Noble Intentions: Season Two (Episodes 6-10)

by L. T. Ryan

  Clarissa looked around. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. At least, nowhere Randy wouldn’t find her. And if she ran, and he found her, then he would have a mess to clean up. It seemed that her tough decision had been made for her.

  She said, “Let’s go to Iowa.”

  4

  The rising sun silhouetted the King and Queen buildings. The two buildings, along with several others, dotted Atlanta’s perimeter. They had traveled on I-85 through the night and were now on I-285, skirting along the outer edges of the gateway to the South.

  Jack turned his attention forward and weaved the car through the thickening traffic. Poor saps, he thought. Dressed up and driving to a job they hate. Most of them probably on the road this early so they could skip out one of Atlanta’s least-popular attractions, the traffic.

  A mile later red brake lights lit the highway like a festival dragon, winding and rising along the asphalt.

  “Christ,” Jack muttered.

  “One of the worst traffic cities in the country,” Jasmine said. “People here spend, on average, over a full week sitting in traffic each year.”

  Jack nodded. Said nothing.

  “It should ease up soon. Then we’ll get on I-75 and it’ll be smooth sailing heading north.”

  “You should get a job with a radio station. Traffic girl. It’d suit you.”

  “You think?”

  “TV voice, radio face.” He looked over and smiled.

  Jasmine rolled her eyes and turned toward the passenger window. She said, “Why don’t you talk much?”

  “Thought I was talking.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Jack cleared his throat. “Got nothing to say.”

  “With everything you’ve been through, you have nothing to say?”

  Jack shrugged. He inched the car forward and then pressed the brakes again, slowing the car to a stop. Then he said, “What do you want to know?”

  “The answer to the question I asked you yesterday. What have you been doing since you left the agency?”

  “Not going to tell you.”

  Jasmine shifted in her seat and turned to face him. “Why not?”

  “Too much to tell. Too much I shouldn’t tell.”

  Jasmine waved him off and shifted in her seat again.

  He wasn’t trying to piss her off. He didn’t know the woman and a lot things he had done over the years weren’t exactly legal. Why give her information she could use against him?

  “Why don’t you tell me why you joined the SIS?” Jack said.

  “Where to begin?” she said. “Well, blew out my knee in college. Ruined my chances to compete in the Olympics. Went to law school. Finished fourth in my class. Had no desire to become a lawyer. Applied to the FBI and the CIA. Tested for the latter. Got a phone call from Frank inviting me to interview for a special position. Pretty standard.”

  Jack nodded. Noticed a sign for I-75 north and started maneuvering the car across six lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic.

  “Why don’t you tell me why you joined the SIS?” she asked.

  “I guess I can tell you that.” Jack’s eyes darted from his rear view mirror to the passenger side mirror. He crossed one lane at a time. He pulled into the exit lane and continued, “I was a Marine. Actually, I was loaned out to the CIA. Did a lot of domestic stuff. Worked in Europe, South America. Was in North Korea once, but no one knows about that.”

  Jasmine nodded. “OK. Then what?”

  “9/11 is what. Everything changed.”

  “That’s why I went to law school. I never wanted to be a lawyer. I wanted to hunt terrorists.”

  Jack glanced over at her and noticed her fists were clenched tight. She stared beyond the dash, the traffic, and the mess of intertwined highway crossings ahead.

  “Yeah, well, it changed things for a lot of people.” He looked at her again and saw her nodding, slowly. “So, my group went from domestic and friendlies to Iraq.”

  “In 2003?”

  “2001.”

  “What?” She no longer stared ahead. Her head spun and she stared at Jack, her mouth hanging open an inch.

  “Eighty or ninety percent of the teams went to Afghanistan. Not us, though.”

  “What were you looking for in Iraq?”

  “Beats me. Everything changed. We were on the outside. Provided security for the agency guys.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jack shook his head. “Long story. Anyways, there was a big mess. People started dying. Someone tried to frame me. It went,” he paused a beat while thinking over how much he should tell her. “It went pretty high up the government food chain.”

