Noble Intent

by William Miller

  The goon waved the knife under Noble’s nose, but Grey held up a hand. He said, “You put one of their guys in the morgue and another in the hospital. They’re looking for payback. Can’t say I blame them. Here’s how it’s going down: You aren’t leaving this basement alive, but if you tell me what I want to know, I’ll convince them to kill you quick. If you dummy up then we start cutting off pieces until you talk. Make this easy on yourself. I already know you work for Armstrong. So how about you tell me your name?”

  The bruiser held up the knife and light winked on the blade.

  Noble was in a jam. Fear was a small, hard knot in his belly. He didn’t have anything that was worth losing a finger over, but he didn’t have anything that would convince them to keep him alive either. He had to bide his time and hope an opportunity presented itself.

  He glanced at the knife and said, “My name is Jake Noble.”

  Grey nodded to himself. “Now we’re getting somewhere. What are your orders?”

  When he didn’t answer right away, Grey examined the side Noble’s head where a dark knot was forming on his temple and said, “That’s a nasty bruise you got there.”

  Grey jackhammered a fist into the knot. The impact threw Noble backwards into the pair of goons. A blinding pain tried to split his skull in two. He closed his eyes and breathed until the throbbing passed. His vision swam and sweat broke out on his forehead despite the cold.

  Grey glanced at his knuckles and then wiped his hand on his coat. “Let’s not play games, Noble. I know the Director sent you. How much does she know?”

  Noble saw an opening and said, “I don’t know how much she knows or what she suspects. I was hired to come over here and sort things out. Gunn is bent. I’m supposed to kill her. Does that answer your question?”

  Grey’s eyes narrowed. “And what did she tell you about me?”

  “You’re not my problem,” Noble told him. “Far as the Company is concerned, Sam Gunn murdered Frank Bonner and she has to die. Now why don’t you call off the dogs and we can all work together?”

  Grey stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and stared down at Noble with a thoughtful frown on his face, like he was trying to decide what to do with a particularly naughty puppy. Before he reached a conclusion, his phone rang. He dug it out and said, “What have you got?” There was a pause. “When was this? …Good work. Stay on it. I’m on my way.”

  “Seems your services won’t be needed after all,” Grey said after he had hung up. “My guys found her.”

  Grey went to the door, stopped and turned back. “Get rid of him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Noble’s stomach twisted in knots. As a Green Beret, he had operated deep behind enemy lines where death was an ever-present threat. Going to work for the CIA hadn’t changed anything. He was still behind enemy lines, he had simply traded jungles and deserts for city streets. Death was still one wrong move away and nothing can prepare you for that. He had thought about it; every SF operator did. This was the life he had chosen and risk came with the territory. He knew one day his time would come, but thinking it and being ready for it were two different things.

  The bruiser with the switchblade wrenched Noble’s head back and put the knife to his throat. With his hands cuffed behind his back, there wasn’t anything Noble could do, except maybe try to shoulder the goon, and that would only delay the inevitable. His heart shifted into overdrive and his stomach seemed to shrink in on itself. Air burst from his lips in panicked gasps.

  Before the bruiser could slice open Noble’s exposed throat, his partner said “Hold it! Not here. Take him downstairs first.”

  The killer stopped, one hand still clutching Noble’s hair in a painful grip. “Why not kill him now?”

  “Because I don’t want to spend all night mopping up his blood,” the other goon said. “Besides, you want to lug his dead body down the steps?”

  Noble said, “He makes a good point.”

  “Shut up,” the bruiser snarled.

  Noble had started to think of these two as Frick and Frack.

  Frick said, “On your feet.”

  “I’ll go start the car,” Frack said. “Weight the body before you dump him.”

  Frack walked outside while Frick pulled Noble to his feet. He waved the blade in front of Noble’s face. The edge came dangerously close to his chin. “Try anything and I’ll carve my name in your forehead.”

  Frick frog-marched Noble across the warehouse, their feet leaving tracks in a thick layer of dust, to a steep flight of steps in the back corner that led down to the basement. Frick stopped at the top and said, “Slowly. Don’t get any ideas.”

