Noble Vengeance (Jake Noble Series Book 2)

by William Miller

  “And?” Cordero asked.

  Noble hitched up a shoulder. “She had cancer. Now she’s in remission. Hard to say if it was prayer or chemo. I guess I know where you come down on that issue.”

  “I will offer a prayer for her continued improvement.” Cordero used a knife to cut a slice of bread. The act of chewing reopened cuts on his lips. He dabbed at the blood with a napkin.

  “I was raised Catholic,” Alejandra said. “But I haven’t been to confession in years.”

  “It’s not too late,” Cordero told her.

  One hand went to the bandages over her left eye in an unconscious gesture. “Tomorrow perhaps.”

  Cordero nodded. “Whenever you are ready.”

  She tore off a hunk of bread. She was getting her appetite back. After dinner she finished her wine and said, “I’m exhausted.”

  “Rest well,” Cordero said.

  She told them goodnight and went in search of a bed. Noble found himself thinking of Sam. The idea of her and Hunt together made him want to kick a hole in a wall. He should have told her how he felt. He might not get another chance. That brought him back around to Machado. He said, “Do you think God is still in the miracle business, Padre?”

  “I don’t think he ever left.”

  “I suppose you have to believe that,” Noble said. “Sort of an occupational requirement.”

  “It certainly helps.” Cordero cut off another slice of bread. “Are you going after Machado?”

  “He killed my friend,” Noble said by way of explanation.

  “And you will make him pay for what he did?”

  Noble nodded.

  “Unless he kills you first.”

  “That’s a possibility,” Noble admitted.

  “A very good possibility from where I sit.”

  “Thanks for being honest.”

  “Another occupational requirement.”

  Noble laughed. “I didn’t know priests came with a sense of humor.”

  “I bought it on Amazon.”

  “Money well spent,” Noble said. They sat in silence and the minutes ticked slowly past. His thoughts turned to death and the afterlife. Every soldier thinks about it sooner or later, even if they won’t admit it. Finally, Noble said, “Want to hear my confession?”

  Cordero motioned for him to continue.

  “Don’t we have to lock ourselves in those little cubbies?”

  Cordero grinned. “Confessionals are a formality. God hears you just fine.”

  Noble nodded. “Machado had a British accountant on his payroll named Blythe. He was a pedophile that got his jollies rolling little boys. I encouraged him to step out a fourteen-story window.”

  “How did that make you feel?”

  “You a priest or a psychiatrist?” Noble asked.

  “Sometimes there is not much difference.”

  “I didn’t feel the least bit bad about it,” Noble said. “In fact, I felt pretty damned good about it, at first.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I don’t know,” Noble admitted. “Tomorrow I’m going to kill Machado. Or he’s going to kill me. The Bible says ‘thou shalt not kill’, but how can killing a monster like Machado, like Blythe, be a sin?”

  Cordero put down his slice of bread and brushed crumbs from his fingertips. “You bring up an interesting point. The Bible does not say ‘thou shalt not kill.’ A closer translation would be ‘thou shalt not murder.’”

  Noble questioned him with a glance.

  “There are several different words in the ancient Hebrew which mean to take a life. To ‘kill’ is a broad term that covers everything from slaughtering a chicken for supper to soldiers on a battlefield. That word in Hebrew is harag. However, that is not the word used in the Ten Commandments. Ratsakh is the word used in the Old Testament. It means to murder someone in an act of criminal violence or out of selfish ambition. It doesn’t apply to soldiers on a battlefield.”

  “I’m not exactly a soldier on a battlefield,” Noble pointed out.

  Cordero’s brow pinched. “This is a war, señor. Ten thousand people die every year at the hands of the cartel. They are animals. Sometimes I think all the killing has driven them mad. Your friend, Diaz, he understood this.”

  Noble drained the rest of his wine. “Sounds like you want me to kill Machado.”

  Cordero clasped his hands together. His knuckles turned white. “If I was a man of your… skills…”

  Noble grinned. “Go on.”

