Noble Intentions: Season One

by L. T. Ryan

  He didn't have to wait long. Thornton and another man dressed in a dark suit stepped into the light from behind the building a few moments later. They stopped. The man in the dark suit held his gun up and extended an arm, keeping Thornton back. The man approached. He looked shorter than Jack, slighter too. Probably ex-Special Forces. The big guys didn't scare Jack. They were typically meatheads. The men he worried about were the smaller, wiry guys. Experience told him those guys usually had training in covert operations and knew how to handle themselves.

  Jack tossed the rock to the other side of the landing area. The man turned and fired at the area where the rock landed. That was all Jack needed to see. He lifted his arm, aimed the gun and shot. The bullet hit the man on the side of the head. He collapsed.

  "Jesus Christ," Thornton said. He backed up to the wall of the building behind him. His eyes darted wildly side to side.

  Jack stepped out of the shadows.

  "You," Thornton said. "What have you done?"

  "Same thing you were going to do to me."

  "No, no, no. I was just going to have them rough you up. Teach you a lesson."

  "Like the lessons you teach Dottie?"

  Thornton looked down. He sidestepped along the wall.

  "Don't move." Jack pointed the gun at him. "You screwed up, Thornton. Ten of these guys couldn't take me out. Should have listened to Dottie. She wasn’t pleading with you. She was warning you." Jack stopped a few feet from the older man and pointed the gun at his head.

  "I'll give you whatever you want. Anything. Name it, it’s yours."

  "Give Dottie her freedom," Jack said.

  "What?"

  Jack slapped the barrel of the gun across the man's face.

  "OK, OK!" Thornton yelled.

  "Thing is, I don't believe you." Jack stepped closer. Pressed the gun into Thornton's forehead.

  Thornton whimpered. Begged for his life.

  "Drop your weapon," a deep voice called from Jack's right.

  He looked over, but couldn't see anything because of the powerful flashlight pointing in his direction. He looked back at Thornton, who now had a bloody smile on his face. Jack jerked his arm to the left and fired toward the deep voice. The light from the flashlight disappeared. He kneed Thornton in the groin and took off. He slipped around the corner of the building and disappeared into the darkness. He stayed hidden for a while, waiting to see if the police ever arrived. They didn't. The man with the flashlight was private security, probably employed by Thornton.

  An hour passed and his watch said it was just after midnight. He made his way back to the hotel, through the lobby, into the ornate elevator and up to the fourth floor. He took a shower once back in his room and fell asleep before his head hit the pillow.

  10

  Jack stood on the balcony and drank his coffee. He looked out at the sea and watched the sun rise. From the balcony he could see the pier where he took out Thornton’s men the night before. No cops. No crime scene tape. Perfect.

  He threw on a pair of shorts and a polo shirt, packed his bags and left his room. He took the stairs down to the lobby. He pushed through the lobby and saw four police cars and an ambulance outside. He slipped around the marble staircase to the dark wooden counter where the concierge sat. This morning's concierge was the same man he spoke with yesterday.

  "What's going on?" Jack asked.

  "Woman found beaten outside her room. Older lady. Husband's a billionaire." He glanced at Jack's bag. "Checking out?"

  Jack shook his head. "Going hiking with friends. Do they know who did it?"

  The concierge shrugged. "I think we are about to find out." He pointed at the line of police officers making their way through the lobby toward the entrance. In the middle of the group of cops was an older man in handcuffs.

  Thornton. Sonovabitch.

  "Looks like that old bastard did it," the concierge said. He leaned in and lifted an eyebrow. "They say he runs one of England's most powerful criminal organizations."

  "Can I get out through the side?"

  "Up the stairs and make a left. Where are you headed to?"

  Jack didn’t answer. Jack took the stairs two at a time and made a left turn at the top. He walked quickly down the hall, pushed through the exit door and made a roundabout loop to his moped. He hopped on, started it and drove back to France and the seaside resort of Cap-d'Ail. He kept checking over his shoulder the entire ride through Monte Carlo, making sure no one had followed him.

