by L. T. Ryan
"Get out and on your knees," Jack said. "Hands where I can see them."
"Jack, what the hell?"
"Don't even try, Frank. I know what you did."
"I saved your damn life. More times than you know."
"Shut up. Get out of the car. On your knees, ankles crossed, hands behind your head."
Frank stumbled out of the car. His face hit the dirt. Blood mixed with it and formed dark clumps.
Jack kept his distance. Never let up on his aim. The road behind was rural, but that didn't mean deserted. He had to remain vigilant. If Frank had expected this, there'd be a team close by.
"Listen to me," Frank said as he righted himself, arms out wide.
"No, listen to me. I saw you on the footage at the Excelsior. I saw you with Monaco and Mia. How long have you been involved in this?"
"I was trying to make sure she wasn't harmed, Jack."
"By leaving her in a box inside a building with no air conditioning? Sending Monaco back there alone? You sold me out, you son of a bitch. Did it start after you shipped me off to South Africa to die, or was it before?"
"Dammit, no, Jack. I sent you to South Africa to protect you."
"Then how come I woke up practically naked in the ghetto. Five minutes after I stepped outside, a gunman was on my ass."
"That wasn't me. Yes, I ordered you to be sedated, because I knew you wouldn't go along with it otherwise." Frank leaned his head back, coughed, spat blood to the side. "I had a guy there. He met the team. But he'd been turned. I don't know how, but he had."
"He didn't kill me, so who turned him?"
"Merrick, best I can tell."
"You mean Monaco."
"No." Frank wiped blood from his upper lip with his sleeve. "I mean Merrick."
"They're the same, aren't they?"
"What?"
Jack resisted the urge to kick Frank. "What are you saying?"
"They were cousins. Damn near looked like one another too."
"You know what? It doesn't matter. Monaco's dead, and if this Merrick guy shows up, he'll suffer the same fate."
"He's not showing up. He's dead too. We buried him in South Carolina."
Jack recalled the shovels. The dried dirt. Had been there at least a week. Frank had been involved longer than a few days. Could have been since the beginning.
"This makes no sense. Why, Frank? Who the hell have you been working for?"
"They had me by the balls. They'd killed my entire team. All active agents. The SIS was no more. They figured I might have some dirt, something they could use. So instead of killing me, Monaco held me. I knew about Mia, so I told them. I thought… I thought you were dead. We'd just found out they'd caught up with you in South Africa. I swear, I thought you'd be safe there. It was Merrick. They'd managed to turn one of my last remaining guys." Shaking his head, Frank closed his eyes. "And they already had Mia. Didn't take long to come up with the rest."
"I met with the guy in Manhattan. Why didn't he kill me then?"
The blank look on Frank's face told Jack he had no answer.
"And Mia," Jack said. "You were gonna let her die."
"No, I promise, I wasn't."
"How'd you end up with this new job?"
"Part of the deal. I'd get a small cut of the money, with the rest held in an account to be released five years from now. In the meantime, I'd run the SOG, and do whatever Monaco wanted."
"So he controlled you."
Frank lowered his head, and sounded defeated when he said, "Yeah."
"For how long?"
Frank looked up. "Years, Jack. Years. Monaco was involved in starting up the SIS."
"Tell me again how you were going to keep Mia alive?"
Frank said nothing.
"You want to see it coming?"
Frank looked up. He spat again, this time at Jack's feet. Blood pattered his shoes. "You're gonna have to look me in the eyes, Jack."
"That's not a problem."
He stepped forward, leveled the gun at Frank's head. Jack didn't have a problem staring into a dead man's eyes. But Frank couldn't take it. He closed his, apparently resolved to the fact this was the end.
Jack threaded his finger through the trigger guard. Silently he counted down from five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
"Jack?"
He couldn't pull the trigger. Not in front of Mia. She'd already seen her mother murdered. Jack had avenged that death. But that had nothing to do with Frank. Even if it had, he couldn't expose the child to another murder.
"Get back in the car," Jack called out.
"Please don't shoot him," she said.
Frank opened his eyes. Jack wasn't sure if the tears that stained the guy's cheeks were from his injuries or a belief that he might live.
"Mia, I said get back in the car."
The little girl cried.
Jack took a step back, lowered the pistol. "This isn't over, Frank."
But it was. He knew it. So did Frank. Getting close enough to the man to pull off a hit would be next to impossible.
"I won't forget this," Frank called out.
Whether that was a good or bad thing, only time would tell.
TWO HOURS LATER they waited in a mall parking lot in Hagerstown, Maryland. Jack figured it put them far enough away from D.C. for the moment. Sasha arrived in a rental car. She ran up to Jack and wrapped her arms around him. Her tears felt cold against his cheeks.
She stepped back, wiping the tears from her eyes, careful not to smear her eyeliner.
"So this is over?" she asked. "You'll come back to London and let me protect you two for a while?"
Jack looked away as he took a deep breath. "This isn't over yet. Not for me."
"Jack, you can't take on Frank now. It'll be a death sentence. Not even I will be able to protect you if you do that."