  “I would be tempted to take the law into my own hands.” Cordero let out a shaking breath, like admitting it had required a physical effort and, now that it was out, a weight had been lifted.

  “Glad to hear it,” Noble said. “Because I’m going to need you to do some shopping for me tomorrow.”

  “Please don’t ask me to purchase anything illegal,” Cordero said.

  “Just a few household supplies,” Noble assured him.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  THE SMOKE & BARREL was packed for a week night. Helen Rhodes was giving an interview to George Stephanopoulos on the television and college kids had crowded the bar to watch. They gulped over priced whiskey and assured each other Rhodes would fix the sexist, homophobic, bigoted cesspool that was America. To hear them talk, there was no way the insurgent could win. The Wizard was right; the education system had brainwashed an entire generation.

  Sam directed Burke’s attention to an empty high-top. They beat a pair of hipsters to the table. “That could have gone worse,” Burke said.

  Sam pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. “I don’t see how.”

  “Wizard didn’t have to kick Foster out of the room.” Burke sipped a slushy pink concoction from a curly straw. “He could have put us on the spot with a room full of witnesses, forced us to incriminate ourselves. Foster would have insisted on enhanced interrogations. Right now, you would be at a black site, strapped naked to a chair, spilling your guts.”

  “He could do that?” Sam asked.

  Burke nodded. “As the Deputy Director, he has that jurisdiction.”

  An image flashed through Sam’s mind of herself in a dark room, handcuffed to a hard-backed chair under the harsh glow of a hooded bulb while her interrogator, a shadowy figure, stalked restlessly back and forth like a jungle cat. A shiver tip-toed up her spine.

  “All in all,” Burke said. “We got lucky.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t do backflips,” Sam said.

  “Don’t look so glum,” Burke said. “I’ve been on administrative leave before.”

  “I haven’t even been with the Company a year, Matt. Do you know what my parents are going to say when they find out?” She stuck out her thumb and pinkie and spoke into an imaginary phone. “Hi Mom, hi Dad, remember when I told you I went to work for an international design firm in D.C.? I lied. I actually took a job with the CIA, got fired, and now I might be facing criminal charges.”

  Burke cringed and glanced around, but no one in the noisy bar was paying them any attention. “Relax, you won’t get fired. Wizard likes you.”

  “Really? How could you tell?” she asked. “That guy is like a chain smoking vulture. I’m pretty sure the last time he cracked a smile, Calvin Coolidge was in office.”

  “Don’t be too hard on him,” Burke said. “He’s been running counterintelligence operations since the Tet Offensive. He gave three marriages and a kidney to the job.”

  “A kidney?”

  Burke nodded.

  “And he still smokes?”

  Burke shrugged. “If there is a no smoking sign on the pearly gates, Albert Dulles won’t go in.”

  They finished their drinks and ordered more. Sam said, “Think Torres is still alive?”

  Burke shook his head.

  “And if Jake doesn’t find the missing files?”

  Burke drew a finger across his throat.

  Sam groaned.

  “Relax. If anyone can find those files, it’s Jake.”

&
nbsp; “How can you be so sure?”

  “That kid is like a dog with a bone.”

  “Does he even know what he’s looking for?” Sam asked.

  “He’s got a key that Torres mailed shortly before he disappeared. I’m assuming it will lead Jake to the missing documents.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  Burke grinned around his curly straw. “Been doing this a long time, babe.”

  On the television, Rhodes ended her speech by promising to “Move America Forward.” The college kids cheered at the campaign slogan. Sam thrust her chin at the screen. “Can you believe this? She’s the first female nominee in American history and the only one under investigation by the FBI.”

  Burke frowned. “If she wins, Wizard will be forced into retirement and she’ll appoint Foster head of the CIA. You and I won’t be able to get a job walking dogs.”

  “Great.” Sam massaged her temples. She felt a headache coming on. “Well, I’m going back to the Philippines. What’s your plan?”

