Noble Man

by William Miller

  He stuck close to the wall and made his way counter-clockwise around the building. Working alone meant watching every angle at once, or trying to anyway. Without a team to watch his back, Noble felt naked. The small hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He slid through the gap between two large crushing units and then ducked a belt.

  Starlight filtered in through collapsed sections of roof, spinning a crazy web of light and shadow. Noble went slow, using dark pockets to stay hidden. He caught movement on his right, stopped, and trained his weapon on an alley formed by two control panels. He glimpsed a bald man with a barrel chest and an AR15 going the other direction.

  The mercenary was out of sight before Noble could pull the trigger. He strained his ears to the sound of boots on the gritty concrete floor. The muzzle of an AR15 appeared around the far side of the control panel a moment later. Noble waited for his enemy to break cover and then tightened his finger on the trigger. Five rounds hit center mass, driving the mercenary backward. He slammed into a crusher, slid to the floor, and coughed up a dark mouthful of blood.

  ...

  Bati could barely lift the gun. Walking was out of the question. She put her back to the nearest machine and slid down until her butt touched the floor. It was impossible to say how long she sat there. Time slowed to a crawl. Her eyelids grew heavy and slid shut. She fought, opening her eyes as wide as she could, but it was a wasted effort. Without her even realizing it, her lids drooped closed again. She was balanced on the edge of sleep, when an automatic weapon shattered the silence.

  Her eyes snapped open.

  Henries stood in front of her. The distance between them seemed to change and shift. Bati knew her brain was playing tricks on her. He approached, but every step he took happened in slow motion. She raised the gun. Her arm felt impossibly long. She jerked the trigger. The weapon boomed. The mercenary dove behind a bank of heavy equipment.

  ...

  Henries saw her hand come up holding the pistol and threw himself behind cover. He knew right away where she had gotten the gun— the dead kidnapper. He should have searched the area for the man’s pistol. It was a stupid mistake. He put his back to the machine, closed his eyes, and told himself to stay calm.

  He pushed the transmit button on his radio. “Rene.”

  Silence was his only answer.

  His team was dead.

  How had things gone so monumentally wrong?

  They had taken work with Tsang because the money was good and playing bodyguard was easy work… in the beginning. Somehow they had ended up doing the kingpin’s dirty work. Henries should have known it would end badly. Lie down with dogs and you wake up with fleas.

  The girl was his only bargaining chip now. He raised his voice so she could hear. “Put that gun down before you get yourself hurt. You hear?”

  When she didn’t respond, Henries stuck his head around the corner. She looked ready to pass out, but her arm came up. Henries jerked his head back. A bullet hissed past. He bared his teeth in frustration.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” Henries told her. “Don’t force me. Put that gun down, before I take it away and cram it right up your…”

  He felt a cold muzzle press against the side of his neck.

  64

  Noble took off in the direction of the shots. He covered half the distance before he heard Henries telling the girl to put the gun down. Bati must have gotten her hands on a weapon and was using it to hold the mercenary at bay. Smart girl.

  Noble slowed his pace and checked his corners. He spotted the big Australian with his back to a crusher, trying unsuccessfully to convince Bati to give up the gun. She looked done in. Her black hair was a tangled mess. She could barely lift the 9mm Beretta in her hand. Her skin was sickly white, and she had dark bags under both eyes. She wouldn’t be able to hold him off much longer, but she wouldn’t have to. Henries had not seen Noble yet. He was looking over his left shoulder; all of his attention was centered on the girl.

  Noble let the H&K 410 dangle at the end of its sling and drew his pistol. He crept through the shadows to Henries’s right side and pressed the barrel of the gun into the man’s neck.Henries stopped midsentence. He released his rifle and slowly raised both hands. “All right, mate,” he said. “You win. Take the girl and go.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks,” Noble said and pulled the trigger.

