Free The Gray Man by Mark Greaney Page A

liberty to say.”
    “Who’s his handler?” Riegel did not like being the one on the receiving end of such information inside LaurentGroup. He had his own intelligence network for that. That some shit American barrister was passing this intel around like it was common knowledge made Riegel ball his fists in anger.
    “His handler’s name is Don Fitzroy. He’s a Brit, has a straight operation here in London, even does some work for us occasion—”
    Riegel’s balled fists closed together tighter. “Tell me, Lloyd from Legal, that you have not kidnapped Sir Donald Fitzroy!”
    “I have. And I have his son and his son’s family held at a LaurentGroup property in Normandy.”
    Riegel dropped his huge shoulders and put his head in his hands. After several seconds he looked to his speakerphone. “I have been notified, in no uncertain terms, that you are in charge of this operation. I am to provide you men, matériel, intelligence, and any advice I have.”
    “That’s correct.”
    “Then why don’t I start with some advice?”
    “Excellent.”
    “My advice, Lloyd from Legal, is to apologize to Sir Donald for the gross misunderstanding, release him and his family, retire to your home, put a gun in your mouth, and pull the goddamn trigger! Crossing Fitzroy was a huge mistake.”
    “You can dispense with the advice then and just supply me with more men. Right now I don’t know where the Gray Man is, but I do know where he will go. Fitzroy will send him to Normandy. He’ll be traveling overland, east to west. I don’t know his starting point yet, but if you give me enough support, I’ll send them everywhere across Europe to hunt him down as he gets closer.
    “Why will he go to Normandy? To rescue Fitzroy’s family?”
    “Exactly. He will be told Nigerians have kidnapped them and are holding them until Fitzroy turns him over. He will take it upon himself to rectify the problem.”
    Riegel drummed on his desk. “I agree with your assessment. He does have a reputation as a paladin, and he won’t trust the French authorities.”
    “Precisely. I just need from you a surveillance team and a kill team. Right now your crew from Minsk is guarding his family in France, but I’d like Gentry dead before he gets to Normandy, as time is of the essence.”
    “This is the Gray Man. You need more than this.”
    “What do you suggest? I mean, other than me killing myself.”
    Riegel looked up to the far wall of his office. The head and shoulders of a wild boar stared back at him. Slowly Kurt nodded to himself. “To get this done in the time allowed, you’ll need a hundred watchers.”
    “You can get me a hundred surveillance experts?”
    “Pavement artists, we call them.”
    “Whatever. You can provide that?”
    “Of course. And you will need a dozen teams of hunter-killers, spread out and placed all along each possible route, coordinated by a central command center, each with an incentive to be the unit that finds and kills the target.”
    Lloyd’s voice showed his astonishment at the scale of the undertaking Riegel proposed. “A dozen teams?”
    “Not company men, of course. Too many chances for comebacks on LaurentGroup. Not local talent, either. Local boys would be known to local police, and that would compromise the hunt. No, we need foreign operators from parts unknown, as you Americans like to say. Hard men, Lloyd from Legal, if you get my meaning. Hard men who do hard jobs when no other solution can be found.”
    “You are speaking of mercenaries.”
    “Absolutely not. The Gray Man has either dodged or dispatched every gang of hired hit men sent after him in the past. No, to be certain, we will need established field units. Government hit teams.”
    “I don’t understand. Whose government?”
    “We have branch offices in eighty nations. I have good relationships with the internal security chiefs in dozens of third-world countries. These men run stables of operators in their countries to keep their