Noble Intentions: Season Four

by L. T. Ryan

  Charles walked down the hallway, glancing into empty cells as he passed. He ignored the one long term resident of the dungeon. A hold over from Feng's regime. The guy was to remain on one meal a day until he died. Eventually, Charles would have the guy killed and disposed of. But he couldn't do so until the final Feng loyalists had turned or were gone.

  He stopped in front of Esmeralda's cell. She lay on the floor, eyes open, fixated on the ceiling. He knocked against the glass. She didn't move. Her eyes remained motionless. Only her breasts heaved up and down with each slow breath.

  Charles opened the door and stepped into the room.

  "Hope you are enjoying your accommodations," he said.

  She did not respond.

  "It's temporary. You see, you're only bait until your big brother shows up. He screwed me over. Maybe he told you about it. If so, then you'll realize that the reason you are here is all his fault. He screwed you over too, I guess. Dumbass should have never went to your house. Now, I think we'd have found you regardless, but at least then you could blame me, and not him."

  She continued to stare at the ceiling without saying a word.

  "The hell happened to you back there? Left you all catatonic and shit?" He walked to the middle of the room and stopped. Stared down at the woman. "Makes me wonder if Paolo is even going to come for you. Shit, I might've done him a favor."

  He turned and walked back to the door. Looking back, he said, "Don't matter, though. Soon enough you won't be anybody's problem."

  Chapter 70

  Queens, New York.

  PAOLO STOPPED A mile away from the compound. Any closer, and he'd come across the first spotter. He felt a little uneasy. Given the circumstances, it was possible Charles added a few others on some of the major arteries leading in. They'd be looking for him.

  In general, Paolo knew what to look for. There had been a time when it had been his job to recruit and place the spotters. They were mostly kids, aged ten to sixteen. Feng never put anyone younger than seventeen out in the field to do real work. Charles allowed the rule to stick.

  It didn't matter if there were none out today. Getting into the compound was practically impossible. It was heavily guarded. Within two blocks, spotters gave way to armed guards. Some were in fixed positions, while others patrolled. They were certainly issued orders to kill Paolo on sight.

  If he managed to get past the external guards, gaining access to the main house would be next to impossible. Every door had a sentinel present. It took codes and cards to get the door opened. Then the eye test. Every single man in there knew Paolo. The number of them between him and Charles was insurmountable. He would never be lucky enough to hit every shot and avoid every bullet that came his way.

  So what then? Flee the city? Leave Essie to suffer in Charles's dungeon? He could never face his family again. They'd spit on him.

  There was the tunnel. And the question of whether it really existed.

  He'd heard tales of a tunnel that ran from the house and after a mile or so merged with a sewer drain that dumped out into an empty field. If it existed, it most likely connected with the lowest level of the house. As far as he knew, that was the dungeon. As one of the few with access, he'd spent some time down there.

  In all that time, he'd never come across a tunnel entrance. So it was hidden well if it really existed.

  Who would know?

  He racked his brain. Thought of every man who worked in the place, past and present. There were only a handful that ever went down to the cells. Of the ones remaining at the compound, none would ever help him. They were loyal to Charles. That's how they kept their access.

  Paolo shifted his focus to the members who had moved on to new posts. All he needed was someone who owed him a favor. Or who hated Charles enough to give up any information they might have.

  Only one person fit the description. Scott Hood. Sent to white-collar prison on trumped up charges. Speculation was that Charles had given the Feds what they needed to put Hood away.

  Paolo took another ten minutes to think it through. There was no one else. Hood was his only chance, other than a total suicide mission. Which wasn't a bad idea. Walk into the place, laden with explosives, and kill them all, himself and Essie included. Had to be some redeeming karma there, he thought.

  He turned the car around, drove to Brooklyn. Then he used his phone to look up the details of Hood's sentencing. Once he had the prison's number, he placed call to ask about visiting hours.

  "I can see if he's available to speak now," the guard said.

  Paolo waited a few minutes.

  "Who's this?" Hood asked.

  "An old friend," Paolo said.

  "Named?"

  "Paolo."

  "I only know one man named Paolo, and from what I hear, he's in deep shit."

  "Is that right?"

  "Deep enough that I don't think I want to talk to him."

  Paolo laughed. "Doesn't sound like the Scott Hood I knew."

  "Things change."

  "That they do. And I'm thinking it is time for a change in leadership."

  "This isn't the best place to have this conversation. Can you get here today?"

  "Yes." Paolo ended the call and planned his route to the prison.

  Chapter 71

  South Africa.

  JACK LISTENED WHILE Brett recounted his story for the third time. The details never changed. Not from his meeting with Joe Ballard, to the information he found in Jack's files, to the man's time on Tenerife. He believed Brett. The guy hadn't pulled the trigger when he had the chance. Even before Jack mentioned Reese McSweeney. Brett could have done it. He didn't.

  The guy knew the reasoning behind the hit was bullshit.

  "Are you buying all this, Jack?" Mason asked.

  "Not sure what you mean," Jack said.

  "He would have killed you if we hadn't shown up."