  Henries went over on his side like a felled tree. He was dead before he hit the ground. It was cold and brutal and all business. Noble could have let Henries walk, but why take the risk? The mercenary could find a hiding place and plug Noble in the back as soon as his guard was down. Noble couldn’t care for Bati and watch Henries at the same time, so the Australian drew the short straw.

  With him out of the way, Noble peeked around the crusher at Bati. Her face pinched. She seemed to be trying to make sense of what had just happened. “Bati Ramos, my name is Jacob Noble. I’m here to take you home.”

  Her mouth opened but no words came out. Her chin dropped to her chest and her eyelids drooped.

  “Bati, I have an insulin syringe in my pocket. I want to administer it to you. First you have to promise not to shoot me.”

  She let go of the handgun. It hit the floor with a metal clunk.

  Noble stepped into the open with his hands out to either side trying to look non-threatening. He didn’t want to alarm her. Bati was tired, scared, sick, and probably more than a little confused at this point. There was no predicting what she might do.

  She drew a shallow breath. “Please help me,” she said in a small voice.

  That was all he needed. Noble holstered the .45, pulled the plastic case from his cargo pocket, and knelt beside her. The seal broke with an audible snap. Noble drew out one of four syringes and used his teeth to remove the plastic cap. He jabbed the needle into her thigh, pushed the plunger, and held his breath.

  The wait lasted a lifetime. He placed two fingers on her wrist, monitoring a weak and erratic heartbeat. Several long minutes ticked by before her pulse gradually found a rhythm. He gently tilted her head back to make breathing easier. She stopped laboring for air. Her eyelids peeled open, and the pupils dilated. Her cracked lips parted, and she tried to speak.

  “Take it easy,” Noble said. “You are going to be all right now. It’s over. I’m going to take you home.”

  “Did… Daddy… send you?”

  “No.”

  Her eyes closed, but she was still awake and some of her color had returned. Tears gathered under her black lashes. “Hospital.”

  “That’s our next stop,” Noble told her.

  65

  Sam carried the rifle along the ridgeline to a spot that afforded her a view inside the open door of the crushing facility. She stretched out on her belly, adjusted the rifle against her shoulder, and placed the crosshairs on the entrance. She was getting better at finding a target through the scope, but every time she pulled the trigger, it ruined her aim.

  A thin film of sweat covered her body from head to toe. She could feel it pasting her shirt to her back. Her hair hung in limp tangles. Her toes squished inside her hiking shoes. She had a cramp in her lower back, and her forearms were burning. Combat was nerve wracking and physically exhausting.

  The hollow boom of gunshots echoed inside the crushing facility. Sam watched the door through the scope and prayed that Jake would emerge with Bati instead of the mercenaries. Every passing second made her stomach twist. She pushed a damp lock of hair out of her eyes. “Come on, Jake.”

  Feet crunched in the loose shale behind her. She heard a pistol cock. Every muscle in her body went rigid. The breath caught in her lungs. Fear flooded her belly like hot oil, and panic clawed at the edge of her thoughts. Trying to roll over with the rifle was out of the question. The German tried that, and he was dead. Sam put the weapon down, held out her hands in surrender, and looked over her shoulder.

  Frederick Krakouer stood behind her with a grin on his scarred face and a gun in his fist. “I’d hate
to kill a sweet thing like you. Stand up nice and slow. Try anything and I’ll put a bullet through your spine.”

  Samantha placed her hands flat on the gravel and eased herself up off the ground. Krakouer took a handful of her hair and jerked her head back, pushing his gun into the small of her back.

  Sam winced. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Just business,” Krakouer told her. “Let’s go down and say hello to your boyfriend.”

  He marched her along the ridgeline to the access road and down the gravel drive.

  ...

  Bati’s pulse was stronger now, but she still looked weak. Noble considered giving her another jab of insulin. It might bring her back or overdose her. Hard to say. He wasn’t a medical doctor, and he was too close to the money to take any unnecessary risks. At the very least, she seemed lucid.

