by L. T. Ryan
She shrugged. “We’ve got strong coffee, Jack. Your favorite, right?”
“Depends on the brewer.”
“Of course it does.” Sadie’s smile lingered a few seconds longer than normal. Effects of the relaxing environment. Or the alcohol. Maybe both. Her lips thinned as she leaned closer. “Look, I know what you’re going through. I’m there, too, but in our line of work, these things happen. You know that, Jack.”
He stared off as far as his eyes would focus, rendering the world in between points A and B into a blurred mural.
“What details do we have?”
She frowned. “Nothing, yet.”
“Yet. It’s always yet.” A new message arrived, sending a jolt of excitement through him. A feeling that had to be stifled. Sadie was a master at reading emotions. She would pick up on the change in demeanor.
“What is it?”
Apparently, he had failed.
Fortunately, he had a lie ready.
“A million memories racing through my brain, just happened upon a good one.”
The front door opened. Clive didn’t appear, but he called for Sadie. She excused herself and trotted back to the porch, more mindful of her dress this time. That was one distraction Jack had looked forward to.
He waited until the pair were out of sight and then retrieved the message from Brandon.
“NW France. still triangulating. Clarissa’s position is updated rapidly. best guess, train. ran some data on the coords. if she’s looking for a big city…”
“Milan? Genoa?” Jack whispered. The three dots danced as he waited for confirmation in Brandon’s next relay.
“Genoa is on the route. Milan could be possible. and moving along the coast also possible.”
What had Clarissa mentioned about their time in Genoa and Milan? He thought back to their time together at the little apartment. The quiet moments. The dinners. The walks. The exploration. They talked about anything and everything. Never had the two of them been so open and honest. Clarissa joked that Noble’s maturity level had finally caught up to hers. Not quite.
The connection failed to materialize. It would in time. That’s how things worked. The brain chewed on a mystery in the background until it was solved.
Jack replied to Brandon.
“Keep me posted on both developments. Doubt that’s Bear on the other end, and I’d love to meet the person with his phone.”
“hahahahaha I bet you would. aight dood. hit u back l8r”
Jack stood, pocketed the phone, grabbed both glasses, headed toward the house. Sadie had been gone a while now. Something was brewing.
The door opened and she stepped out, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. She was tucking her pistol into the holster at the small of her back. The airiness to her had vanished. All-business Sadie stood in front of him.
“Guess I’m gonna need that coffee after all?”
Chapter 42
Leaves and twigs danced in harmony with the constant whomp-whomp-whomp of the helicopter’s rotors. Dust clouds filled the sky, a hazy orange reminder of the aftermath of recent events. The hot air moved too quickly to breathe. The dirt choked their eyes, noses, and throats.
The co-pilot opened the side door and waved them forward. Clive went first, stopping to yell something in the man’s ear. The rotor noise was too great for anyone else to make out what was said.
They squeezed onto the small bench seat, with Sadie in the middle, and strapped in. The helicopter rose and the tranquil olive orchard was left behind, a memory that would go the way of most others Jack held. Faded into oblivion.
Only Clive had a headset, and he appeared to communicate regularly with the pilots while checking his phone. Jack couldn’t hear anything Clive said, and the mic interfered with his ability to read Clive’s lips.
After leveling off a few thousand feet in the air, they took a westerly course. Where were they, exactly? The terrain, the olives, the heat, and humidity indicated southern Italy, but Clive and Sadie hadn’t revealed the precise location. He figured they could be in a range spanning five hundred miles, north to south. What he knew for sure was they were on the coast of the Adriatic. Beyond that, logical guesses.
The coffee had been hot and seared his tongue. He told Sadie she’d never make another cup of coffee for him. After, she had to spit on the ground and throw salt over her shoulder. He told her that looked like voodoo. She told him to go do something to himself they hadn’t the time for.
He traced the roof of his mouth with the tip of his burnt tongue. Felt weird. Alien-like.