"I'm done with Frank. He'll get his in time. Maybe by my hand. Most likely by some CIA spook."
"So what is it you need to do?"
"Let's start with what you're here for. I need you to take Mia. You're going to go west on the interstate, then pick up I-81. Go south until you reach Lexington, Virginia. Find a hotel room there."
"OK, but don't you think it'd be better for me to take her back to London?"
"If you don't hear from me in forty eight hours, then yes, take her home. Raise her as your daughter and make sure she has the life she deserves."
Sasha stepped forward, lowered her voice. "Where are you going?"
"To visit an old friend in New York."
Chapter 95
New York City.
NO ONE HAD a clue what was about to happen. Not Charles DeCosta. Not his men at the Queens compound. Not the thousands of civilians wandering the streets.
Not even the NYPD.
They were going to be the last to know. As soon as the signal to begin was sent, local law enforcement would be notified.
Clarissa and Beck sat in a windowless black van, monitoring a dozen feeds and conversations. The final three teams were getting into position in Queens. Once they were in place, she and Beck would organize their team and begin their ascent up the building.
How would she react when she saw the man who had brought her so much physical pain and mental anguish? Arguably, her life would be much different if she hadn't crossed paths with Charles DeCosta. Could she stop there, though? Wouldn't her life be different if she had never become involved with Jack Noble?
"Excuse me for a moment," she said as she opened her van door.
"Clarissa, we're about to go," Beck said.
"Just a minute." She slammed the door and headed to the rear corner of the park, where she'd be out of sight. Not that Charles would recognize her now.
"Get it together," she muttered. She wasn't the same woman she was then. She'd grown tougher, stronger, better at taking care of herself. Clarissa had prided herself on her resilience and self-sufficiency. Now, after training and
working with Sinclair and Beck, she'd taken it to another level.
He's not prepared for me anymore.
She leaned back against a tree and closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. A feeling passed through her. One of knowing and longing and finding all in the same emotion. Each exhalation settled her. She felt calm and under control.
Clarissa made her way back to the van and got inside.
"Good to go?" Beck asked.
She nodded. "Good to go."
"All right," he said, readying his MP7. "It's almost time."
Chapter 96
New York City.
IT HADN'T BEEN easy leaving Mia. Again. But it would have been a mistake to bring her to the city. He couldn't even visit his apartment. Risks were too great. Frank was a vindictive bastard, and chances were, he had someone positioned close by watching in case Jack was stupid enough to try it.
The apartment held nothing he wanted anyway. Things would die down in a few months. Maybe a year. Then he could return, if he wanted to. The place was paid for.
He stood in Washington Square Park, surrounded by enough foliage to hide him as he stared up at the building. It was late morning, and the sun hovered almost directly overhead. He'd learned of Charles's office a few months ago. Now it was time to pay the guy a visit.
Charles had threatened Erin and Mia's lives, after all, and led Jack right into a set up. There was a price to pay for his transgressions.
Dressed in loose cargo pants, a t-shirt and lightweight button-up shirt, Jack was armed with two pistols - one front and one back - and a knife strapped to his lower leg. He hoped he didn't have to use the blade. Last resorts were never a good thing.
He exited the park on the opposite end from the building, went one block deep, then cut back around counter clockwise. The trip left the entrance of the building out of sight for more than five minutes. If Charles left, there was no way to know. Jack was flying solo on this one.
The building's lobby was cool, quiet, empty. No one sat behind the front desk. Nobody at the front door. Jack glanced at the building's directory. Ignored it. He didn't need it.
He entered the elevator and hit the second to the last button. One floor below Charles's office. Jack found the stairwell, and hiked up to the next floor. The elevator lobby was visible from the stairwell. Again, no one there. He'd expected to encounter a situation similar to the Queens compound. Armed guards positioned everywhere. Couldn't do that here, though. The building was legit. Charles had to appear like a legit business, even if everyone knew he wasn't.
So that meant Jack would face resistance inside the office.
He drew his front pistol as he neared the frosted-pane double doors. A plaque next to them read CDC, Inc. It was the right place.
Jack tested the door. It was unlocked and opened outward. He pulled it open a crack and looked in. The room was empty. Had to be a camera or two, though he couldn't spot them. He pulled the door open, drew his second pistol and entered, following the logical path laid out before him. It led him around the corner.
That's when he saw them.
Three people. One receptionist. Two guards.
He disregarded the receptionist. Worst she could do was hit an alarm. Jack aimed at the men. Smiled.
They both held their hands out.
One said, "Don't hit that button, Jenny."
She held up her hands.
The guy said, "Jack, you mind if she leaves?"
Jack knew the guy by his street name. Marbles. Had a penchant for going crazy when shit went down. The other guy was Clint. Jack knew both. And they knew him well enough to not try anything.
Charles wasn't worth it.
Jack said, "Is he in there?"
Both men nodded.
"Then I'd prefer it if all of you leave."
"Roger that," Marbles said. "Jenny, get your purse. We outta here." Then he handed Jack a card and gestured toward a magnetic reader. "You'll need this to get in there."
