Noble Intentions: Season Four

by L. T. Ryan

  Spoken like a true Fed.

  One of them had to be the Fed Charles saw outside at the park. Maybe the others had been there, too. Christ, what if there had been four? Had they followed Harris after the meeting? The detective would roll over on Charles faster than a cheap hooker. Shit, he thought, what if one of them standing there now was Harris?

  Charles's office had no other way out. Only option was through the door now blocked by the three men. Past that point, there was a second means of egress. When he leased the place, he figured that the worst-case scenario he'd face would be someone out in the main hallway. The security measures he had put in place should've prevented the men from reaching his office door. Someone had screwed up and left the main entrance unlocked.

  Or the guys had a warrant and building management had let them in.

  "Come on, DeCosta," the guy said. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be."

  Charles slid the monitor on his desk to the far right, leaving him with a clear view of the door, then he sat down. Reaching underneath the desk, he pushed wires out of the way and then pressed a button. The door unlocked. The three men could enter, but on Charles's terms. And at a distance.

  "It's open."

  The door cracked an inch. A thickening bar of light flooded across the floor, washed over his desk. One man moved forward and stepped into the office. The other two men hung behind. At first glance, Charles recognized none of them as the guy he had spotted in the park.

  "Who the fuck're you?" Charles kept the pistol underneath the desktop, aimed at the lead man. A single shot would all but amputate the guy's leg at the knee.

  The man stepped forward until the remaining natural light washed over him. Close cropped gray hair framed a slender, chiseled face. He had the frame to match. The pockets of his dark cargo pants looked empty. He held nothing in his hands. Nothing bulged from his shirt. Either his pistol was tucked behind his back, or he trusted the other two men with his life.

  Charles shifted his focus from the older man to the two guys flanking him. Carbon copies, only younger. The men didn't look like Feds. No, they were mercenaries.

  Charles repeated his question.

  "May I sit down?" the man said.

  "Only after you tell me who you are."

  "Name's Merrick."

  "Means nothing to me."

  "That's a good thing, Mr. DeCosta. Believe me, it is." The man exuded confidence in a quiet way. Reminded Charles of the older guys who were staples in Feng's organization during Charles's early years.

  "It's Mister now, is it?" Charles lifted his left hand abruptly, testing the three guys. The men didn't flinch. Charles continued. "And who are you with, Mr. Merrick?"

  "Me? I'm not with who I used to be anymore. I'm sort of a nobody to most. A somebody to many others. Some think I'm retired. Others assume I work for the highest bidder. It is true that I retired for a while, but sitting around didn't suit me. So, I'm dabbling again."

  "What the hell are you talking about?" Charles shifted in his seat.

  "Is it all right if I sit down now?"

  "Send them outta the office."

  Merrick turned, spoke softly to the two younger men. They nodded and then disappeared. A few moments later, the outer door opened and fell shut.

  "Happy?" Merrick asked.

  Charles nodded and gestured toward an empty chair opposite him. Nothing above or below the desk obstructed the path from his pistol to the seat Merrick sat down in.

  "Sorry about the theatrics," Merrick said. "Earlier during the day in the park, and now. We had to make sure it was you we were dealing with. Can't make mistakes in matters like these."

  Matters like these, indeed.

  Charles batted the possibilities around. What would a man like Merrick come to see him for? Were the Feds preparing to move on him? Was this a shake-down? How long would the two of them have to dance around the subject to get to the heart of it?

  "It's no problem," Charles said. "Spotted your guy down in the park while meeting with an associate of mine."

  "You associate with corrupt detectives often?"

  "That guy's corrupt? Perhaps I should reach out to the Chief and let him know." Charles reached for his desk phone. "I got his number on my speed dial."

  Merrick smiled as he placed his forearm on the desk and leaned forward. "We both know that's not necessary."

  "Look, this is fun and all, but I'm late for a meeting. So why don't you get to the point?"

  "Fair enough, Mr. DeCosta. Let's talk about a couple bodies that someone tried to make a barbecue out of upstate."