  He rode until he found a store that sold cell phones. He went in and purchased a new phone and SIM card. Back outside in the parking lot he placed a call to Bear.

  "Hello?" Bear said.

  "It's Jack."

  "What the hell number is this?"

  "The one I’m calling from. How are things there?"

  "Good. Clarissa's good."

  "Can I talk to her?"

  "Nah, she's asleep."

  "Pierre or his guys give you any trouble?"

  "A bit. They're straight now."

  "OK, Bear. I've got to arrange a meeting. Call you later."

  Jack hung up, pulled out his other phone and called Pierre.

  "Good morning, Jack."

  "Where am I going?"

  "Rue Grimaldi. A place called All Day Charters. Go inside and only speak to the young blond haired woman with brown eyes. Ask for Oscar."

  "Does he know my name?"

  "No. I told him to address you as Howard."

  Jack closed the phone and followed the GPS route to Rue Grimaldi. He turned onto an alley next to All Day Charter's office and parked the moped on a curb. He walked back through the alley, stepped onto the sidewalk and stopped in front of the double glass doors that led into the office.

  What if he was being set up? The idea certainly wasn't out of the realm of possibility. He had a good working relationship with Pierre, but he didn't know this Oscar guy from Adam. Jack hated working with people he didn't know. Why the hell did he accept this job to begin with? He had no control from the outset. Now he had no idea what to expect or anticipate from this guy.

  Screw it. He pulled the door open and stepped into the office. An older brown haired woman smiled at him. He ignored her and walked up to the young, blond haired woman with brown eyes.

  She held a cell phone to her head and raised a finger toward Jack without making eye contact.

  "I can help you over here," the other woman said.

  Jack ignored her.

  Finally the blond haired woman put away her cell phone.

  "I need to see Oscar."

  "Your name?" she asked.

  "Howard."

  "Follow me," she said.

  Jack followed her through a door, into a break room.

  "Wait here," she said.

  Jack poured a cup of coffee and drank it while he waited.

  The woman poked her head into the break room. "Oscar can see you now."

  He followed her down a hall. She stopped and opened the door. He smiled as he passed by. She looked away.

  Oscar sat behind a large antique wooden desk. He was a heavy man, with deep set blue eyes. His reddish brown hair was sparse on top, thick on the sides. He had long sideburns that were speckled with grey. He pushed his chair back to the wall, lifted his legs and placed two heavy combat boots on the desk. He crossed his thick, muscular arms.

  "This is how it's gonna go down," he said in thick Irish accent. "Monday morning, tomorrow, seven o'clock, you board the Danseur du Vent. She's my ship. The regular captain has been given the day off. I've borrowed two deckhands from another company. You are going to pilot the vessel. You've sailed before?"

  Jack nodded.

  "Good. There is a course plotted. Stick to the course. There will be five of them. Three targets you are aware of already. They’ll be traveling with two bodyguards. Dorofeyev cannot live. You know which one is Dorofeyev, correct?”

  Jack nodded.

  “We prefer the other two die as well. Do what you want wit
h the bodyguards. Try to spare the deckhands."

  "No deal," Jack said. "That's a recipe for disaster. A confined space. Five men, two of whom will be armed. On top of that you want me to spare witnesses."

  Oscar glared at him, but said nothing.

  "Let me do this my way."

  "Hold on." Oscar lifted his phone from the cradle and dialed. He stared at Jack while waiting for someone to answer. His eyes shifted. "Your man is flaking on us."

  Jack sat back, trying to fill in the blanks.

  "Yes, I see."

  Jack leaned forward and adjusted the gun in his waistband.

  "OK, I'll tell him." Oscar hung up and looked at Jack again. "Pierre says if you want your money then you do it our way."

  "I don't care about the money."

  "He said you'd say that." Oscar smiled. He opened a drawer and fumbled around.

  Jack tensed. His hand reached for the handle of his weapon.

  Oscar pulled out a pack of cigars, offered one to Jack.

  Jack declined.

  "Pierre says that if you want to see the girl alive, then you do the hit on our terms."

  Jack narrowed his eyes. "Is that what he said?"