Hired men weren't any better or worse than those in your organization. But when it came time for them to lay their lives on the line, they'd bolt a lot faster. Charles had made a major mistake. Jack could only surmise that the guy felt safer with mercenaries than his own guys around.
Jack didn't wait for the outer door to close before entering Charles's office. He waved the card in front of the reader and heard the lock disengage. The door swung open with a nudge. A flood of light coming from the massive window washed over the floor. The peripheral was dim.
Charles stood with his back to the door, staring out over the park.
"The hell do you want?" he said, presumably thinking one of his henchman had entered.
"I want to know why you sold me out," Jack said.
Charles straightened up. Kept his hands in his pockets. Didn't look back.
"I suppose you don't have to tell me," Jack said. "Either way, you're dead."
"I could say I didn't have much choice, which is true. But even if they hadn't tightened the screws, I'd have done it anyway. Hell, I offered to do it myself, but they wanted it to go down a certain way, so, you know, whatever."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why'd they want it to go down a certain way?"
Charles turned, had a half-smile on his face, and met Jack's stare. "The hell do I know? You know how those government assholes are. You were one of them. Still are one in spite of being a hired gun. Whatever reason, you pissed someone off. They wanted you dead. But it had to look like something between two criminals. That's why they involved me. You know, thinking about it, they probably wanted a fall back. Someone to pin it on if shit went wrong."
"Yeah, well, shit went wrong for them. Really wrong. It's mostly cleaned up, with the exception of you."
Charles chuckled. "And let's not forget your old friend Frank."
Jack said nothing.
"Yeah, you see, Feng wasn't the only one with connections on the inside. I got 'em too. And I inherited some of his. You put a bullet in me, you're gonna be worse off than you are now."
Shaking his head, Jack said, "No, that's where you're wrong. I got a retirement plan going into effect as we speak. By the time they find you dead, I'll be gone. And, really, do you think anyone is gonna go out of their way to find your killer? I'll be all over the camera footage here and they won't lift a finger to find me."
Charles looked down, slowly nodding his head. His hands were in his pockets. Shoulders slumped. He looked defeated.
Then he exploded forward.
Chapter 97
New York City.
JACK FORGOT HOW fast the big man could move. Charles was similar to Bear in that sense. Goliaths with the speed of cheetahs.
He managed to fire a shot, but in his retreat, the bullet went wide and smashed into the glass, denting and spidering it, but nothing more. It appeared Charles had it replaced with bulletproof glass at some point.
Smart move.
In seconds, Charles was on top of Jack, and he found himself falling backward. It put the bigger guy at more of an advantage because Jack couldn't use his speed and agility to dodge and maneuver.
He braced for the impact, and went on the offensive before hitting the ground by lifting his knee. Charles landed on top, effectively knocking the wind out of himself.
Jack seized the opportunity and smacked Charles across the head with the pistol he'd clung to. The other had become dislodged and skated across the floor.
The blow had knocked Charles to the side, but not off entirely.
Jack struck again.
Charles went to an elbow.
Jack bucked his knee up into the man's gut, but the move had little power behind it.
Charles delivered a blow of his own, then wrapped one hand around Jack's throat, while pinning Jack's arm back, rendering the pistol useless.
With his free hand, Jack kept striking Charles against the side of the head. He ignored the pain knifing through his wrist, likely due to a broken bone or two.
>
Charles lifted up, like he was performing a down dog in yoga. It created massive pressure against Jack's neck.
Jack got his hand on Charles's face. His middle and ring finger were broken, and pretty much useless. But he managed to get his thumb into Charles's eye. Pushed in hard.
The big guy let out a scream, and let go of Jack's neck in favor of fighting off his arm.
Jack could escape. But he had to let go of his gun to do so. Releasing the pistol, he turned to his side, reversing his hands. The move allowed him to grip Charles's wrists. As Jack slipped out from under Charles, he yanked hard. Since the big man was in an awkward position, he toppled over onto his side.
Jack drove his knee into Charles's gut, then delivered three strikes to the guy's head. He located the nearest pistol and picked it up.
Now he stood five feet away from the huddled mass of a man on the floor. The guy looked up, winced in pain as he tried to lift himself. The knee, Jack figured, had broken a few ribs.
The room was silent with the exception of Charles's labored breathing and the computer fan whirring in the background. Clouds had rolled in, reducing the light pouring in through the windows.
"Put up a good fight," Jack said as he aimed the pistol at Charles's head. "Just not good enough."
And as he rested his finger on the trigger, the door to the office flung open.
Chapter 98
New York City.
"DON'T DO IT, Jack!"
The voice registered instantly. The face, too. But not the hair. It was short and dark when it had once been long and red.
"Clarissa?" Jack said. "What are you doing here?"
"Drop the weapon," the guy standing next to her said.
Jack had never seen him before.
"Who is this?" he asked.
"Drop your weapon, Jack," Clarissa said.
Jack kept his pistol trained on Charles. A smile had crossed the big guy's face. Despite his injuries, he sat up.
