “You’re gettin’ on that bird, too, Six. We all are.”

Court turned away from Dai, all the way around, and he found himself facing Zack Hightower, his former team leader with the CIA’s Goon Squad. Zack was back working with the CIA, in what capacity Court did not know for certain, but his job clearly had something to do with guns, because he held an HK416 rifle in his hand now, leveled at Court’s chest. He stood alone in the small doorway, but now the main hangar door slid open, ten feet off Court’s right, and an entire Special Activities Division Ground Branch field team walked out, each man carrying an automatic weapon.

Court scanned them one by one. Jenner, Travers, McClane, Greer, Stapleton, Rogers, Lorenzi, and a couple other assholes Court had never met.

And Hightower. Zack fucking Hightower.

Zack said, “Buddy, the U.S. taxpayer just flew me all the way around the motherfuckin’ world, just to make sure you didn’t do nothin’ crazy in the next thirty seconds. I’d really hate to shoot you, but you know me, and you know I will if I have to.”

“What… what the hell is going on, Zack?”

Zack Hightower did not respond to the question. Instead he said, “Chris is gonna frisk you, Court. You try some shit and I’ll just stand here and gun you both down.”

Travers handed his rifle to Greer, then he stepped forward, looking at Hightower. “Thanks a lot, dick.” He moved Dai over to the other men on his team, returned, and patted Court down. He took a phone, a folding knife, some cash, and a pair of keys to a scooter.

He reached up to feel if Court had a knife hanging from a necklace; Court had pulled a similar item off Chris Travers just a couple of months ago, so this felt like a bad dream to Court.

As he did this, Chris spoke softly. “Sorry, man. I’m a friend, but I’m a friend with a job to do.”

Court didn’t reply; Chris Travers stepped away, and Court turned to look back over his shoulder.

Fan was looking back now. He saw Dai with his hands behind his back; he saw a huge group of tough-looking Americans with guns; he saw “Chad” looking in his direction. The small Chinese man tried to run now, but the two Taiwanese with him tackled him to the tarmac. Court spun to race to help him, but after a shout from Hightower, Travers took Court down at his ankles, and other CIA men jumped onto the pile.

Jenner and Stapleton ran on to where Fan was pinned facedown to the tarmac, and they helped the Taiwanese intelligence officers get control of the small PLA sergeant. Eventually they pulled him back to his feet.

“No!” shouted Court. “No!”

Court was pulled up, as well, and led along by the big group of CIA paramilitaries. When they caught up with Fan and the men holding him, Fan Jiang said, “Chad? Did you know? Did you know this the entire time?”

Court shook his head, still in a state of shock. What came out of his mouth was barely a whisper. “I am so sorry.”

Everyone started towards the stairs of the huge aircraft, but after just a few more steps Court broke away from the hands holding him and took a step closer to Fan.

Hightower shouted from behind, “Bro… don’t do it! We have orders to drop you dead and leave you on the tarmac. None of us want to be here and have this go down this way! It’s a fucked-up scenario, but you know how this shit goes. We do what we’re fuckin’ told.”

Court looked at Jenner, at Travers, at McClane. He wanted to say something, but nothing would come out.

He turned back to Fan. “Look… I swear to you, this looks bad, but they will treat you well.”

“Forcing me to do something I don’t want to do? To go somewhere I have no desire to go? That is treating me well?”

The group walked on. Everyone went up the air stairs; by now the Taiwanese men had peeled away, and it looked to Court like they weren’t even going to board the plane.

Probably, he reasoned, because this plane wasn’t going to Taiwan.

Court boarded the aircraft along with everyone else, and the door was closed behind him. He entered the first-class section and saw that Fan was being led to a seat; two armed SAD men dropped in next to him, their shoulders to his shoulders.

Colonel Dai was led to the back row of first class; he was seated against the window, and several men positioned themselves around him.

The other SAD guys from the tarmac found seats of their own here in first class.

While Court stood there next to Hightower, Suzanne Brewer stepped out of the cockpit. Court had never met her in person, but he’d had a brief video chat with her the moment she became his handler, so he had no trouble recognizing her. She walked up the aisle towards him, and he noticed she had a limp and a little wince when she walked, as if she were in pain.

Brewer looked past Court and to Fan Jiang. “Mr. Fan. My name is Suzanne and I am in charge. You have my word that you will be able to make your own determination if you want to work for us.” She smiled a little. “After we get some preliminary information, which, I am afraid, we will require.”

“So I work to earn my freedom?” Fan said. “Lady, do you know how many times someone has said that to me in the past month?”

Brewer smiled ruefully, like she really gave a shit what this man had been through. Court saw through it, and knew Fan would, as well. She said, “A week from now you won’t know why you were so hesitant to come with us. We will bend over backwards for you.”

