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456 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published September 29, 2009
Through the big scope he saw body parts spin through the air as another huge bullet found the midsection of a masked gunman.
This was simple revenge, nothing more. Gentry knew his actions altered little in the scope of things, apart from changing a few sons of bitches from solids into liquids.
The camera crew from Al Jazeera had been smuggled over the border from Syria a week earlier with the sole purpose of chronicling an Al Qaeda victory in northern Iraq. The videographer, the audio technician, and the reporter/ producer had been moved along an AQ route, had slept in AQ safe houses alongside the AQ cell, and they’d filmed the launch of the missile, the impact with the Chinook, and the resulting fireball in the sky.
Now they recorded the ritualistic decapitation of an already dead American soldier. A middle-aged man with handwritten name tape affixed to his body armor that read, “Phillips—Mississippi National Guard.” Not one of the camera crew spoke English, but they all agreed they had clearly just recorded the destruction of an elite unit of CIA commandos.
The customary praise of Allah began with the dancing of the fighters and the firing of the weapons into the air.
Fitzroy first noticed the handsome young man’s suit. This was a local custom in London. Identify the tailor, and know the man. It was a Huntsman, a Savile Row shop that Sir Donald recognized, and it told Fitzroy much about his guest. Sir Donald was a Norton & Sons man himself, dapper but a tad less businessy.
“But you are dealing with the most corrupt nation on earth.”
“Third most corrupt, actually, but your point is valid,” said Lloyd.
“Let me finish by saying this. Do what it takes to get the job done. I could not possibly care less about collateral damage. If you can’t stomach a few dead kids or dead pensioners or dead puppy dogs, then don’t get on my goddamn airplane. Your job is to kill Court Gentry. Do that, and you will make millions for your organization and garner the thanks of the Central Intelligence Agency. Fail, and you will most likely die by his hand. You would be well served to avoid worrying about anything else.
“Any questions?”