Problems arose, Riegel was called, problems disappeared, and Riegel was quietly appreciated.
This made Kurt Riegel an extremely powerful man indeed.
The big German’s teak-paneled office in the Paris HQ suited him well. It was, like Riegel himself, large and blond and strongly built but quiet and discreet, tucked near Competitive Intelligence and IT in LaurentGroup campus’s southern wing. Along his office walls hung over a dozen hunting trophies. There was a taxidermist in Montmartre who virtually made a living on Kurt’s African safaris and Canadian expeditions. Rhino, lion, moose, and elk all stared vacantly from their perches high on the walls around the room.
It was also here where he did his daily calisthenics every afternoon at five. He was nearly to his one hundredth sweat-inducing knee bend when his outside line chirped. Several lines he could ignore until he finished his set, but this was the encrypted number, the hotline, and he’d awaited this call for most of the day.
He grabbed a towel, walked to his desk, and turned on his speakerphone.
“Riegel.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Riegel. This is Lloyd, from Legal.”
Riegel sipped from a bottle of vitamin-infused water as he sat down on the edge of his desk.
“Lloyd from Legal. What can I do for you?” Riegel’s voice was powerful, like the artillery officer he once was.
“I was told you would be expecting my call.”
“I was contacted by the chief executive officer, no less. Marc Laurent himself told me to drop everything and focus all my efforts on a project you will have for me. He also told me to supply you with some muscle and a communications specialist. I hope the technician and the team of Belarusian paramilitaries I sent have been helpful to your situation.”
“Yes, thank you for that. The tech is here with me. The muscle is down in France at the moment, and they are doing as they are told,” said Lloyd.
“Good. This is the first time Marc Laurent himself has called and asked me to pay special attention to an operation. I am intrigued. What kind of mess have you boys over in Legal gotten yourselves into?”
“Yes. Well, this matter needs to be cleared up quickly, for the good of the company.”
“Then let’s not waste another moment. What else can I provide other than the team I have sent?”
Lloyd paused. Then he said, “Well, I hate to shock you with this, but I urgently need a man killed.”
Riegel said nothing.
“Are you there?”
“I am waiting for you to say something shocking.”
“I take it you have done this sort of thing before?”
“Here in Risk Management Operations we like to say that every problem can be dealt with one of two ways. A problem can be tolerated, or a problem can be terminated. If a problem can be tolerated, Mr. Lloyd, my phone does not ring.”
Lloyd asked, “Are you familiar at all with the Lagos Natural Gas contract?”
Riegel answered immediately. “I suspected this would be in reference to the Nigerian fiasco. Rumor has it some fool attorney over there in Legal forgot to proofread a contract, and the Nigerians are backing out of a ten-billion-dollar deal we have already put two hundred million into. I had a feeling I would be contacted on the matter.”
“Yes, well, it’s a little more complicated than that.”
“Doesn’t sound so complicated. I just need the offending attorney’s address. We’ll make it look like suicide. The stupid bastard should be enough of a good company man to go ahead and kill himself, but you can’t expect that kind of loyalty from a lawyer. No offense, Lloyd from Legal.”
“No! No, Riegel, you’ve got it wrong. We need someone else killed.”
Riegel cleared his throat. “Go on, then.”
Lloyd told the VP of Security Risk Management Ops of the assassination of Isaac Abubaker, the president’s refusal to sign the repaired contract without proof of his brother’s killer’s own death.
Kurt snorted. “We climb into bed with these dictators, and then we act surprised when they grab us by the nuts.” Riegel’s English was flawless, idiomatic American. He sat down behind his desk, grabbed a pen, and pulled a notepad across the leather blotter to him. “So we need to ID the hit man and dispose of him?” asked Riegel.
“He has already been identified.”
“You just need him eliminated? I was expecting something more complicated than this after Mr. Laurent’s phone call.”
“Yes, well, this assassin is no slouch.”
“The trouble with private killers is all in the identification. If you know who he is, I’ll have him found and dead within twenty-four hours.”
“That would be ideal.”
“I mean, unless we’re talking about the Gray Man. He’s a couple of cuts above the rest.”
Lloyd said nothing.
After the American’s long hesitation, Riegel said, “Ach, so! We are talking about the Gray Man, aren’t we?”
“Is that going to be a problem?”
It was Riegel’s turn to pause. Finally he said, “Certainly a complication… but not a problem. He is extremely good at keeping a low profile, hence his moniker. He’ll be hard to find, but the good news is he will have no reason to expect we are coming after him.”
Lloyd remained silent yet again.
“Or will he?”
“I arranged an attempt on his life last night. It failed. He survived.”
“How many men did he kill?”
“Five.”
“Idiot.”
“Mr. Riegel, the Gray Man is clearly no idiot. His history shows us—”
“He is not the idiot! You are the idiot! A damn lawyer who tries to orchestrate a hit on the greatest alpha killer in the world. Some poorly planned, cobbled-together, hurriedly executed disaster of an operation, no doubt! You should have come to me immediately. Now he will be on guard, expecting whoever it was who organized the attempt on his life will just try again.”
“I am no idiot, Riegel. I have his handler in my custody. I have persuaded him to help us locate Gentry.”
“Who’s Gentry?”
“Courtland Gentry is the Gray Man.”
Riegel sat up as erect and broad and square as the desk in front of him. “How is it you know his identity?”
“I am not at 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.