  "Yeah." Oscar’s eyes narrowed to slits. "That's what he said."

  Jack's grip on the chair's arm rails tightened. He took a deep breath. "What time should I be here tomorrow?"

  "Don't come here. Go to the marina. The deckhands will meet you and take you to the boat."

  Jack left the office and set out to find a cheap room for the night. Best not to go back to Monte Carlo after last night's events. He drove through the streets of the little town and stopped in front of an unassuming house with a small sign in the window that read Vacancy. It looked promising.

  He walked up a carefully laid brick sidewalk and knocked on the weathered wooden door. An elderly woman answered.

  "I'd like to rent a room for a week," he said.

  She lowered her eyebrows and cocked her head to the side. Shrugged her shoulders at him.

  He repeated himself in French.

  She smiled. "Two hundred euros."

  "Per night?" he asked in French.

  She nodded. He reached into his bag, retrieved five two-hundred euro bills and handed them to her. "Five nights." He held up his hand, all five fingers extended.

  She held her hand in the air and opened and closed it a few times to acknowledge. Then she turned and walked away, one arm in the air, waving Jack inside.

  He liked this. No questions, no ID, just a simple transaction.

  She pulled two key rings from her pocket and opened a narrow door. She ushered Jack inside the room as she took two keys off of the second key ring. She held the first up in the air, pointed at the narrow door and handed him the key. She held the second key up and pointed out the hall. He assumed it was for the front door. She handed him the key and walked away.

  He threw his bag on the bed and looked around the room. Small bed, one dresser and no TV. At least he had his own bathroom.

  Jack opened the door and checked the hallway. Empty. He pulled out his cell and started to dial Bear's number. He stopped and walked out the front door and down to the street where he finished dialing.

  "Jack," Bear said.

  "We got a problem."

  "What?"

  "I don't know if it's a legit problem or not, Bear."

  "What is it?"

  "Have you met with Pierre yet?"

  "Yeah, he came by yesterday and again this morning."

  "Any issues? He seem tense or anything like that?"

  "No. What's this about?"

  "I met with the contact down here. Don't like the setup. Told him I want to do it my way. He didn't like that. Called Pierre and said Pierre insisted I follow the plan or Clarissa might not make it out of the hospital alive."

  "When was this?"

  "An hour ago."

  "Wasn't Pierre on the phone then. He's been with me for the last two."

  Jack didn't say anything.

  "You're being set up," Bear said.

  "Yeah. But by who?"

  "Want me to come down there?"

  "No, stay there. Maybe Pierre set this up in advance. If that's the case then you be ready to do whatever it takes to get Clarissa out of that hospital."

  "OK," Bear said. "You sure you're gonna be OK, Jack?"

  "Yeah," Jack said. "But you can be damn sure I'm the only one getting off that boat alive tomorrow."

  11

  Jack arrived at the marina before six in the morning. The sun peeked over the horizon and provided enough light for him to find the boat. He admired the white craft. It looked to be over fifty feet long. Blue trim swirled down the side. Dansuer du Vent was painted in bold blue letters on the back. The deck was open with a hard top covering the wheel. Special fishing seats were mounted in the front and back of the boat. A grey 100 gallon cooler nestled up to the back of the boat. The deck was spacious, but it would be a tight fit for seven men plus him.

  He stepped on board and got to work. He pulled a roll of duct tape from his bag and crawled under the wheel. He placed a loaded gun underneath and secured it with the tape. Then he began searching the boat for any scuba gear. He found none.

  He stepped back on the dock and investigated the boats nearby. Two slips down was a boat with a sign labeled Adventure Scuba. He boarded the vessel and broke the lock of one of the bins on board. He lifted the lid and found everything he needed; a vest, regulator, all instrumentation, and even an alternate air source. He grabbed the gear and two air tanks from the boat and returned to his vessel.