Clive had handed him two pills before they walked out to the rendezvous point. He took one, saved the other. Might come in handy later. It rested in the pocket opposite his phone. The phone which had buzzed seven times, at least, while airborne. Could it have been the rattling cockpit? Sure. His mind raced at the possible contents of the messages Brandon had fired off in rapid succession.
The helicopter rose higher to clear an upcoming mountain. Why not go around, he wanted to ask, but no one would hear him. As they passed over, the pilot tipped to each side for a couple of seconds, giving them a view of the crater of a dormant volcano. His mind peered into the matrix of grass and trees that had taken hold among the jagged rock and saw Clarissa looking up at him for a moment. Jack imagined the fire and fury that once existed there. Would it ever again?
Their course adjusted northwest. According to the atlas in Noble’s head, this was going to one of two places, and he knew exactly why. Bear wasn’t their concern now. Sasha’s death meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. This was about the target. And they were going to her last known place of employment.
Settling in for the remainder of the ride, Jack closed his eyes and snagged an hour of much-needed sleep.
The landing jarred him awake. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and blinked hard. As the world came into focus, he recognized the terrain being near Naples. He had spent time in the region years ago. Were his old haunts still around?
A cup of coffee greeted him in the van waiting next to the airfield. They took a roundabout way to their destination, maybe to throw Noble off. They weren’t aware of his knowledge of the area. He knew exactly where they were. He knew how to get away, too.
Curiosity over the destination lingered in the air. Presumably, Sadie knew, though she hadn’t said. She had been inside the house with Clive for an extended period of time.
The phone buzzed again. Noble reflexively reached for it. He glanced left. Sadie glanced right, making eye contact. Her gaze slid downward. She felt the message come in, too.
Noble considered his odds against four people in the confined space. Giving up the phone was not an option. If she went for it, she’d pay, same as Clive, and the two goons in the front seat.
Sadie said nothing, though, and the remainder of the thirty-minute drive passed without incident.
They never made it to town, which both relieved Jack and filled him with anxiety. Naples had eyes everywhere. The countryside held secrets no ears ever heard.
The house sat alone in a clearing, with a snaking driveway that curved left before straightening in front of the two-story home. An open garage door offered little insight as to the purpose of the visit. A few bikes on one side. Workbench with tools on the other. No sign of cars. No drop cloth on the floor. A positive sign.
The man on the porch stood and greeted them with a wave. Beck. Noble had never met the guy, but Clarissa had shown him photos.
After greeting the trio, Beck led them inside. The place had hardwood floors the color of honey. White walls and ceilings stood in stark contrast to the weathered wooden beams intersecting to make large squares.
They seated themselves around a bar-height table. Beck sat across from Jack, and it was tense. The men knew of each other through Clarissa. As far as stories went, Clarissa had more on Jack simply due to how long they had known each other. Some were good. Plenty were bad. The look Beck shot Noble indicated he had heard all the bad ones.
“Let’s get started,” Clive said, switching on a tablet. He swiped through a couple of apps and settled on a map of the country. “We know she escaped Croatia on this boat.” He fiddled with the tablet again and pulled up the Abandonment. “What we’re not sure of is whether she remained with the captain for the entire trip.”
“My guess would be she didn’t,” Beck said. “She’s too smart for that.”
“Or too untrusting,” Jack said.
“You would know,” Beck said.
“That doesn’t matter,” Sadie said. “What does is that she wound up in Italy.”
“That’s known for sure?” Beck tapped his index finger on the table.
Clive cleared his throat as he navigated his device. “Pulled from CCTV. Caught her entering and exiting a boutique store.”
“She loves her boutiques,” Beck said.
Jack didn’t offer anything. He stared at the image. At first, when he saw her in Croatia, he didn’t believe it was her. The short, dark hair looked all wrong. No denying this image, though.
“A few more glimpses tracked her to a cottage rental on the beach. Rented for six days, it was empty on the second morning. Nothing but a couple empty wine bottles.”
