DeRenzi fired his M4 but the Gray Man used his MP7 to strike the weapon just as it fired, sending a burst of 5.56 rounds into the wall of the hallway by the bathroom door. The Gray Man took hold of the handguard of the weapon, then raised his MP7. At point-blank range he fired directly into the steel chest plate of DeRenzi’s body armor, knocking the CIA security officer back on his heels. A second shot from Gentry’s gun, then a third, a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth sent DeRenzi stumbling backwards the length of the office. Court ripped the M4 from the security officer’s hand as he fell back.
DeRenzi lay on his back on the parquet floor. He wore a pistol on his hip, but just as he thought about going for it, Court said, “You try it and the next six rounds won’t go in the middle of your chest plate. I’ll put them in your face.”
DeRenzi raised his hands in surrender.
Court had him remove his drop leg holster and slide the entire unit across the floor, then he ordered him onto his stomach with his legs crossed and his hands behind his head. Once DeRenzi complied, Court turned to Carmichael, who stood in front of a shuttered window.
With him was Murquin al-Kazaz.
Court showed no emotion as he approached both men. He planned on checking them for weapons quickly, but as soon as he reached for the Saudi, he realized there was no way this man would have been allowed in the building with a firearm or a blade. He turned to Denny. “You wearing a gun, Denny?”
Carmichael shook his head. “I put it on the desk, son. I’m not pointing a gun at the world-famous Gray Man.”
There was sarcasm in the comment, but at least Carmichael was telling the truth. Court saw a semiautomatic lying on the desk fifteen feet away. He searched Denny anyway, and he found nothing on his person save for a mobile phone, and a curious item on his left wrist. Just larger than a watch, it had a small glass screen and a function button. Court touched the button, and the screen lit up. He realized the device was a master security panic button. By scrolling left or right on the screen, he could then give the wrist computer different commands. He could alert his security force of an emergency, close and lock his living quarters, or close and lock down the entire south wing. He also had the option of opening and closing any door in the wing, and even overriding commands from the south wing security desk.
Court was pleased to see that the big double doors were still closed and locked, then he pressed the icon that would keep them that way until he signaled that he wanted them open. He put the device on his own wrist, then led the three men back down the hall and into the conference room without a word. He had Denny and al-Kazaz both take a seat at the table, then he pushed DeRenzi against the wall at the back of the room, flipped them on their stomachs, and tied them expertly with pieces of Kevlar rope.
The conference room was a full house now.
A middle-aged man at the table said, “There was no motion detector on that bomb, was there?”
Court said, “Are you kidding? That would be dangerous.” He checked the locks on the conference room doors and decided they were solid. Confident he had a semi-secure perimeter, he finally took a breath, then looked around the room at the crowd. “Who are all you people?”
No one answered.
He turned to the youngest, most junior-looking person in the room, a scrawny kid with Coke-bottle glasses who sat at the far end of the table by the wall monitors, a laptop computer and a few peripherals on the table in front of him. The man was terrified, clearly, and to Court he looked like he couldn’t have been twenty-five years old. Pointing the HK rifle at him, Court said, “Who are you?”
A meek cough. “William, sir.”
“And what’s your function here, William?”
“I’m in charge of the video-conferencing suite. That’s all I know, sir.”
“Who are you conferencing with?”
The young man glanced over to Carmichael. Court said, “Denny can fire you tomorrow. I can shoot you now. Pay attention to me.”
“I am connecting the Violator Working Group here with the Violator tactical operations center at Langley.”
Court nodded. “The Violator Working Group?” He looked around at the men and women at the table. “All these years I pictured the faces of the people who were after me. Not the shooters on the ground, but the suits pulling the strings. And here you are.”
After a slow pan of the room, he looked back to the young man. “William, are we connected with the TOC right now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“These assholes at the table needed the TOC to locate me, but I’m here, so they don’t really need it anymore. I want you to pull the plug on everything. Shut it all down for me.”
William slowly moved his hands up to the laptop and began shutting down the connection.
Court turned back to the group. “Toss your phones in the middle of the table.” Everyone did so. “Guns, knives, Tasers, pepper spray?” No one moved. “Anything?”
Nothing but shakes of the head.
“None of you have any way of protecting yourselves from me? I was just some name on a sanction list, some vague personality that needed to die. I wasn’t a real person, so you didn’t see me as a threat to you. Now here I am, and you don’t have a clue what to do about it.”