  He lifted the bench seat to the right of the wheel and placed his scuba gear inside. He checked inside the opposite bench seat. A twelve gauge shotgun and box of ammunition rested there. He pulled the weapon out, inspected it and found it to be loaded. He carefully placed the weapon back and closed the seat. He stood at the wheel and acclimated himself to the controls. A navigation chart sat open behind the wheel. He studied it and decided that the second wreck would be the spot for the hit.

  He sat down and relaxed while watching the sun come up. The lights were on in the main building. He made his way to the general store where he purchased four cases of beer and five bags of ice. The supplies were loaded on a cart. He stocked the grey cooler with the beer and ice. The job would be easier if his targets were drunk.

  The two deck hands showed up half an hour later. If they were working with Oscar they sure fooled Jack. Neither of them appeared to be over twenty years old. The first deckhand on the boat introduced himself as Marcel. He pulled his stringy blond hair back in a ponytail and then extended an arm toward Jack. Jack reached out and shook Marcel's bony hand. He wore a white t-shirt and tan cargo shorts. His legs poked out of the shorts like toothpicks.

  The second deckhand stepped on board. He was taller and thicker than Marcel. "Guy," he said in a deep voice when Jack asked him his name. Guy wore a blue and white striped button up shirt with pockets on both sides of his chest. He twisted his long brown hair and tucked it under a wide brimmed khaki hat. Several fishing lures adorned the green strap wrapped around the hat. He wore camouflage cargo pants that tucked into black combat boots.

  "I'm Captain Conway," Jack said. "Nice to have you two on board."

  "Nice to be on board," Marcel said.

  Guy shrugged and started pulling fishing rods from the boat's lock boxes. "How many passengers, Captain?"

  "Five, but only three will be fishing," Jack said.

  Guy set up six rods and unlocked another box at the front of the boat. He pulled out six reels and attached one to each rod. Afterward he turned to Jack. "Going to get bait." He held out his hand.

  Jack reached into his pocket and handed the young man a hundred euros. He watched Guy as he walked up the dock toward the bait shop in the marina.

  "Don't mind him," Marcel said. "He's hungover."

  "You two work together often?" Jack asked.

  "Most days, yeah."

 
; Jack smiled, nodded and pretended to work on his chart. Good info to have. He'd try to spare their lives as long as they didn't get in the way.

  Guy returned a short while later carrying large white buckets. He boarded the boat without saying a word.

  Jack checked his watch. Five minutes till eight o'clock. He looked over the dock toward the marina. Five men made their way toward the boat. Jack immediately recognized the three men in the middle as Dorofeyev, Olkhovsky, and the younger Korzhakov. The men were flanked by two others around Jack's age. They were dressed in dark fatigues. One wore a hat, the other had short black hair. Both were lean and looked to be in shape. Jack figured them for ex-military, maybe even Special Forces. They boarded the boat first.

  The guard wearing the hat started checking bins and crates. The other walked up to Jack.

  "My name is Aleksandr," he said. The man had a chiseled face with a square jaw and a thin nose and lips. He took off his sunglasses and revealed a set of eyes so dark they were as black as his hair. He was a little shorter than Jack, but built the same.

  Jack nodded. "Conway."

  "We must perform a routine check, Conway," Aleksandr said. "I'm sure you understand."

  "What's your partner's name?" Jack nodded toward the thin, pale man rifling through the ship's containers. He was shorter and thinner than his partner.

  "You can call him Viktor." Aleksandr walked to the wheel and flipped up the cushions. He reached in and pulled out the twelve gauge shotgun. Pointed it at Jack. "What's this?"

  Jack didn't flinch. "In case we catch something we can't handle."

  Aleksandr looked over his shoulder at Dorofeyev and yelled something in Russian.

  Dorofeyev nodded.

  Aleksandr removed the ammunition from the weapon as well as a few rounds from the box of ammunition and put them in his pocket. He threw rest of the bullets overboard and placed the gun back in the compartment. "You can keep the gun. I'll hold the ammunition. You know, in case we catch something we can’t handle."

  Jack nodded and didn't say anything. He took a quick look at the three targets and then returned to his charts.

  Aleksandr said something else in Russian. Dorofeyev, Olkhovsky, and Korzhakov boarded the Wind Dancer.