She turned away, looked to Court, and said, “Follow me.”

“I’ll stay with Fan,” Court said.

“No… you will follow me.”

Brewer stopped at Dai now. “Colonel, we spoke on the phone yesterday.”

Dai nodded. “I only hope you will live up to our agreement.”

“Likewise, sir,” she said. “We have every intention of rewarding you if you are forthcoming with us. Many people at my agency were skeptical that someone with your background could be persuaded to provide assistance to the United States. I convinced them to give you a chance, and now you have just that.” Brewer looked at him with unconcealed skepticism. “A chance.”

The colonel looked out the window. “If I returned to China, I would be tortured to death. I know that, and you know that, so there is no need for me to engage in a charade that my decision is due to any political awakening on my part. I am here because I place some value on my life. No other reason.”

Court and Dai made eye contact, and Dai said, “Interesting. You look even less pleased to find yourself in this situation than I do.”

Court said nothing; he just started following Brewer to the curtains to the next section.

Then he stopped. He stood there a moment longer, turned around, and looked hard at all the Americans sitting here with guns on their chests. They all stared back at him, wondering if they’d have to get up and subdue the Gray Man.

Court asked, “Is it always going to be like this? Every time we see each other we have to figure out if anybody is going to pull iron and start shooting?”

Jenner was up front. He stood, turned, and spoke up for the group. “That’s your call, tough guy. We can be friendly, or we can be unfriendly. All I know is—”

Court interrupted. “All you know is jack shit! Every story has good guys and bad guys. You don’t even fucking know it, but on this op, you… me… Brewer, Hanley… we’re the villains.” Court motioned to Fan Jiang. He seemed so small tucked in between all the jocked-up American muscle. “That man’s the good guy.”

Jenner shrugged, then sat back down.

Court sighed, looking around at all the men. He said, “Treat him right. He’s just a kid.”

Travers spoke up now. “We got him, Six. Don’t worry. Our orders are to let him do anything he wants but run away. White-glove treatment. You have my word.”

Court looked at Fan. “I’m sorry, Jiang.”

Fan Jiang looked away.

As Court headed towards the next section, Hightower called out from his seat next to Jenner, “Good to see you, brother. Sorry you lost this round. Keep your chin up. You’ll get another shot.”

Court’s eyes were still on Fan. “Fuck you, Zack. You’re not my brother.” He disappeared through the curtain.

A minute later Court sat alone in an economy seat and watched Brewer talking on the phone. The aircraft started moving as his CIA handler reported in, probably to Hanley, letting him know they were on the way.

A few men and women Court took as analysts, operations officers, and security sat around the large economy cabin, but Court was sequestered from all of them by more than a dozen empty rows; when Brewer finally ended her call she limped over and sat down next to him.

“I’m truly sorry we have to meet face-to-face for the first time under these circumstances.”

Court gazed out the portal next to him as the aircraft went to full power and began racing down the runway. “I thought Fan was the pawn in all this. Turns out it was me.”

Brewer said, “Take a look at a chessboard. There are lots of pawns.” She added, “Why in the hell are you feeling sorry for him? Sure, he’ll get a long debrief. Months, for sure, quite possibly a couple of years. But he’ll have a nice apartment, whatever he wants to eat, and armed protection from those trying to kill him. And then, at some later date, he’ll get witness protection. He’d never get a security clearance from the U.S., but I know there are a dozen agencies, my own, in fact, who would employ him gainfully well past his retirement date forty years from now.”

Court said nothing.

“That little bastard up there is going to end up a lot better than me, and a hell of a lot better than you.”

Court said, “The whole operation was shit. Killing his parents so he’d be forced to run into our arms.”

Brewer replied, “Not my fault.”

“No,” Court said. “But dragging him back to the U.S. so that a dirty mission ends up as a success. That’s all on you.”

“You found him for us,” she said coolly. “You grabbed him for us. You brought him to us.”

Court leaned his head back. “The U.S. flag is supposed to represent something. Not this.”

Brewer said, “We saved his life. If Fan Jiang went back to Taiwan, he’d do it with a target on his head. Chinese intelligence has infiltrated Taiwanese intelligence, and there is no way Fan would get to that island without Dai’s replacement knowing about it. Fan would be a marked man, and he’d be dead in a year.”

“That was his decision to make,” Court said. He was barely listening.

“Some people think zoos are terrible places,” Brewer said, causing Court to look at her for the first time since he sat down. “And for some species they are. The predators, I mean. Put a lion in a cage, and you’ve taken everything from him. But the prey? The gazelles and the rabbits? The lemmings and the sea otters? Put them in a zoo and their lives improve. No fighting, no slaughtering, all their needs met. The zoo is the closest thing to utopia that we humans can craft on Earth.”