  “I’ll be exploring a career in alcoholism,” Burke said and lifted his glass.

  “Maybe this was a huge mistake,” Sam said, more to herself than to Burke.

  “Don’t say that. You have the makings of a good agent. Maybe even a great one. I saw it right away. Wizard sees it too.

  “Really?”

  “Don’t let it go to your head.” He smiled, showing the gap between his teeth. “You’re not as good as Jake.”

  “He’s the reason I joined.”

  “He’s the reason I recruited you.”

  She questioned him with a look.

  Burke shrugged. “He had me check up on you during the unpleasantness in Manila. Spoke very highly of you.”

  Sam didn’t know whether to be offended that Jake had vetted her or proud that he gave his stamp of approval. The two emotions battled for supremacy. Then she remembered that her career with the Company was over almost before it began.

  “I had this whole fantasy worked out in my head,” Sam told him. The wine helped loosen her tongue. “We would see each other in the office. He would be so surprised to learn that I had joined and made it through training. Then we would get teamed up on an operation…”

  “Except Jake refused to come back to the reservation,” Burke said.

  “That messed up my plans a little.”

  “And then you met Hunt.”

  “Yeaaaah.” Sam stretched the word out. She thought they had kept their romantic escapades quiet. They had been extra careful but it was surprisingly difficult to keep secrets in a job where keeping secrets was the job.

  “Jake’s a better fit,” Burke said.

  “You don’t like Hunt?” It was more a statement than a question.

  “Hunt is slippery as an eel. Jake is a straight shooter. What you see is what you get. If he gives you his word, he’ll come through or die trying.”

  “Jake is…” Sam searched for the right words.

  “Silent? Brooding? Hard to read?” Burke suggested.

  “All of those things.” Sam nodded. “But he is also Jake. If that makes sense. There is something about him that is incredibly primal.”

  “That’s what makes him so good,” Burke said.

  “Hunt, on the other hand…”

  “Will break your heart,” Burke finished for her.

  Sam admitted that with a nod. She had always known it; Burke just put it into words. She shook her head and shifted the focus of the conversation. “What about you? You going to be happy with Dana?”

  “It was stupid. I never should have let it happen. But I’ll probably end up at her place again tonight.”

  “We’re quite a pair,” Sam said.

  Burke lifted his glass. “To the losers.”

  “The losers,” Sam echoed.

  They touched glasses and drank. One toast turned into three and soon Sam was feeling lightheaded. Burke tried to order another round. Sam begged off. She had to drive and she didn’t want to add drunk driving charges to her troubles.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  NOBLE SPENT THE NEXT MORNING mixing potassium chloride, petroleum and wax together in a Tupperware container the size of a ham sandwich. It was slow, nerve-wracking work and it didn’t help that Alejandra hovered over his shoulder the whole time.

  Father Cordero had found most of the ingredients on the shopping list at a farm supply store. The rest he picked up from a hardware store. He didn’t ask what it was for, saving Noble the trouble of lying. While Cordero was out shopping for potassium chloride and petroleum, Noble had risked a trip to a nearby electronics store for pre-paid cellphones. He took a circuitous route back to the mission, wasting two hours to be sure no one had picked up his trail.

  Then came the arduous task of heating and mixing in careful measurements, so the concoction didn’t blow up in his face. The kitchen was a sauna. Alejandra had sweated through a white tank top and the dark points of her nipples peeked through. The worst of her bruises were healing and some of her natural beauty had come back. The scars would be with her for life, like graffiti on a priceless work of art.

  Noble, stripped to the waist, sweat glistening on his bare chest, kept his eyes off Alejandra’s breasts while he stirred the explosive compound.

  Cordero came in as Noble was finishing up. His eyes went to Alejandra and then away. He hooked a finger in his collar and tugged. “The weatherman says a storm is rolling in from the Pacific. Hopefully it will give us a break in this heat. What’s for lunch?”

  “A thermite charge,” Noble told him.