“She loves her wine,” Noble said, staring at Beck, who nodded once and said nothing in return.
“That’s where it ends.” Beck set his tablet down and clapped his hands over the top. “We had eyes on Clarissa for a long time. A simpler task, Beck, when she worked with you.”
Noble hid his surprise. Why had they been tracking her more than six months ago? Wouldn’t they have found him if they had eyes on her then?
“Quickly, she dropped out of sight. She would surface here and there, but for the most part, she was a ghost.”
Beck nodded, clasped his hands together, and leaned forward. His elbows slid out a few inches. “That’s my experience as well following her departure from the Service.”
“What was the reason for her leaving?” Sadie asked.
“Wasn’t cut out for it. Didn’t like rules. Well, she didn’t like following them. Breaking them was another story.” He stared Jack down. “She picked that up from you, right, Noble?”
“Taught her how to live, man. I see I failed. How else you explain her winding up with you?”
“Guys.” Sadie slapped the table. They all stiffened as though their mother had threatened them with a wooden spoon. “You need to have a dick measuring contest, you do it after we figure this thing out. Got it?”
Jack held back his smart-ass remark, nodding his approval.
Sadie continued. “You’re the last two to have had close contact with her. Did she ever mention contingency plans? A secret apartment? Anywhere she planned to go if things went sideways?”
“Look, I want to know where she is as much as the next guy,” Beck said. “She’s lucky she managed to get out of here when she did. You want to talk about sideways? She threw this whole case ninety degrees to the left.”
Jack glanced at Sadie, who averted her eyes.
“I covered as best I could for her, you know.” Beck pulled away from the table and crossed his arms over his chest. His short sleeves peeled back, revealing a special forces tattoo on his right arm. “Two hundred million’s a lot of dough. People ask questions. People wonder why she disappeared. They all look to me for answers, and I don’t have a damn one. So, believe me, if I knew where she was, I wouldn’t be telling you, I’d be hauling her in.”
Noble felt he now had fifty pieces of a thousand-piece puzzle. But that might be enough to get an idea of what had happened until he could talk to Clarissa again. She held all the other pieces. Her version of the story was missing. Hell, any version of the story was missing. All anyone spoke of was the money.
The conversation went nowhere fast. Clive excused himself, leaving Sadie, Noble, and Beck to stare at one another for a few minutes. When he returned, he said there were developments and they had to leave.
Noble wasn’t there for that part. He was in the bathroom, catching up on Brandon’s messages.
Chapter 43
The air piping in from above smelled like Fritos and felt like the broken air conditioning in Bear’s 1970 Mustang, his first car. The ceiling headliner fell apart months into ownership, hanging down like a divider between the front and rear seats. He had people hold it up while driving so they could talk. Eventually a girl with the face of an angel whose name he could no longer remember sewed it up for him.
Simple fix.
As most things were.
This time, an easy way eluded him.
Aches and pains exacerbated his suffering over Sasha’s death. The guilt that she remained behind, lifeless, a speed bump in the road, ate at his gut. Fear that Mandy had not run far enough fast enough gnawed at his brain.
The thought that both would remain gone forever pierced his heart.
Over the last twenty-four hours, the guy with the graying beard had tried unsuccessfully to break Bear. He didn’t even listen to the questions, remaining in the meditative state he learned to escape to years ago. All the abuse they heaped upon him wouldn’t bring him down. And death? He laughed to himself at the thought. Bring it on, baby. Bring it on. He’d take someone to the grave with him.
The familiar buzz preceded a heavy door thunking open. Footsteps. The door closed, crashing shut. The man approached, his thick-soled boots slapping the cold concrete like a paddle on flesh in a fetish club.
Bear shifted his legs so his feet stuck out over the edge of the cot. Rolling right and left climbed his shoulders up a few inches and put him in position to use the wall for support. He braced himself, sat up, prepared for the man.