  Charles shook his head. "Man, it seems every week we hear something like this, doesn't it? Friggin' shame what the world's coming to."

  "Don't fuck with me."

  "Don't you fuck with me."

  "On your orders, those men traveled with a third guy. The way I see it, you are the one ultimately responsible for their deaths. The state police are managing not to screw things up too bad. Once it is determined that the guys are career criminals, that path is going to lead right to you. Probably get turned over to the Feds. Right now, you've got a corrupt policeman willing to cover you on this. I can make him irrelevant. In fact, I can make the situation go away completely."

  Charles leaned back, allowing the Glock to surface for the first time. Merrick didn't react to its presence. Charles didn't bother to question why.

  "What's your angle, Merrick?"

  "I need your help, Mr. DeCosta."

  "With?"

  "Jack Noble."

  Charles traced the scar on his cheek. "What about him?"

  "Without going into too much detail, I need him dead. My research indicates you wouldn't mind it if he died. Problem is, his death can't appear to be an assassination by me or my team. Nor can I allow you to simply have him killed. If it came back that I allowed that, I'd never see light of day again. It has to look like he was involved with something he shouldn't have been."

  Charles said nothing.

  "The third man, he killed the other two and got away, right?"

  Charles leaned back and wrapped his free hand around the base of his skull, scratching at the short hair there. "Son of a bitch. All of them."

  "This guy could cause problems for you, couldn't he?"

  Charles dipped his head, said nothing.

  "What's his name and cell phone number, if you have it?"

  What was this guy's angle? He'd talked a good game so far, but did he really have anything on Charles? Outside of knowing his name, the situation up north, and Detective Harris's corrupt nature, Charles knew nothing about the man. He studied him for a moment, then said, "Why?"

  "I'm trying to help you. You only prevent me from doing so by asking questions."

  "You gotta understand," Charles said, "I don't know you from Adam. For all I know, you could be bullshitting me right here. Trying to set me up."

  "I don't need to set you up, DeCosta. You've already screwed yourself. If you don't want to help me, so be it. But believe me, I'll be placing a call to another department that has a unit stationed not four blocks from here. You'll be detained before you know it, and these people don't know the meaning of bail."

  "Trumped up charges. Won't keep me for long."

  Merrick smiled as he leaned closer. "You really want to take that chance?"

  Charles didn't. He said, "Paolo Almeida," then pulled out his cell phone and read off Paolo's number.

  Merrick nodded and placed a call. He repeated Paolo's name and number, followed by a few minutes and several yes and no responses. Finally, he lowered the phone and smiled at Charles.

  "Last known position one mile outside Ithaca, New York, this morning around five a.m. Signal goes dead there, but research uncovered that he co-owns a house inside Ithaca city limits with a woman named Esmeralda. Also an Almeida. I'd say odds are that's where your guy is right now."

  Charles considered kicking Merrick out of his office and calling his Buffalo team. According to th
e map in his head, he could dispatch them to handle Paolo and anyone around the guy within an hour. But Merrick had proved himself useful so far, and Charles couldn't help but wonder what other information the guy might have.

  "I know what you're thinking," Merrick said. "But in the time it takes you to get to your car, we can have someone halfway there. And if you try to screw me, we'll take your guy in and get him to testify against you."

  Charles rose, arm extended, pistol aimed at Merrick's head. Rage had gotten the better of him.

  "Who the hell do you think you are bursting into my place of business like this and threatening me? Huh?"

  Merrick smiled, said nothing. The guy seemed unfazed by the prospect of being shot in the head.

  Charles glanced down at the man's lap where an illuminated cell phone screen counted the seconds the call had been connected.

  "Shit."

  "That's right," Merrick said. "You shoot me, you're done. So, why don't you sit down and hear me out? I have a proposal that'll benefit both of us."

  Charles took a deep breath. He looked back, out the window, at the darkened treetops, covering the park below.

  "OK."

  After Charles had seated, Merrick continued. "We know where Noble is."

  "Back in the city?"

  "Yes."