  Alejandra watched him spoon boiling potassium chloride from a large aluminum mixing bowl into the Tupperware container. She said, “You’re going to blow up the penthouse? What about the other residents?”

  “Don’t worry,” Noble said. “I’m not going to fire bomb the building. This is just a little insurance policy.”

  “What are you going to do with it?” Cordero wanted to know.

  “I’m going to attach it to the underside of Machado’s limo. The armor plating meant to keep bullets out will contain the blast, redirecting the force of the explosion inward.”

  “Won’t it need some kind of shrapnel?” Alejandra asked.

  “A conventional explosive would,” Noble told her. “This is a thermite charge. It burns white hot, like napalm, but it doesn’t explode.”

  “So anyone inside the car will cook?” Alejandra said.

  “That’s the idea.”

  He finished mixing the lethal cocktail and took one of the burner cells, stripped off the back, and attached a copper wire to the receiver. He carefully inserted the other end into the thermite jelly, placed the lid on the Tupperware and duct taped the whole thing tight. “All it needs is a text message to set it off.”

  “I hope you don’t get a telemarketer,” Cordero said.

  Noble grinned and stuffed the Tupperware into a black satchel like the kind carried by bicycle messengers. “With any luck, I won’t even need it.”

  Chapter Sixty

  THE GLASS AND STEEL HIGH-RISE stood at the heart of downtown Mexico City, a few blocks from the American embassy. Despite the weatherman’s prediction of rain, the mercury continued to climb. Heat mirages shimmered in the distance.

  Noble and Alejandra sat in a stolen Explorer with the engine running and the air conditioner on full. It was 5:27 p.m. Traffic crawled past on the boulevard. Two of the party guests had already arrived. They watched as the motorcades turned down the ramp to the underground garage.

  Tension inside the Explorer mounted. Noble chewed the inside of one cheek. He had the bones of a plan, but no idea how to pull it off.

  Alejandra glanced in the rearview and sat up. A three-car convoy had just turned onto the boulevard—a pair of black Range Rovers flanked a spotless white limousine with mirrored windows.

  “That’s him,” Alejandra said.

  “You have to be absolutely sure that’s Machado’s car,” Noble told her.

  �
�I’m sure.”

  The convoy pulled even with the stolen SUV.

  Noble said, “Get down.”

  Alejandra ducked between the seats as the motorcade rolled past. The lead vehicle turned into the parking garage followed by the limo and the rear security vehicle. Dark window tint made it impossible to get an accurate head count. Noble counted five in the lead car and another four, at least, in the rear car.

  “One more to go,” Noble said.

  Alejandra gave a jerky little nod. The corners of her mouth turned down. She gripped a pistol with white knuckles. Noble was worried she would accidentally pop off a shot but didn’t say anything. He put that fear aside and focused on the task ahead.

  The last of the cartel leaders showed up just after 5:40. Two Jeeps, a black limo and a Lexus SUV glided down the ramp into the underground parking garage.

  “Showtime,” Noble said.

  He took the black satchel from between the seats. “Slide into the driver’s seat and be ready. We’ll need to make a quick getaway when I come out. Think you can handle it?”

  “I’m going in with you,” Alejandra said, like it was a forgone conclusion.

  Noble shook his head. “You’re too keyed up. You want Machado dead and you’re ready to die for the chance to kill him. No way.”

  “He took everything from me,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “And he’s going to pay for it,” Noble said. “But I can’t trust you to stay cool in there. You’ll be thinking with your heart instead of your head. You’re just as likely to get me killed. So you stay.”

  Her nostrils flared.

  “You stay,” Noble said. “Understand?”

  She glared at him with her one good eye, but nodded.

  “Be ready to drive when I come out,” Noble told her.

  He climbed out and dodged traffic. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead. His shirt clung to his back. The satchel bounced against his hip with every step, reminding him that he had two and a half pounds of thermite jelly strapped to his side. If it went off, he would do an impression of the human torch. He hauled open the heavy glass door and stepped into air so cold it made him shiver.