it.”
“You do,” Court countered. “I can see it in your eyes.”
Drummond sat and stared for a long time, until he finally nodded, as if reluctantly accepting the reality before him. Then he said, “Berlin sent you?”
Berlin? Court didn’t know what this meant, but he stored the information for later. When Court did not reply, Drummond sat up straighter in the chair.
“You can’t kill me.”
Court drummed his fingers across the grip of the Glock on his knee. “I disagree.”
“No . . . I mean, they still need me. Nobody else can do what I do. They want you to bring me back. They wouldn’t let you kill me if you wanted to.”
Court was confused now. “Wait. Who needs you? Berlin?”
“Berlin,” Drummond confirmed, then cocked his head. “Who else?”
“I don’t know anybody in Berlin. I was not sent by someone who needs you. I was sent by someone who needs to silence you.”
Drummond shook his head. “You’re lying. There are only two groups on Earth that have a problem with me that could be solved by a man like you. There’s Berlin . . . and there’s the CIA. And I know you aren’t CIA. As you said, they were after you, and I provided some technical assistance on the biometric and documentation side back when I was at NSA.”
Court knew his ability to scare Drummond into spilling his guts today depended on him selling the fact that he came from Langley. So, he did the one thing he rarely did in the field.
He told the truth.
“I work for DDO Hanley. Outside the lines. It’s a relationship that helps him do things that he otherwise wouldn’t be able to do on behalf of America.”
Drummond appeared poleaxed by this information. “What things?”
“Snuff out traitors, for example.”
“You’re . . . you’re a deniable asset?”
Court responded with, “I’m always deniable. I try to be an asset, when I can.”
Drummond was now, Court could tell, sufficiently terrified. In an almost reverent whisper he said, “Hanley sent the motherfucking Gray Man after me.” Still in disbelief at this fact, he said, “Matt’s always been a thorn in my side, but he’s also a friend.”
“He was a friend. Then you disappeared from NSA with state secrets. Trust me, right now, he’s pretty much just a thorn in your side.”
“So . . . what? You’re supposed to shove me into a shipping crate and haul me back to Langley?”
Court realized now was the time to push even more fear into Drummond’s mind. He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Really? Just a talking-to? Well, you can go to hell. I’m not talking.”
Court’s brown eyes darkened now. “When someone just needs a talking-to, I’m not the guy they send.”
Drummond shook his head back and forth several times at this, a show of certitude. “No. No way. Matt wouldn’t send the Gray Man to kill me.”
“I’m here to tie off a loose end. If you won’t help us understand who you peddled your wares to, then we have no choice but to minimize any further losses and to send a message to others in the intelligence community about the cost of treason.”
Drummond pulled his hands from his face, looked out the French doors to the veranda again, at the black sky.
“So . . . if I talk, if I’m transparent now, you’ll let me live?”
Court shrugged. “I have execute authority. I’ll make the call.”
“Will you get me out of Venezuela?”
“I’ll make that call, too.”
Drummond deflated fully, nestled his head back in his hands. To Court he looked like a beaten man, but Court was ready for him to try to fight, to run. He’d seen how men act in desperate times, like cockroaches caught out in the light, like wounded animals cornered.
He had to be ready for anything, but in this case, he got the outcome he’d hoped for.
“I’m trusting you, Gentry. I know you fucked over the Agency once, but if Hanley took you back, then you must have made amends. I also know you aren’t evil. You did what you were told to do, more or less, and then when you turned rogue you only went after bad actors. What I’m saying is . . . I’m expecting you to do the right thing here, and hold up your end of the bargain.”
Court simply replied, “I have a tendency to reward good behavior.”
Drummond kept his head in his hands as he said, “I was approached by a woman in D.C.”
“What woman?”
“Her name was Miriam. A pseudonym, I figured that from the beginning,