  “Bati,” Noble said. “I’m going to pick you up now, okay?”

  She nodded her head. “Okay.”

  He scooped her up in both arms. She weighed a hundred pounds, give or take. As a Green Beret, Noble had lugged backpacks that weighed more. He stepped over Henries’s body and carried Bati outside.

  Samantha stood next to the Mercedes vans with tears streaking her cheeks. Krakouer was behind her, one hand tangled in her hair. He wore a cocky grin on his disfigured face.

  Noble stopped in his tracks.

  Sam’s chin trembled. “I’m sorry, Jake.”

  “Don’t be,” he told her. “You did great.”

  “Touching,” Krakouer said. “Put the girl down.” He jammed his gun deeper into Sam’s back to make his point.

  She drew a sharp breath.

  Noble felt helpless. He couldn’t do anything with Bati in his arms. “If I turn Bati over, will you let Samantha go?”

  “I promise I’ll kill her if you don’t.”

  “Don’t do it, Jake,” Sam said. And she meant it, too. She was pale and terrified but ready to die for her friend.

  Noble locked eyes with her. The kiss they had shared played through his mind on repeat. If she died, he would spend the rest of his life seeing her face every time he closed his eyes. He would remember the kiss in agonizing detail. A quiet desperation filled him. His throat cramped. He had to force the words out. “Krakouer, listen, we are both professionals doing a job. She’s a civilian. Let her go.”

  “From one professional to another, I’ll blow her guts out if you don’t put the girl down and back away.”

  Noble was out of options. He knelt, placed Bati gently on the ground, and stepped back with his hands out to either side.

  “Toss the gun,” Krakouer said, indicating the H&K 410 hanging around Noble’s neck.

  Using his left hand, Noble pulled the sling over his head, held it out at arm’s length and dropped it. The 410 hit the ground with a clunk. He still had the .45 caliber concealed in his waistband.

  Bati let out a sob.

  “Smart move,” Krakouer said.

  Samantha caught Noble’s eye. A sad smile formed on her face. She was telegraphing her intention without saying a word. She cared more for Bati than she did her own life. Noble caught her meaning loud and clear. If he could, he would have told her not to do it. He would have told her to play it safe and stay alive. He would have told her that it would destroy him to watch her die. But he couldn’t say a word. Sam made her decision, and Noble could capitalize on it or let her sacrifice herself for nothing.

  They both moved at the same time.

  Sam swung her left arm behind her, smashing Krakouer’s gun hand and twisted her hips at the same time. Noble took one long stride to his left and reached for his pistol.

  Krakouer’s gun barked.

  The round exploded out of Sam’s stomach an inch above her hip bone. She screamed, clapped both hands over the wound, and doubled over.

  Noble centered the front sight on Krakouer’s chest and emptied the magazine. The slide locked back. Noble dropped the spent mag and had a full one in before Krakouer hit the ground. He rushed to Sam’s side, pausing long enough to put a bullet into Krakouer’s skull.

  She lay in a fetal position, both hands covered in deep red blood. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She took short, panicked breaths and spoke through clenched teeth. “Bati? …Okay?”

  “She’s fine,” Noble assured her.

  He needed to know how bad she was hit. He had helped patch his share of bullet holes over the years, but those were soldiers—hard men who knew the risks. This was a beautiful woman that he was falling for. He holstered his pistol and tried to compartmentalize his feelings. Emotions would only get in the way. He turned her so that he could see the entry wound. Sam screamed in pain. Noble muttered an apology and peeled up her blood-soaked t-shirt.

  The bullet had entered two finger widths to the right of her backbone. It looked like an oblong hole. A trickle of blood dribbled from the wound. Noble exhaled a shaky sigh of relief. Krakouer had missed the spine. The bullet was in and out. The surgeon would have a tough time stitching her intestines back together, but she would live.