  Noble looked at the risers and said, “With my hands behind my back?”

  Frick took hold of his collar with his free hand and said, “Go on.”

  Noble started down the steps. He went slow, taking his time. He could hear a curious rushing sound, like running water from the shadowy basement. Frick was behind him on the stairs, one hand gripping Noble’s collar, and he said, “Come on. Quit stalling.”

  Half way down, Noble made his move. He reached back with his cuffed hands, grabbed a fistful of Frick’s puffy North Face jacket, and then twisted. It was a desperate gambit, and just as likely to end in a broken neck for Noble, but it might be his only chance to turn the tables.

  Frick gave a yelp, stumbled into Noble and they both went down. Noble’s heart seized inside his chest. The basement tipped on its head as he tumbled. Time slowed. A concrete riser bit into his shoulder and one knee spanged off the railing. He curled up in a ball in an effort to protect himself from the worst of the damage, but with his hands behind his back there was no way to protect his head. He could only hold his breath and wait for the world to right itself.

  Frick was caught completely off guard. His hip bone crashed into the sharp edge of a riser and there was a sickening pop, then his head bounced hard against the ground.

  Both men sprawled out on the floor at the base of the ladder. Frick’s hips and legs were still on the bottom steps, like a drunk who had lost his balance and splayed out in a stupor. He arched his wounded spine, let out a strained croak that might have been a call for help, and clutched at his back.

  Noble was curled into a fetal position, his feet on Frick’s stomach and his hands still clutching the man’s jacket. He let out a slow breath, surprised his neck was still in one piece. It felt like someone had done a tap dance on his shoulder, his knee wasn’t any better, and his left thumb had twisted the wrong way in the fall. It wasn’t broken, at least Noble didn’t think it was broken, but the digit felt two sizes too big. All in all, pretty lucky.

  Frick twisted onto his side and searched around for the fallen knife. His face was a swollen purple beet with veins throbbing in his forehead. Blood dripped from a nasty cut on the back of his skull and his hands jerked like fish flopping around on a dock.

  Noble rolled onto his knees, jackknifed himself to his feet and aimed a kick at Frick’s face. His toe caught Frick on the chin and snapped his head back. A tooth flew from busted lips along with a gob of dark blood. Frick abandoned his search for the knife and tried to wrap both arms around Noble’s legs.

  Noble shuffled backwards and sent another kick at Frick’s face. This time Frick’s nose broke with a wet snap. Bright red drops sprayed over the concrete floor and Frick curled up, trying to protect himself.

  Noble stomped the goon’s head until he stopped moving. When Frick lay in a spreading puddle of blood, Noble staggered back to the stairs and collapsed on the bottom step. He gasped for breath. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his heart rate slowly returned to normal. Adrenaline was pumping through his limbs, dulling the pain, but his body promised him hell tomorrow.

  He took a moment to get his bearings.

  The floor of the dimly lit basement had a channel of brackish water running right down the middle. Two narrow footbridges passed over the foaming current. Noble suddenly understood the rushing sound he had heard.
It was an underground river that entered through a barred aqueduct on one side of the basement and exited the other, only the bars had been cut away from the exit. This was a part of Paris’s extensive sewage network; the same labyrinth network Victor Hugo had described as “fetid, wild and fierce.” There was no telling where a body might turn up after being tossed in. One thing was sure, by the time the authorities found the bloated corpse, any forensic evidence would be long gone.

  Noble thought about what he would look like after a few days in the silent depths and shivered. He twisted around for a look at the handcuffs. They were law enforcement grade with a single hinge, which would make getting his wrists down over his feet torture. Time was short. Frick was out of commission but Frack would get curious that his partner was taking so long. Noble bent over at the waist, worked the cuffs down the backs of his legs and, grunting with effort, passed one foot, then the other between his wrists. With that done, he quickly kicked off his shoe and dug under the insole for the handcuff key.