  Charles shook his head, said nothing.

  "And we've got someone monitoring his building right now. You are going to present him with an offer to handle this Paolo situation for you. Tell him you'll pay a quarter million, whatever, it doesn't matter. Use a number you think'll motivate him."

  "Money won't do anything for the guy. I can tell you that."

  "I can work on that, then. We'll come up with something for blackmail as a last resort."

  "OK, so then what?"

  "We'll handle it from there."

  "Meaning?"

  "Your problem and my problem will both be resolved."

  "I don't get it," Charles said. "Why not just do him here if you know where he is?"

  Merrick nodded. "I know it makes no sense. Thing is, I need him positively identified, and to be caught in an illegal or dangerous act. I've handled the ID. But as of now, all he's doing is going to museums and eating out. One might think he's a boy scout, or something."

  "You're a spook," Charles said.

  Merrick said nothing.

  "You kill for the government."

  Merrick still said nothing.

  Charles thought it over for a few seconds. "You know, he's got a lot of connections. The kind of people who might know you're planning something. What're you gonna do when he finds out?"

  "When? You mean if. No one is reaching out to him right now. The moment we had the positive ID on Noble, we blocked most traffic into his cell phone. I'm sure someone's found out. But they'll never reach him. And no one cares enough to seek him out past a phone call."

  Charles rubbed the short stubble on his chin and jawline. The operation sounded plausible. And even though Noble wasn't much of a problem these days, having him out of the way entirely wouldn't be a bad thing. The Old Man made a mistake by keeping Jack around long past the guy's expiration date. Charles didn't want to suffer the same fate as Feng.

  Merrick lifted the cell phone to his ear again. A few seconds passed, then, he said, "Really? That sounds incredibly fortunate for us. Get a guy en route to London now. I want someone on that plane."

  "What is it?" Charles asked in response to Merrick's grin.

  "Did you know there's a young Noble running around?"

  Charles searched his memory. Found nothing. Shrugged in response.

  "Seems that she and her mother are embarking on a journey from London to Tenerife tomorrow, and it just so happens I'll have someone following them." He placed both hands behind his head and leaned back in the chair. "There's your bait, Mr. DeCosta."

  Before he left, Merrick provided three ways for Charles to reach him. Cell phone, secure messaging through a terminal program, and a secure email address. Charles doubted any of them would be viable forty-eight hours from now.

  "So help me," Charles said as his office door fell shut. "This guy screws me, he's dead. He's got no idea who he's messing with." He spun in his chair and stared down at the park. A minute later, Merrick and the two younger men cut across the street, past the fountain, and disappeared under the protection of the dark leafy canopy.

  Charles turned away and went to the washroom. Ice-cold water ran over his cupped hands. He splashed some on his face, momentarily easing the tension. As the water dripped off his chin and jaw, he grabbed a towel and dried his face off, dabbing at his eyes so as not to dislodge a contact lens. He stared at the scar that ran the length of his cheek. He thought about the man who'd given it to him.

  Jack Noble.

  Charles didn't need some Fed to threaten him into taking the job. Hell, he'd handle it himself if it meant Noble's death.

  Chapter 19

  Washington, D.C.

  CLARISSA AND BECK returned to D.C. late in the afternoon after chasing down a few false leads. On the way back, Beck received a call from FBI Special Agent Howell, a man he'd worked with on eight previous cases. Howell and his partner Shelton had been investigating the organization long before Charles DeCosta headed it up. They were committed to taking it down, and therefore, willing to offer any and all resources at their disposal to Beck.

  They agreed to meet that evening at Beck's office in D.C.

  Before they arrived, Beck warned her about not getting too close, or giving up too much information. "No matter how closely we work with another agency or entity, they always have their own agenda to fill. Remember that. They'll be your friend, until they no longer have to be."

  The FBI agents were twenty minutes late. Clarissa had nearly dozed off when security knocked on Beck's open office door.

  The first man to enter introduced himself as Howell. He was physically imposing. A tall, broad, black man. She rose to introduce herself and found him almost a head taller than her five-nine frame.