Court glowered at her. “We’re doing Fan Jiang a favor? And in so doing, we happen to suck all his intel value from him.”

“He chose to work with Unit 61398.”

“Actually no, he didn’t.”

“Well… he chose to run from it.”

“We fucking set him up!”

“Don’t say ‘we.’ I didn’t; you didn’t; Hanley didn’t. It happened. Yes, it happened, but the person who started the ball rolling was the former head of the National Clandestine Service, and he’s not around to answer for it. We cleaned up a mess. That’s all.”

Brewer was right, Court knew. In this dirty world, Fan Jiang’s outcome was as good as it was going to get.

Court just shook his head. “How did you manage to score Colonel Dai?”

“We reached out to him. Got his number off one of his captured men. Told him we were his only lifeline.”

Court said, “Still… China will kill his family for this.”

“We’ve made it look like you killed him in the field. China is angry at you. Not Dai.”

Court’s jaw muscles flexed in anger, but he smiled. “You are a bitch.”

“You felt bad about Fan’s family. But just by you being you, you saved Colonel Dai’s family. That should make you feel good.”

“And yet I don’t.”

“You brought us Fan Jiang, and you brought us Zoya Zakharova. You helped us get Colonel Dai. You kept Don Fitzroy alive, and deeply indebted to you, which could be of some use to us in the future. By any measure you’ve done one hell of a job, even taking into account your insubordination, your double cross, and your general misbehavior.”

Court said nothing.

“I would prefer an asset who obeys all directives at all times, but I will settle for one who overdelivers on his objective as an end result.”

“So I get a gold star?”

“The only gold stars the CIA gives out are for death in the field, and then only to actual employees, not contracted assets. You get my appreciation.” She smiled. “You’ll get a gold star in a forgotten file when you die. It will have to wait for now, but I doubt it will wait for too long.”

“With friends like you.”

“All your friends fucked you over, Court. Face it, you are better off with a straight shooter like me managing you.”

Court just stared back at her blankly.

After a moment she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. Court saw her wince when she did it. He looked at her leather boots and wondered if they were too tight, or if she had some sort of an injury, which she was trying to hide for some reason.

“So,” Court asked. “What now?”

“We’re stopping off in Germany for fuel and to pick up some analysts who will help with Fan’s initial debrief. We can drop you there. You can drift off into the mist if you want. That’s your thing, isn’t it? We’ll give you cash, documents, whatever you need.”

“I figured you’d tell me you had another job for me.”

“I do, but I didn’t think you’d take it.”

“You’re right. I won’t. You’re always right, aren’t you?”

Brewer said, “You’re getting the idea.”

He rubbed his eyes. “What’s going on with Zoya?”

Brewer smiled. “Did she tell you her father was Feodor Zakharov?”

Court cocked his head. “I don’t know who that is. She just said he was in the military.”

“Yeah, like Patton was in the military. Colonel General Feodor Zakharov. The head of GRU. He was killed in Dagestan. The highest-ranking military officer killed in Russia or the Soviet Union since the Second World War.”

Court didn’t imagine that acclaim had been well received by a teenage girl who had already lost her mother and was soon to lose her brother. He was still thinking about this when Brewer spoke again.

“I can see you have feelings for her. I see it in her eyes, too.”

“See what?”

“She has feelings for you. More. Hell, she’d jump in front of a train for you.” When Court said nothing to this, she added, “She had one request. A demand, really.”

“What’s that?”

“That she got to see you again before we pulled her in. She knows she will spend the next several months locked in a safe house undergoing vetting.” Brewer smiled. “Kind of like Fan. And Dai.

“She’s really rather lovely. First ex-SVR operative I’ve ever met that I didn’t want to go have myself steam-cleaned after the conversation. I look forward to working with her once we get her operational.”

“Wait. She is going to work for you? As an asset?”

“Eventually, yes. If we can get her vetted, she will be a singleton agent under contract, kind of like you.”

This bothered Court. He thought it was too dangerous, but he held his tongue.

Brewer, however, vastly misread his silence. “Look, Violator. Don’t go getting anything in your head about you and your new girlfriend running around the world together fighting the good fight. If she works for CIA, you’ll probably see her once in a blue moon, if ever.”

“You mean we won’t have annual conferences for singleton assets? Team-building retreats?”

“You joke, but I read people, Violator. Even people like you. I see how you feel about her. I can’t see into the future, but I don’t envision any operational situation that involves the two of you working in concert.”

“I didn’t take this job to meet girls.”

Brewer laughed. “When we get to Frankfurt, she’ll be waiting. She’ll get on this plane for the trip to D.C., and you’ll be free to melt into Europe.”

For the first time since the tarmac in Kuala Lumpur, Court felt better. Not good, just better.