  “The President?”

  “No, not quite that high, and I won’t say who or what or when, either.”

  She nodded. Didn’t say anything.

  “So, this whole mess, never really got resolved back then. Cleaned it up later, though.”

  “When you were in the SIS?”

  “No. That’s beside the point. How and why did I join the SIS? OK.” Jack paused and checked over his left shoulder before merging onto I-75 northbound. “I got my discharge and had three months leave banked. I got paid for those three months while doing nothing. I had planned to travel. Ended up stopping in Key West a week after my journey started. Didn’t leave. Not for three months. I was waiting, well, yeah, waiting on something. Someone. Frank showed up instead. Made me a job offer. Two weeks later I was in D.C., learning the ways of the SIS.”

  “I’ve read some of your case files,” Jasmine said.

  Jack looked across at her and lifted an eyebrow above the frame of his sunglasses.

  “The kids,” Jasmine said.

  “What about them?”

  “The thing with the kids. I… I don’t know. That was something else, is all. How you and Frank took the abductors down, and then, well, you know.”

  Jack nodded. He dropped one hand onto his thigh and the other hand shifted to the top of the steering wheel.

  “Yeah, I know. I still think about that.”

  “Did you ever find him?”

  Jack glanced between her and the road a few times. “You don’t know?”

  Jasmine shook her head in reply.

  “If it’s not in the files,” Jack said, “then I can’t tell you.”

  “Jack,” she said.

  “Another time. Let’s get through this and then we’ll see.”

  They drove the next ten miles in silence. Took an exit that put them on I-575. Passed through Woodstock and got off the highway in Canton.

  “Not a lot of options for a place to stay here,” Jack said.

  “No, there aren’t. Maybe we should head back toward Atlanta?”

  Jack pointed toward a Hilton. “That should do.”

  He pulled the car into the parking lot and found a place to park.

  “I’m going to get us a couple rooms,” Jasmine said.

  Jack nodded and stretched. He waited until Jasmine was inside the hotel lobby and then he took a walk on the sidewalk, between the hotel parking lot and the road.

  Cars backed up at a stop light. Jack turned away from them and cut across the parking lot. He still wasn’t too keen on being seen. Any car in any town could be driven by a member of law enforcement. Someone who might have at one time or another seen Jack’s face. Of course, no photo of him ever taken resembled the way he looked now. He relaxed a bit. Slowed his pace. He was met at the door by Jasmine.

  “Got us two rooms, but check-in time isn’t for another seven hours.”

  Jack looked at his watch. Seven-thirty a.m. He looked past the parking lot and spotted a Waffle House. If Atlanta was the gateway to the South, Waffle House was the staple restaurant.

  He said, “Let’s figure it out over breakfast.”

  They left the car in the parking lot and crossed the street on foot. The yellow roofed square building welcomed them with the smell of coffee and hash browns and pancakes.

  “Pick a seat. Be right with you
.” The waitress had brown curly hair that was mostly tucked under a red ball cap sporting a blue “A” for the Atlanta Braves. She looked a few years on the wrong side of fifty, and a few pounds on the wrong side of thin. Jack and Jasmine found a seat and the waitress spoke to them from the other side of the counter. “What’ll you have?”

  “Coffee, two eggs, and three pancakes,” Jack said.

  The waitress nodded and looked at Jasmine. “What about you sweetheart?”

  “Oh, I’ll have the same,” Jasmine said.

  “How do you want those eggs?” the waitress said.

  “Surprise me,” Jack said.

  “Scrambled,” Jasmine said.

  The waitress dropped off their coffee and went back to the grill to help the cook.

  “Want to do a drive by of the house?” Jasmine asked.

  “You know where it is?”

  “Yeah, pretty sure we do. Got a call from Frank while I was in the lobby. He’s sending details by email.” She pulled her phone out and tapped at the screen. “Yeah, there it is. We aren’t that far away. Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes.”