  "I think the fact that he hadn't yet proves that he wouldn't have. I think he's been agonizing over this since he received the orders."

  "And why would that be?" Mason said.

  All eyes turned toward Brett. He glanced away, took a deep breath.

  "See," Mason said. "You were good as dead, and now you're going to let this guy go and he'll come back and make you pay for it."

  "I wasn't going to kill him," Brett said. "Jack's right. I've been fighting it since I got the assignment. I owe him greater than I owe anyone. He saved my life. My sister's life. He believed in me when there were multiple contracts out on my head."

  "Then how come we found you moments away from killing him?" Mason said.

  "Training is hard to overcome, I suppose."

  Jack laughed. He turned and stared up at the darkened sky. When they'd found the clearing off the road, the sun had been out. Now only faint traces of light remained.

  "Who's next on your list?" Jack asked.

  "I'm to terminate your closest associates."

  "Bear?"

  "Yeah."

  "Clarissa?"

  "She was in the file."

  "Who else?"

  "The Frenchman you worked with over the years."

  "Pierre."

  "That's the one."

  Jack hesitated, then said, "My family?"

  Brett shook his head. "Families, unless present at the time of the hit, are to be left out."

  "So why is Erin dead? And who killed her?"

  "I'm wondering the same. Really, I am. Double booking this job is not a mistake they would make. Someone did this deliberately, and it makes me wonder why. What's the point? They know my track record. If I failed, so be it, but at least wait until that point. Right?"

  Jack nodded.

  Brett continued. "It's almost like they wanted to lure both of us into a trap."

  "How many jobs had you performed for this op?"

  Brett shrugged and glanced at Mason and Sasha. "You know I can't say."

  "Fair enough. We'll say it's a few then. The fact is, this is a black op cleansing, and t
o complete it, they are pulling off one of the biggest black ops ever."

  "By my estimation, yes."

  "Well, only makes sense they'll have to tie up a lot of loose ends, including the assassins."

  "That's the thought I've been fending off for the past day or so." Brett walked past Jack, stopped, placed his hands on the back of his head. "Maybe we should both disappear."

  "What names can you give us?" Jack said.

  "Other than Ballard? None."

  "So we need to get to him."

  "We?" Brett laughed. "Hate to break it to you, but you aren't getting anywhere near the U.S. anytime soon."

  "Correction. Jack Noble isn't, but that won't stop me. In fact, I think the best thing for everyone is if Jack Noble is dead. Wouldn't you agree?"

  "What are you talking about?" Sasha said.

  "You want me to call it in?" Brett said. "A confirmed kill?"

  Jack nodded.

  "And what happens when they discover that you're still alive? Wait, I'll tell you. They'll have twenty spooks so far up my ass I'll have to shoot myself in the gut to hit them."

  "By the time they find out, they'll all be dead."

  "How will you get back?"

  Jack looked at Sasha.

  "It's not that easy," she said. "Out of London, sure, I can get you across borders with few knowing. But from here, it's not going to happen. Even trying to get you into London is going to be next to impossible. The cameras. Facial recognition technology. They'll have you figured out in an instant. That's a big risk, Jack. For both of us."

  He hadn't considered Sasha balking at helping. She had a lot to risk. She probably would get a severe reprimand for coming all this way and dragging Mason along with her. While he was disappointed, he couldn't fault her for drawing a line.

  Sasha continued. "We can find some way to support you here. Maybe find an asset to take you in for a while as things blow over. Perhaps in time I can arrange for you to come to England on asylum. You know, once the facts are known."

  "They'll never be known," Brett said. "Not something like this. It goes too high."

  "How high?" Jack asked.

  Brett said nothing. An answer that revealed more than words could.

  "And I appreciate the offer," Jack said. "But I can't live under those terms. Someone will find out. They always do. And once that happens, I'll be fighting for my life again. And it will put you at risk. Plus, I've got to find Mia. And to do that, I have to face these people back in the States. Someone there knows. And I'll question and kill every last one of them until I find her." He paused and looked at Brett. "Even if I have to go to the top."

  They spent some time solidifying stories and plans. Sasha and Mason agreed that they were working jointly in an effort to track a suspected terrorist. They had information and wanted to act on it at once. Both felt their positions within MI5 and MI6 gave them the authority to take the actions they had without requiring additional authorization. She assured Mason that her analysts would back her.

  If that failed, they would reveal a distorted version of the truth. One where they left in an attempt to help her friend who ended up murdered.

  She also promised Jack that she would do everything she could to locate Mia, including sending a team to Tenerife to work with law enforcement there.

  "Can I talk with you alone?" she asked Jack.

  He nodded and led her north into the woods. They walked for five minutes in silence.

  "I'm so sorry about Erin," Sasha said. "I know how much she meant to you. When I saw that they'd tagged her, I did everything in my power to get there. We would have been there hours earlier. Probably in time to save her."

  "You don't have to do this," he said. "I don't blame you. Like everything else, this comes back to me. It's my actions, the life I've led, that caused this."

  "Don't say that. You've done so much for your country. For this world."