  Once he was free of the cuffs, Noble grabbed Frick under the arms and lugged him across the floor to the aqueduct. Limp bodies weigh a ton and Frick was a big boy to begin with. Noble was blowing hard by the time he reached the open sewer. The stink of offal rolled off the muck in nauseous waves. Noble had to fight back a gag reflex that tried to empty his stomach. He rolled Frick over the side and the body hit the water with a heavy plop. The current was stronger than it looked; the body bobbed to the surface, passed quickly under a narrow stone footbridge and then disappeared through the open grate.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Two hours later, Jaqueline Armstrong was still at her desk and still hadn’t heard from Noble, but she had gotten several stinging text messages from her daughter.

  Duc was busy sweating the pilots at a safe house in Fort Washington. So far neither man would admit to anything. Both claimed they had flown straight to Charles de Gaulle and back. But the interrogation was just getting started. Right now, Duc would have each man in a separate room, asking polite questions, much like an after-action report. As the night wore on, the pilots would get hungry, thirsty, and tired. Then Duc would start turning the screws. They would find themselves locked inside their rooms for hours without access to toilets. They would not be allowed to call wives or girlfriends, and they had no idea when they’d be released. The mental stress of the situation was usually enough to loosen up even experienced field officers and if it didn’t, there were other ways to make a man talk.

  Meanwhile, Armstrong was meeting with Coughlin and Burke. She directed them to a pair of seats in front of her desk. The two officers couldn’t have been more different. Burke was powerfully built and black with gray around his temples and a gap between his teeth. His suit coat strained against his shoulders. Coughlin was tall and angular with frown lines in a pale face and carefully polished shoes. He could have passed for a Wall Street banker or a high-priced attorney. But looks weren’t the only thing that set them apart. Burke had come up through Special Forces in the United States Army and earned his stripes in the field. Coughlin’s only knowledge of field operations came from intel gathered after the fact.

  “What’s the latest?” Armstrong asked.

  Coughlin said, “We’ve got a possible on a stolen van that led French police on a high-speed chase. Right now believed to be in the vicinity of Vesoul. I want to reroute all aerial reconnaissance. Burke doesn’t seem to think that’s necessary.”

  “I sent one of our drones to check it out,” Burke said. “It’s not likely enough to warrant moving all of our eyes in the sky.”

  “Visual ID on Gunn?” Armstrong asked.

  Burke shook his head.

  Coughlin said, “Come on, Burke. It’s her and you know it.”

  “I’m trying to cover all of France with three drones,” Burke said. “It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack when the needle keeps moving. I’d like to know what’s going on with Grey and his team. Are they any closer to figuring out why Frank Bonner was shot?”

  “We’ve been over this,” Coughlin said.

  Burke said, “I keep asking myself what makes a good agent suddenly kill another officer and then go on the run. I think it’s time we bring Grey in and sit him down for some questions.”

  “Sure, and give Gunn more time to disappear,” Coughlin said.

  “Anything is better than chasing our tails,” said Burke. “We need to figure out what happed in Honfleur.”

  “We’ll know what happened as soon as we locate Samantha Gunn.”

  “Assuming they bring her in alive. Grey and Bonner were close. I don’t like the fact that he’s heading the ground team,” Burke said. “Suppose Sam gets killed before she can answer any questions. That would be very convenient.”

  “What the hell are you driving at, Burke? You think Grey is bent? Is that it?”

  “I think the whole situation smells bad.”

  “Grey’s been working for the Company twenty years,” Coughlin said.

  “Eighteen,” Burke corrected.

  “Close enough,” said Coughlin. “Samantha Gunn has been playing the game less than a year and she’s already got a black mark. We’re going to take her word over Grey’s?”

  Burke shook his head. “I didn’t say that. I’m trying to get a more complete picture. That’s all.”

  Coughlin looked to Armstrong. “Gunn killed one of my people in Paris. She’s on the run. She’s needs to be caught and Grey’s team is the closest. I told him to bring her in alive. He’ll do everything in his power to make that happen.”