  “We got the time. Makes sense. Maybe we’ll luck out and find our guy walking his dog.”

  Jasmine laughed. “You know it won’t be that easy.”

  “He send you any details on the guy?”

  She twisted her lips to the side and shook her head. “So far only the house. They’re still working on the rest.”

  The waitress handed them their plates from the other side of the counter. They quickly ate without talking. Jack paid the bill and grabbed two coffees to go. He left the restaurant and met Jasmine in the car. She had taken the driver’s seat. Jack didn’t protest.

  “Ready to check out this house?” Jasmine asked.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be after driving non-stop for twelve hours and then filling up on grease and coffee and carbs.”

  5

  Boris sat alone in his study. The room screamed of masculinity with its oversized desk, dark wood tones, and aged books. He had wanted it that way. Anyone who entered should feel threatened and intimidated. People usually did when near him, whether they were in this room or not. Even complete strangers took extra care to get out of his way on the sidewalk or in the supermarket, among other places.

  He rose to his feet at the sound of a knock at the door. Crossed the room and opened the door.

  “Fletcher,” Boris said. “Glad you could make it.”

  Fletcher nodded and waited for Boris to gesture him in.

  “Have a seat over there.” Boris pointed toward his desk.

  The men sat down opposite each other. Boris in his large patent leather chair. Fletcher in a smaller, stiff chair with wooden arms and a padded seat and back.

  “The reason I wanted you here,” said Boris, “was to begin to review these documents. We need to identify our initial targets.”

  “What exactly are these documents?”

  Boris smiled without lifting his head. “A lot of effort went into obtaining these.” He picked up a manila folder and dropped it onto the desk. “What I am told is someone inside the government has turned.”

  “The U.S. government?”

  Boris leaned back and drummed the edge of the desk with his fingertips. He said, “Yes, that is correct.”

  “For who? Us?”

  “No, not us. My understanding is that these documents were on their way to someone or some place that is in direct opposition of the U.S.”

  “Iraq?”

  “Don’t think so. Iran or North Korea, if it was a nation.”

  “You think it might have been another organization?”

  “It’s possible. Frankly, it doesn’t matter.”

  “How did Feng know about these?”

  “I would assume someone tipped the old man off. But I don’t think he realized what he was getting when he hired the man to steal the documents. And I don’t think he realized what he had when he sold them to me. He could have received a lot more money for them than what I paid. Hell, I would have paid a lot more to procure them.”

  Boris gave Fletcher a few minutes to let it sink in. The man squinted and nodded as he worked through the information.

  Boris opened the folder and leafed through paper after paper. “Over one hundred vulnerable places for us to target. Each place being critical infrastructure or psychologically important to the weak people of this country.”

  “We could figure out targets, Boris.”

  Boris lifted his head and nodded. “Yes, this is true. But what we don’t know are the weaknesses, the vulnerabilities of each target, my friend. This information has it all.”

  Fletcher reached out and grabbed a piece of paper. “Bridges.” He looked from the paper to Boris. “I could tell you how to take out a bridge.”

  Boris smiled. Waved his hand.

  “Read on.”

  Fletcher mumbled through the document, stopping occasionally to nod and soak up the information. As he neared the end, his eyebrows remained arched an inch into his forehead. He finished reading and sat the paper on the desk, exhaling loudly.

  “Yes,” Boris said. “We could figure out how to take down a bridge. But that document right there lists the top ten bridges, plus the why and the how. And that’s not the end of it. Look at what we have here.”

  He dropped stack of paper after stack of paper onto the desk. It was all there: airports, tunnels and bridges, nuclear power plants, national monuments, environmental targets, and places where thousands of people would be gathered and the times they would be there. Detailed instructions on bypassing or overcoming security measures were included for each target.

  “What’s the plan?” Fletcher asked.