  "And I've done a lot for money. It motivated me a lot more than doing the right thing. At least, it did for a number of years. Now, I'm not sure which was worse. Fighting for a figure head, or the almighty dollar."

  "The world needs people like you and me. Don't you ever forget that."

  Jack saw Sasha return his smile in the moonlight. For a moment he considered kissing her. He'd denied any chemistry between them. But at times it was there.

  Perhaps sensing his thoughts, Sasha said, "We should get back. Don't want them thinking we've wandered off."

  He nodded his agreement.

  "One thing," she said.

  "Yeah?"

  "How do you do it, Jack?"

  "What?"

  "Talk about Erin like her death was ages ago and you've had time to get over it?"

  "After all these years I've learn to compartmentalize every aspect of my life. Don't see how else I could get through each day."

  They headed back toward Mason and Brett. Jack hoped the two men hadn't killed one another while he was gone.

  "Is her body going home?" Jack asked.

  "Yes. Once it has been processed, it'll be shipped back to London."

  "She doesn't have any family. I'm not sure if there's anything legal, but do what you can to hold the body until Mia is found."

  A few minutes later they reached the clearing and found the two men standing by the car. The only thing left to be determined was how Jack would get home. It seemed traveling by air was out. That left one option.

  Boat.

  "I've contacted a friend," Brett said. "It is going to take him three days to get here. He has a vessel that can cross the Atlantic. On board will be a Zodiac. You'll have to take that in the last five miles or so. It won't be easy, even on a clear day. And he won't wait for perfect weather, either."

  Jack had trained with the Small Boat Teams for a spell early in his military career. It had been years since he'd used the training. He hoped it'd come back to him if needed.

  The four of them piled into the small rental and drove southwest to Cape Town. They hardly spoke. Wasn't much to say. After dropping Brett off near the airport, they continued north seventy miles to Saldanha. It was there that Jack was to rendezvous with Brett's contact, a former merchant marine who'd retired off the coast of Africa a few years back. Apparently, they'd been foster brothers at one time.

  Part of him wished Sasha would remain with him there. At the same time, he was glad she was heading back to London. Jack knew they'd never work.

  They hugged their goodbyes with Mason sitting behind the wheel of the rental. She pulled a phone out of her bag and handed it to Jack.

  "It's one of my personal phones. Completely secure. I can't even track you on it." She held up another phone. "You can reach me on this line. It's in the contact list as Phone One. Call me when your ride gets here, and then let me know when you get back to the States."

  With that, she got inside the car and her and Mason drove off. Jack watched until the taillights were out of sight. Then he turned toward the ocean. Letting go was the hardest thing. Everyone who knew him faced danger. And he couldn't protect them all. He also had to trust. Trust that Brett would stick to the plan. Trust that Sasha would continue to work the police in Tenerife and come up with a lead on Mia.

  The thought of his daughter caused a knot to tie his stomach in two. The one aspect of the situation he'd filed away, compartmentalized the most, was his daughter. In his line of work, people taken didn't live long if there was no clear reason for them to be held hostage. If someone held her because of him, then once word leaked that Jack was dead, she would serve little purpose to her captors.

  Unless they knew Jack's history well enough. Then they might've traced her lineage and discovered a very sizeable trust fund in her name. Dottie never had children of her own, so Erin was like a daughter, and Mia her granddaughter. Dottie's estranged husband, Thornton Walloway, never removed the provisions in their will for his fortune to fall to Erin and Mia.

  Perhaps the other team wasn't after Jack after all. They used it as c
over. The whole time, their purpose had been to take Erin and Mia in hopes of taking a bit of their fortune.

  It made enough sense that Jack hoped it was true.

  Chapter 72

  Anderson Federal Minimum Security Prison.

  SCOTT HOOD WAITED alone in the room. There were at least a dozen tables in there. Sunday visiting hours weren't very popular, Paolo thought as he was escorted through the security door. He and the guard stopped a couple feet inside. Hood nodded at Paolo, winked at the guard. Paolo felt a nudge against his lower back. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see the guard slip into the hall. The door shut with a heavy thud. A solid reminder the place was still a prison.

  Hood's interaction with the guard, however slight, left Paolo uneasy. Had he winked because the guard had helped arrange the empty room? Why would he? A setup, perhaps? Hood could have contacted Charles immediately following Paolo's call. The motive was simple. He knew the boss had his balls in a vice, and now he wanted back on his good side. What better way than serving up Charles's enemy of the moment to the guy?

  "It's good to see you," Paolo said, remaining on the spot where the guard had left him.

  "You too," Hood said. "We can skip the formalities, though. Nothing happens for me in here. And I really don't care what you've been up to. I assume you did something pretty bad in order to turn to me for help."

  Paolo nodded as he recalled surviving the attempt on his life. He smiled as he thought of killing Milano and Endrizzi.

  "I heard something about two caps being found upstate."

  Paolo nodded again.

  "OK, that's all I needed to know. Never cared for those stupid fucks either." Hood rose and paced to the back of the room. He leaned against the wall, lit a cigarette, then locked eyes with Paolo. "Frankly, I didn't like you either."