  “You crazy, beautiful, courageous woman,” Noble said. It was hard to keep the emotion out of his voice. “You are going to be all right.”

  “It hurts really bad,” Sam said. She trembled violently.

  “Gut shots are painful, but you aren’t going to die,” he said. He left her on her side and went to the nearest Mercedes.

  The doors were unlocked, and the keys were in the ignition. Noble expected as much. The mercenaries would not leave the keys with one man in case they had to extract on short notice and the guy with the keys was dead or missing. Noble popped the trunk. In back he found a white plastic box with a red cross emblazoned on the cover, a roll of duct tape, several assault rifles, and ammo. He took the medical kit.

  Bati had crawled on hands and knees over to Sam, and she was putting pressure on the wound. She knelt with her bare knees on the stony ground and both hands pushing down on Sam’s side. “There is a lot of blood,” Bati said.

  “There always is.” Noble popped open the med kit and found a package of powdered quick coagulant. He ripped it open and shook some on both the entrance and exit wounds. Sam arched her back and screamed.

  “That’s going to sting,” Noble told her after the fact. He ripped open two bandages, placed them over the bullet holes and then secured them with a roll of medical tape. She needed a surgical team, but the bandages would slow the bleeding long enough to get her to Kowloon General Hospital.

  He ran and opened the passenger side door of the Mercedes, tipped the seat back as far as it would go and then went back for Sam. She screamed when he picked her up. Noble told her to stay strong and placed her gently in the passenger seat, then he secured her seat belt. After Sam was settled in, he scooped up Bati and deposited her across the back seat. He climbed behind the wheel, put the Mercedes in gear, and stamped on the gas. The back tires threw up a spit of dirt and gravel.

  66

  Eric Tsang spent most of the morning on the phone, stopping just long enough to brew a pot of coffee. He called all of his lieutenants with instructions to destroy any sensitive material that could be used by prosecutors and then he called his lawyers. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of his high-rise office, the first pale light of a new day banished the darkness. Having insulated himself from the fallout at the docks as best he could, he dialed Henries for an update.

  He paced the floor in his bare feet. The phone rang several times with no answer and then went to voicemail. Eric cursed and redialed with the same results. He was about to try a third time when there was a knock on his office door.

  “Hong Kong Police! Open the door, Mr. Tsang. We have a warrant.”

  Eric put the phone in his pocket, slipped his feet inside his hand-stitched loafers, and rolled his pant legs down before answering the door. Captain Wong along with a half-dozen patrolmen stood in the hall.

  The Captain handed Eric a sheaf of folded documents. “You are under arrest, Mr. Tsang.”
/>   “On what charges, Captain?”

  Wong pointed to the documents in Eric’s hands. “You are holding them.”

  Eric shook open the papers and scanned the arrest warrant. Wong had charged him with everything from kidnapping, human trafficking and smuggling, to illegal waste disposal. At the very least this was going to cost Eric several million in legal fees.

  He motioned to his suit coat draped over his desk chair. “Do you mind if I put on my jacket?”

  “Actually, I do mind,” the Captain said. “Turn around and place your hands on your head.”

  Eric bore the indignity of being frisked and placed in handcuffs. It wasn’t the first time he had been arrested and probably wouldn’t be the last. But it was a serious blow to his operation. He was going find the people responsible and make them pay.

  67

  Three days later, Noble entered Kowloon Hospital through the visitor’s entrance and rode the elevator to the third floor. Sam was in room 314. Noble stopped in front of the viewing window. Bati was already inside, sitting next to Sam’s bed, looking considerably better than the last time Noble had seen her. She and Sam had their hands clasped together and their heads bowed in prayer. Sam wore a heart monitor on her left forefinger and an IV drip in her right arm.

  Flower bouquets covered a tray table, along with a number of get-well cards and an open Bible. Noble waited until their eyes opened before letting himself in. Both women greeted him with bright smiles.

  “There’s the hero,” Sam said.