Noble Sanction

by William Miller

  “Hindsight is twenty-twenty.” Lucas stood up and said, “Where is Noble?”

  “He couldn’t make it,” Eliška said.

  Lucas actually laughed. “We can force it out of you.”

  She made a show of not talking.

  “Fine,” said Lucas and produced a roll of duct tape from an end table near the sofa. “We’ll do it the hard way. Müller has been looking forward to some hands-on time with you.”

  The blond thug strong-armed Eliška into the leather recliner. Lucas passed him the roll of tape and said, “Find out where Noble is and how much he knows, then make sure he doesn’t talk.”

  “And her?” Müller asked as he duct taped Eliška’s into the chair.

  “No witnesses,” Lucas told him.

  Fear turned to stark, unreasoning terror. She had been a fool to come up here all alone. She had let her love for Papa and her hatred of Lucas cloud her judgement. She had operated from emotions rather than intellect. Now she was going to die. It was too late to put up a fight and her mind was too numb with dread to do anything but watch. She suddenly realized how badly she needed to pee. She didn’t want to wet herself in her final moments. It was a crazy thought, but it’s what was going through her head.

  Lucas said, “Eric and I have to get back and oversee the last of the shipment. Can you handle things here?”

  “Da,” Müller said. “I have more than enough men to handle one American agent. No offense, Herr Randall.”

  “Don’t underestimate Noble,” Lucas warned. He turned to Eliška. “You have been a giant pain in my butt, you know that? All you had to do was kill Fellows, take the money, and go on your merry way. But you and your stupid rules. You forced my hand. If you had just killed Fellows without making a fuss, none of this would have happened.”

  Eliška wanted to make a smart come back but she was too scared for words. She was still stuck on the idea that she was going to pee herself before she died.

  “Well, it’s over now.” Lucas held his cigarette between thumb and forefinger as he scratched at one eyebrow. He gave Eliška one last look, like a disappointed father, then shook his head and turned to leave. The one called Eric followed him.

  The door shut behind them and Müller said, “It is far from over, fräulein. In fact, for you, it is only just beginning.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Eliška’s hands were numb. Her fingers felt like sausages ready to burst. Müller had started with a few hard slaps to the face. Her cheeks stung from the blows, but the German was just warming up. He had obviously done this before and was good at it. He waved a pair of pliers under her nose. “The American CIA agent? Where is he? What does he know of our operation?”

  “He knows everything,” Eliška lied. It was better than the truth. Admitting Noble knew next to nothing wouldn’t buy Eliška an extra minute. She was hoping for a miracle, but knew this was the end. She had played all her cards. Her life could now be measured in minutes.

  Müller jammed the pliers against her breast and squeezed. Every nerve ending in Eliška’s body exploded in pain. The shockwave narrowed her vision to a pinprick. She arched her back and opened her mouth. It took the scream a second to make the trip from her lungs to her vocal chords. Müller clapped a hand over her mouth while he twisted the pliers.

  The sound of her muffled shrieks brought her father out of his stupor. He lifted his head and tried to see with eyes swollen almost completely shut. “Ellie? Is that you? What’s going on?”

  “Shut up, old man,” Müller grumbled.

  Piotr Cermákova pulled weakly at the cuffs chaining him to the heater. He tried to get his feet under him but couldn’t. He wheezed out, “Leave my daughter alone.”

  Müller let go with the pliers and crossed the room to plant a boot in Piotr’s stomach. Eliška let out a sob as her father doubled up and spit blood. Papa had been through enough. There was no more fight left in him. His face was swollen and crusted with blood. When Müller threatened him with another kick, Piotr cringed.

  Eliška knew she needed to get Papa to a hospital. Seeing him like this put a cold hunk of hate in her belly. She forgot about her own pain. The fear took a backseat to outrage. She leveled a string of curses at the German. She didn’t know how, but she was going get Papa out of here alive. She just had to keep her head in the game.