  Jaqueline leaned forward, propped her elbows on the desk and formed a steeple with her fingers. “One way or another, we are going to get to the bottom of this. Coughlin, alert Grey that we have a possible in Vesoul.”

  “Already done,” Coughlin said.

  Armstrong nodded. “We’ll leave one drone on the Vesoul for now. I don’t want to reroute all of our air coverage for something that might turn out to be a false flag.”

  Coughlin started to protest.

  Jaqueline held up a hand. “I’ll see about routing another drone from southern Europe, but the skies over France are getting crowded. We can’t keep up this level of surveillance long without the French noticing. I need results, soon. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly,” Burke said.

  “Crystal,” Coughlin said.

  With that settled, Jaqueline decided to shake the tree and see what fell out. She said, “Are either of you familiar with the name Mateen Slevic?”

  They booth shook their heads.

  “He’s a French national,” Jaqueline told them. “He’s got ties to various organized crime groups around Europe and the Middle East.”

  Burke said, “Is he a part of this Le Milieu outfit Grey was collecting intel on?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” She turned her attention on Coughlin. “Did Grey happen to mention the name in any of his reports?”

  Coughlin’s eye twitched rapid-fire. He worked a smile onto his face. “Can’t say that he did.”

  Jaqueline nodded, took a breath, let it out slowly. “I’ll keep digging on my end. You two work on tracking down Sam Gunn. Burke, I want Coughlin to know as soon as we have anything concrete. Coughlin, I want Samantha Gunn alive. Understood?”

  Both men nodded and Armstrong dismissed them. When they had gone, Armstrong picked up the phone and dialed.

  Chapter Thirty

  Noble went back to the stairs and found the knife lying at the bottom of the steps. It was a spring-assisted Benchmade with a tanto blade and better than nothing at all, but there was a saying about bringing a knife to a gun fight. In short, it wasn’t the best idea. Noble gripped the weapon in a tight fist as he climbed the stairs, straining to hear any sounds of movement from overhead.

  He reached the top of the steps and found the warehouse empty. Duc’s messenger bag sat against the wall in the corner. Everything was there except Noble’s gun and the cell pho
ne. A quick look outside showed him Frack sitting behind the wheel of a four-door Nissan, bopping his head to music. As he watched, Frack glanced at his watch and frowned.

  Noble hurried across the dusty floor, wincing at the sound his feet made on the gritty concrete. He had to move fast if he was going to catch the thug off guard. If Frack got curious and decided to investigate, he would have his gun out and be ready for trouble. That would make Noble’s job twice as hard. Speed and surprise were his best weapons.

  He slung the messenger bag, reversed the knife in his grip and paused. Don’t let the enemy force you to move faster than you can think. He slipped out the side door, moving in back of the sedan. Frack had the windows up and generic Europop blasting from the speakers. The engine was idling and exhaust plumed from the tailpipe. The sky was spitting snow that melted before it could pile up.

  With the knife in his left hand, Noble stepped around the corner and walked briskly toward the driver’s side door. Frack saw movement in the mirror and bent forward for a better look. Noble reached for the handle as Frack fumbled for the lock. Noble was faster. He yanked open the door and jammed the butt of the knife into Frack’s neck, just below the ear. It forced Frack’s head to the side and stopped him from getting a look at the weapon.

  “One wrong move and I pull the trigger,” Noble told him.

  Frack’s whole body tensed. His hands hoovered over the steering wheel, fingers splayed out. His face pinched. “Okay, American, you win.”

  “Out of the car,” Noble ordered. He gripped Frack’s elbow with his free hand to stop him making any sudden moves. “Nice and easy.”

  Frack performed an ungainly sideways slither out of the driver’s seat. Noble kept the knife hilt pressed hard into his neck. Frack put his hands out to the side, to show he was no theat.

  “What happened to René?”

  “He’s taking a swim,” Noble told him. With his free hand, Noble frisked for a weapon and felt steel in the small of Frack’s back. He reached under the man’s coat and retrieved his missing Kimber Ultra Carry.