  Boris smiled. He placed his palms on the desktop and stood. Walked around the desk and stopped behind Fletcher. He placed his hands on the man’s shoulders and squeezed. Said, “We are going to hit as many of those targets at one time as is possible. Six months from now. On the day of rest when these poor saps gather for sporting events. I foresee over one million dead and injured. I foresee national monuments crumbling. I foresee an environmental catastrophe unparalleled by anything in history.”

  “Greater than…” Fletcher brought his hand to his face and rubbed his cheeks.

  “Yes,” Boris said. “Even greater than Chernobyl.”

  Boris let go of Fletcher and the man rose from his chair. He paced the room and stopped at the far wall. Leaned against the bookcase.

  Fletcher said, “How do we know the old man won’t turn on us?”

  Boris laughed and waved his hand dismissively at his associate. “Of all people, he would be the last person to call attention to himself. If he turned us in, then the matter of how he came to be in possession of such documents would be called into question.”

  “Good point. What about the mole in the government?”

  Boris returned to his chair. “Wish I knew who he was.”

  “Bring him on board?”

  “Kill him.”

  “Why?”

  “As I see it, he is the only one who can disrupt our plan. His conscience might get in the way. Some of these documents have recommended dates for attacks. Dignitaries scheduled to be in attendance. Look at this one.” Boris held up a paper for Fletcher to see. “There will be a Queen in attendance. And that isn’t the only event where someone of notoriety from another country will be present. Can you imagine, Fletcher? Not only will the citizens of the U.S. be terrified, but other nations will turn on this country, and its government, for failing to protect their famous citizens.”

  Fletcher’s smile broadened. “Brilliant.”

  Boris leaned back. Crossed his legs. He opened a drawer and pulled out two cigars. He pointed one in Fletcher’s direction.

  “Yes, please,” Fletcher said.

  Boris clipped the ends and handed one to Fletcher. Pulled out two wooden matches and lit them.

  “Have you spoken with him yet?” Fletcher asked.

 
; “Ivanov?” Boris nodded. “I let him know we had something special in our possession.”

  “Are you going to go see him? Or will he be coming here?”

  “God, I hope not,” Boris said. “Old bastard gives me the creeps.”

  Both men laughed.

  “I’ve never met him,” Fletcher said after the laughter had trailed off.

  “You’re lucky. He’s a, what do they say here in the U.S., a heartless bastard. But he’s in charge now. Has been since Dorofeyev and his men were murdered off the southern coast of France.”

  “What ever happened with that? They caught the assassin, yes?”

  “Yes. Black Dolphin is what happened.”

  Fletcher lifted his shoulders and shuddered.

  “Didn’t take long for him to die there,” Boris said.

  Silence fell over the room. The men smoked and stared at the papers spread across the desk.

  “Jack something or other,” Boris said.

  “What’s that?”

  “The assassin. His name was Jack.”

  “Wish I would have been there. He would not have gotten away with it.”

  Boris rested his cigar along the edge of a large glass ashtray. “Likewise, my friend. Likewise.”

  6

  Pierre slid across the backseat of the stopped cab, and opened the door, and stepped out onto the curb. The driver didn’t get out. Only popped the trunk. Pierre walked around the back of the taxi and grabbed his two gray duffel bags. He closed the trunk lid and the cab sped off.

  Pierre moved to the curb and scanned the crowded sidewalk and street. He didn’t know who or what he was looking for. Charles had told him that he needed to be at the corner of Madison and Market in Manhattan by ten-thirty a.m.

  Pierre looked at his watch. Nine-thirty a.m. He ignored the crowds and looked for a place to grab a cup of coffee. Spotted a cafe a block and a half away on the other side of the street. He adjusted the handle straps in his hands and started down the sidewalk. A break in the traffic gave him the chance to cross the street. After another half block he walked into the small cafe named Cuppa.

  An attractive early twenty-something woman with short blond hair streaked with pink smiled at him from behind the counter.