  Müller came back with the pliers and gave her breast another savage twist. This time Eliška clamped her lips together and fought through the pain. Müller grinned. A dangerous light danced behind his eyes. He was enjoying this. He gave Eliška two more savage pinches and spots of bright-red blood blossomed on her shirt. She gasped for breath. Sweat lathered her skin. She didn’t know how much more she could take and feared her breast was permanently mutilated.

  Müller looked delighted, like a small boy with his nose pressed against a candy store window.

  “Getting off on this?” Eliška spoke through clenched teeth. “You sick freak.”

  “As a boy, I used to catch cats and dogs,” he said. “I liked to pull them apart and see what was inside. I learned to keep them alive for hours while I slowly disassembled their tiny carcasses. I’ll do the same to you if you do not tell me what I wish to know. Where is Jake Noble?”

  “You don’t have to find him,” Eliška said. She was lying, of course. She hadn’t told Jakob the address. She had been a fool to come without him. She was just hoping to buy a little more time for her and Papa when she said, “He’s going to find you.”

  Noble had parked the old beater at the base of the mountain and crept three and a half miles through the woods with nothing but the SpyderCo knife clutched in his fist. He passed the Škoda and, a mile later, finally spotted the cabin. He slipped quietly across the yard to the corner of the house and stopped. He knew there would be at least one man walking the perimeter, because he knew the way Lucas’s mind worked. Noble stood there a quarter of an hour before he finally spotted the patrol. The man strolled the edge of the property with his hands hidden in the folds of his overcoat. He ambled along, keeping mostly to the shadows.

  Noble cast about, looking for something to use as a weapon. He didn’t like the idea of going up against a hired gun with nothing but a knife. A man with his neck sliced open can still draw his gun and empty the mag before he bled out. Noble’s eyes fell on an old rubber hose.

  The guard went to the front porch for a peek through the window before continued on his rounds. His heels scuffing on loose gravel. He came within ten feet of the corner and stopped to take a leak. Noble waited with his back pressed against the wall. The sound of his own heartbeat was incredibly loud in his ears. He heard the purr of a zipper and the patter of the stream. The hardcase shook off and zipped up. Noble adjusted his grip on the garden hose. If this went bad, it would be the shortest rescue attempt of all time.

  The guard turned the corner, eyes scanning the tree line on his left. Noble stepped up behind him, looped the hose around his neck and jerked it tight, choking off a scream. The man’s face turned bright red. His eyes bulged from their sockets. His hand stabbed inside his overcoat and dragged a pistol from a shoulder holster. Noble, gripping the hose with white knuckles, gave the hardcase a savage twist. The goon managed to hang on to his weapon. He racked the slide and pointed the pistol over his shoulder.

  For one awful second, Noble was staring down the barrel. The dark aperture looked like the yawning mouth of a train tunnel. Noble turned and threw the hardcase over his shoulder. The man’s feet shot up in the air. His eyes got big and the pistol slipped from his fingers. Noble went down with him, landing on top. The impact knocked the last of the air from the guard’s lungs in a loud whoop. Noble jammed a knee into the man’s back. The veins in Noble’s neck and forearms stood out in sharp relief as he pulled up on the hose. Large beads of sweat sprang out on his forehead. The muscles in his arms shook with the effort. The hardcase made a series of gasping noises and reached for the fallen pistol. The gun lay mere inches from his grasping fing
ertips. His nails cut trenches in the dirt. Noble held on until the man’s eyes rolled up in his skull. The hardcase finally stopped struggling and lay still. Noble held him a few more seconds to be safe, then sat back, breathing heavy.

  “You are bluffing.” Müller chuckled and shook his head. “You only delay the inevitable.”

  “Am I?” Eliška asked. “How long since any of your goons checked in?”

  A hint of doubt flashed across Müller’s face but was replaced by a lazy smile. He put down the pliers and picked up a radio. “All stations report in.”

  The radio crackled and a voice came over the speaker. “Earnst reporting in …”

  “Gerhard reporting …”

  The rest was static.

  The grin ran away from the Müller’s face. He mashed the talk button. “Hans, report!”