Nothing different happened when his door opened. No extra light flooding the dim, dank cell. No music piping in. No team of assailants ready to whale on him.
Only the man. The wiry, five-foot-eight, hundred-and-nothing, graying, bearded man.
“Your injuries look worse today,” he said, his accent thick. He lifted his club and poked Bear’s face with it. They hadn’t set his jaw, and it hurt like hell.
Bear willed himself to ignore the pain. To not fail this test. Up to this point, all of their attacks had been at a distance or with multiple people in attendance. His despondency had perhaps lulled them into a false sense of security that this man could handle Bear on his own.
But his refusal to give the man what he wanted—a spectacle of pain and suffering—pissed the guy off.
The man laughed to himself, looking down, head swinging side to side in rhythm with the club dancing from his hand. “My friend.” That was all he said. He whipped the club faster than Jose Canseco swinging a bat. The collision with Bear’s face sent his head reeling back. The base of his skull thudded against the wall. Warm blood slid down the back of his neck like a slug sliming his way across a surface.
A brief grimace was the only thing Bear’s attacker could take as victory.
“I heard you were tough,” he said. “But not stupid. Why do you do this?” He poked Bear in the chest. Tapped his chin. He drew his arm high, preparing to smash the club over the top of Bear’s head.
An opening.
Bear’s eyes fell shut, sending the world into almost darkness. The guy’s silhouette stood stark amid the fuzzy green-black surrounding it.
When Bear had positioned himself on the bed, he hooked his right foot under the frame so his Achilles was on the metal. His heel hooked behind it. His knee hugged the mattress tight. His other leg lay loose, foot ready to hit the ground.
He tightened his right hamstring and quad. A jolt of energy raced from his hip to his big toe. Using his elbows, he pushed his torso forward while his leg pressed into the mattress so his foot could lock in, providing maximum torque. The opposite foot hit the concrete. The pitted surface offered solid traction.
It didn’t matter what the guy did with the club; there was no stopping this train. Two hundred and ninety pounds of gristle launched forward and slammed into
the thin man, steamrolling him like a boulder over a tricycle.
Bear grabbed the back of the guy’s thighs, lifted him into the air, drove him straight down so that Bear’s right shoulder landed directly on top of the man’s sternum. The crack of the bone snapping was louder than the club slamming into Bear’s face a few moments earlier.
Bear had one hand on the floor, the other on the guy’s neck. He forced his chest up, drew his knee closer. The man’s eyes were wide, his mouth open, a soft hiss gurgling from what little space was left in his windpipe. Bear didn’t intend for there to be any. He latched on with his other hand and pushed his own body further in the air like he was performing a pushup so that all his weight drove down on the man’s neck.
The guy’s face turned blue, then purple. His eyes bulged like a whack-a-mole that was permanently stuck out no matter how many times you beat on it.
It didn’t matter that he stopped struggling.
It didn’t matter that he stopped breathing.
It didn’t matter that Bear had a grip on the guy so tight his head might pop off.
He wanted it to. He wanted the guy to die a thousand times. He wanted his soul to feel the wrath Bear had prepared his entire life to enact at this very moment.
A minute later, with no signs of life remaining, Bear let up. The smell of the man’s emptied bowls overtook the room. Bear covered his nose, touching his face in the process. Fire spread across. He tried not to bite down. A futile attempt at best.
The door burst open and the man with the scar on his cheek from his mouth to his eye rushed in. The man’s smile quickly faded when he saw the scene. He reached for his side, but not before Bear sprang into action.
It took less than a second for Bear to cover the distance. He slammed his shoulder into the guy’s midsection, and they crashed into the door. The guy grunted. Bear grabbed his right arm and twisted it in the wrong direction. The sounds of bones snapping were drowned out by the guy’s screams. Bear worked his hand up until he found the man’s neck. It wasn’t enough to strangle him. Bear wanted the man to feel pain. He worked his fingers around his larynx and crushed it like an empty box of raisins.