  Shelton had been made in the image Clarissa had of FBI agents. Slightly taller than average, brown hair, cut short and parted straight on the side. The all-American boy turned hero.

  She immediately distrusted him. Had seen too many guys like him come through the places she had worked. Beneath their perfect exterior lay an asshole in wait.

  Beck introduced everyone and they were all seated.

  Howell didn't waste time with small talk. "Got a guy we think you might want to check up on. Name of Scott Hood. He's been in Anderson for a couple years now. Charles DeCosta turned on him in order to save his own ass."

  "Anderson?" Beck said as he drummed his pencil on the edge of the desk. "That's white collar Fed, right?"

  Shelton said, "Yeah. If what we have is correct, he was involved in some laundering, tax schemes, and one of the guys running the counterfeit operation."

  "Maybe you'll get something out of him," Howell said.

  "Why are you telling us?" Clarissa said. "Why not question him yourself?"

  Howell glanced at Beck, who lifted an eyebrow and nodded. Then he shifted in his chair and turned toward Clarissa. "He wouldn't speak to us. Maybe because he hates the FBI. But the most likely reason was that we couldn't offer him anything."

  "And we can?" she glanced at Beck.

  He nodded.

  Howell said, "Hood's in extended summer camp for a long time, Agent Abbot. I'm talking almost two more decades."

  "If he has the right kind of information," Beck said, "we might be able to reduce some of that time."

  Howell held up his hands, and, laughing, said, "Hey, I didn't hear that."

  Beck's smile looked as though it was a courtesy to the other man.

  "Well, I guess we should get going." Howell wrapped his hands around the chair's arms and pushed himself up. "I'll email over everything we have on the guy, so you two can prepare."

  "Send it over tonight," Beck said.

  Howell an
d Shelton saw themselves out. Clarissa remained behind. She waited until she heard the elevator announcing it had reached the floor.

  "When should we go?"

  "I'll have to get it authorized, and I want to review the information. So, I'm thinking Sunday."

  "Sounds good. Forward whatever they send you to me. OK?"

  He nodded as she rose. She stepped into the hallway.

  "Oh, Clarissa," he called out. "I almost forgot. I'm going to pick you up at seven tomorrow night."

  "Seven? For what?"

  "The past twenty four or so hours have been so hectic with you reviewing the DeCosta files, and us going to New York, and this meeting we just had. I wanted to take you out to celebrate your making it through training."

  She said nothing.

  "I hope that's OK?"

  She smiled, slightly. "Sure, it's fine. I'll see you at seven tomorrow."

  Chapter 20

  London, England.

  SASHA WOKE WITH her face on her laptop's palm rest. Her right fist wrapped around her cell phone. It took all of five seconds for the fog of sleep to clear. She sat up, then tapped the menu button on her Samsung. But the screen didn't come to life.

  "Damn," she muttered, searching for the charger cord. She located it. The phone still wouldn't power on. It'd take a few minutes. She diverted her attention to the computer. Fortunately, it had gone to sleep along with her and still had a half-charge on the battery.

  She'd spent most of the night following up on leads. Most led to dead ends. Jack Noble had been a ghost for most of the past month. That didn't stop someone from checking on him, though. Did he know? Was it because he was getting back in the game? Or was someone after him?

  She opened up the same alert program she had used in her office the day before. Overnight, while she had slept, there'd been another hit on Jack's file. This was no coincidence. Something was about to happen, and he was going to find himself in the middle of it.

  A red LED burned millimeters above the Samsung's large screen. She grabbed the phone off the nightstand. As she tried to power it on, it slipped from her hands, slapping the hardwood floor. Sasha cursed again, holding her breath as she reached for the phone. Wouldn't be the first time she ruined a phone dropping it. Most cases were too bulky for her since she preferred to keep her cell in her pocket and not in a purse. In fact, rarely did she carry a bag other than the one for her laptop. Fortunately, the screen was intact, and the phone powered on. She tapped the appropriate icon, and the cell dialed the last number she had called.