  He was met by dead air. His brow wrinkled. He pressed the transmit button again. “Earnst, Gerhard, keep your eyes open. We may have company.”

  A shot rang out. Müller flinched and reached instinctively for a pistol laying on the table. He pressed back the slide to be sure there was a round in the chamber and then went to the nearest window.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  A quick exchange of gunfire split the air like Chinese firecrackers. The shots shattered the quiet and rolled away across the mountains like distant thunder—and Eliška knew Noble was close. She didn’t know how, but found Miklos’s address and armed himself. Had he followed her? If so, he had waited long enough to make his move. If he had come an hour earlier, he might have been in time to catch Lucas. None of that mattered now of course. Eliška was just happy he was here. She felt a great swelling hope beneath her chest that helped mute some of the mind-numbing pain. She just had to survive the next few minutes. Stay alive, she told herself. She needed to stay alive if she was going to save Papa. She didn’t want the old man to pay for her mistakes. She wanted Papa safe and sound back in his crummy little apartment near Wenceslas Square.

  Müller pulled his shoulders up around his ears at the bullwhip crack of pistols and mashed the talk button on his radio. “Earnst, Gerhard, do you read me?”

  When they didn’t answer, he shouted into the radio, “Earnst! Gerhard! Report!”

  Eliška said, “What’s the matter, Müller? Not so tough without your backup?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down beneath his lantern jaw. He leveled the pistol at her face. “Shut up!”

  The front door shook under a crushing blow. The timbers trembled and dust rained from the hinges. Müller spun and triggered his weapon. The pistol leapt and kicked. Hot brass rained down on Eliška. One of the empty shells found its way inside the collar of her T-shirt. She hissed at the white-hot finger against her flesh. Müller’s shots blasted chunks from the door and a heavy weight settled against the wood.

  There was no mistaking that sound. Eliška had heard it plenty of times before. It was the sound of a lifeless body slumping against the door. The implication left Eliška cold. She tried to breathe, but an iron glove was closing around her throat, choking off her air.

  Müller, flush with excitement, leapt across the room and wrenched the door open. One of the Germans sprawled out on the cabin floor. Half of his head had been shot off. Sticky red brain matter spilled over the polished hardwood.

  At the same time, Noble materialized at the back door with a gun in his hands. He moved in a crouch, a deadly panther emerging from the blackness of the jungle, and fired two quick shots before Müller even knew he was there. The handgun spit fire. Empty shell casings leapt from the breech, trailing smoke.

  Both shots hit Müller between the shoulder blades, driving him against the wall. Pain and surprise twisted his face into an ugly mask. He let out a groan, staggered backward and landed flat on his back.

  Eliška closed her eyes. Air escaped her chest in a long, shuddering breath. Fear slowly ebbed away, leaving her weak and trembling. Her left breast would be permanently scarred by the German’s pliers, but she was alive. She opened her eyes and said, “What took you so long?”

  “Had to make a phone call.” Noble stuffed the pistol in his waistband, wincing as the hot barrel touched his skin, and started pulling duct tape off her.

  “Him first.” Eliška thrust her chin at Papa.

  The old man was slumped over, laboring for every breath. His face was a swollen, lumpy mass, like a bag of bruised oranges.

  Noble turned to the table and searched for the handcuff key. It wasn’t there, but he found a flathead screwdriver, which was just as good. The locking mechanism on most cuffs, even the civilian models, are pretty solid. The hinge is weak. The rivet is usually made of copper or other soft metals. Noble wedged the blade of the screwdriver between the double arms and levered his weight against the cuffs. The rivet let go with a small pop.

  Piotr Cermákova slumped to the floor.

  Noble checked for a pulse. His lips pressed together in a hard line. Eliška watched him and knew it was bad. Her heart squeezed painfully hard inside her chest. Noble came back and quickly ripped away the duct tape. “He needs a hospital.”

  As soon as she was free, Eliška staggered over and collapsed on the floor next to her father. Her knees banged against the hardwood, but she barely noticed the pain. She bent over her father and whispered, “Papa?”

  Piotr Cermákova drew in some air at the sound of her voice. One swollen eyelid peeled open. His good hand came up in search of her. Eliška took the mangled claw and gave it a squeeze. “Hang on, Papa. We’re going to get you to a hospital.”

  A grin hitched at the corners of his mouth. He shook his head. “Too late for that.”

  “Don’t say that, Papa. You’re going to be alright.”

  “I’m sorry, Ellie.”

  “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Papa.”

  He coughed and a pink bubble formed at the corner of his busted lips. “I should have … been there … for you,” he managed to say. His voice was a whisper. Eliška had to lean close to catch his words. He gasped out, “I wanted a better … life … for you.”

  “It’s not your fault.” She spoke through a tangle of emotions that stripped her voice of any modesty. Tears streaked her cheeks and a snot bubble formed in her nose. She said, “It’s my fault, Papa. All of this is my fault. I’m so sorry.”

  He stroked her cheek with the knuckles of his ruined hand. His lips moved, but no words came out. Eliška put her ear to his mouth. All she heard was a long, rattling sigh and then his hand dropped into his lap.

  “Papa?” Eliška gave him a shake. “Papa, please don’t go.”

  A moan worked its way up from her chest. She scooped her father up and cradled him in her arms as tears trailed down her cheeks. She was too late. She had done all she could, but it wasn’t enough. She hadn’t even told him she loved him. She sat on the floor, cradling her father’s body, while her heart went to pieces like broken glass.

  Chapter Fifty

  Noble backed off, giving Eliška some privacy. He had known it was too late even before taking Piotr’s pulse. The old man’s body couldn’t take the beating Lucas and his goons had dished out. Piotr Cermákova had stood up to the Communists of Czechoslovakia—he had given most of his fingers to free his country—and should have died a hero. Instead, he had been kicked to death by hired thugs in a lonely cabin on a mountainside, south of Prague.

  Noble turned his face away. It felt like he had an anvil sitting on his chest. He took a few deep breaths, hoping to relieve the pressure. He had lost Torres, lost Alejandra, lost Sam. Now Eliška’s father lay dead on the floor. Noble couldn’t shake a gut-level feeling that it was because of him. Death seemed to stalk him and the people closest to Noble paid the price.

  It took a while, but Eliška finally cried herself out. She laid her father’s body down gently and folded his deformed hands across his sunken chest. Without looking up, she said, “I hope you kept one alive.”

  Noble nodded.

  Eliška took the plier
s from the table and Noble led the way outside. The guard lay on his belly with his bare feet sticking up in the air. Noble had hogtied him with the garden hose and then stuffed his own socks in his mouth. It might have been funny under different circumstances. The guard looked up at the sound of footsteps, saw them, and closed his eyes. A moan worked its way past the gag.

  Noble gave him a kick to the ribs, rolling him over onto his side, then bent down and tugged the dirty socks from his mouth. They came out soaked through with saliva. Noble tossed the socks and wiped his fingers on his pants. “You were hoping it would be someone else?”

  The hardcase told Noble to do something anatomically impossible.

  Eliška shouldered Noble out of the way, rammed the pliers into the man’s crotch and squeezed with both hands. An ear-splitting shriek rent the air. Noble didn’t try to stop her. He let Eliška work on him for several seconds. Sweat beaded on the man’s forehead. His eyes started to roll up before Noble intervened. He took Eliška by the arm and pulled her back.

  She rounded on him. Her face was a mask of rage. For one second, Noble thought she would turn the pliers on him.

  Noble held up both hands. “We need information from him.”

  It was a minute before she calmed down enough to nod.

  Noble knelt down. The hardcase was trying to curl into a fetal position to protect his groin, but the rubber hose had no slack. All he managed to do was hunch forward a little. A dark stain seeped through the crotch of his of trousers.

  “The old man you kidnapped?” Noble said. “That was her father. He’s dead and you bastards killed him. Now you can talk to me, or you can talk to her. What’s it going to be?”

  His lips trembled. “You promise not to kill me?”

  “Scout’s honor.” Noble said. “Who are you working for?”