Noble Intentions: Season One

by L. T. Ryan

  “Good news?” Kostya asked.

  Dimitri nodded again, turned and waved his arms to get Vlad or Rolan’s attention.

  Vlad waved back.

  Dimitri gave a thumbs up signal.

  “What did he say?” Kostya asked.

  “The other team has been working the east coast and cut over to Rome. They are going to come here. Should be here in three or four hours.”

  “How many men?”

  “Eight.”

  “Eight?” Kostya asked.

  Dimitri nodded. “We’ll need them.”

  Kostya frowned. “You and I could take this guy.”

  “Sure, if we could use these.” Dimitri pulled his jacket open and pointed at the gun holstered on his side. “But we have orders to bring him in alive. We can’t shoot to kill. He can.”

  Kostya shrugged and said nothing.

  “I don’t know about you, but I want as many people in between me and him when he does.”

  Kostya shrugged again, said nothing.

  “It’s not a slight against you, comrade. It will be a great honor to catch this son of a bitch and turn him over.”

  “What if he shows up before the team arrives?”

  “Then we try to take him. Think about it like this. If he shows up now, then he’s not aware of us.”

  “You believe that?”

  “No,” Dimitri said. “I believe he’s probably watching us right now. Figuring out how to take us down.”

  “So why doesn’t he?”

  “He doesn’t know we have orders to take him alive.”

  Kostya shrugged. “Where do you think he is?”

  Dimitri turned his back to the motel across the street. “My guess would be in that motel behind us.”

  “Why?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  “I’ll go in and show a picture to the manager.”

  “No,” Dimitri said. “He sees you go in there, you’re a dead man.”

  “So, what do you want to do now?”

  Dimitri paced on the sidewalk in front of the motel for a few minutes thinking the question over. He didn’t want to risk leaving the hotel and missing Jack if he slipped out. Then again, what if his hunch was wrong and Jack wasn’t here.

  “Dimitri?” Kostya said.

  “Thinking.” He continued pacing. “Let’s get the car and wait here.”

  14

  Jack watched the two men as they left their position across the street. They walked toward the Jemma-mobile, passed it with a nod at the two men standing there. They turned left and rounded the corner, disappearing from sight. The two men by the car stayed put and kept their focus down the road, toward the motel.

  Jack waited a beat and then moved to the back of the room. He looked through the window at the alley behind the building. He had planned to scope it out today, but his new visitors threw a wrench in that plan. From the single window he could see approximately fifty feet in either direction. Unfortunately, that didn’t offer him much.

  He watched the back alley for five minutes. It looked to be about twenty feet wide. Cracked black asphalt. Not much else. And no action. Jack returned to the front window and scanned the street. No change. Had they already returned and took position closer to the motel? Jack looked over the parking lot and saw eight cars, one less than before. No signs of movement in any of them. Stepping outside to get a look directly below was tempting, but it was also risky.

  A car stopped across the street and parked where the men had been standing. He didn’t get a good look at the faces of the two men in the car, but the dark suits told him all he needed to know. It would be a long night. A dozen scenarios raced through Jack’s mind, none of which had a pleasant ending. Of course, he could try the alley. He just had no idea where it went, if it went anywhere at all.

  He called Pierre.

  “Get a team here,” Jack said.

  “Jack,” Pierre paused. “I’m sorry. Those plans fell through. We’ve got no one near there.”

  “Got friends in Italy?”

  “I do,” Pierre said. “But you have to understand. You have created quite a bit of negative press. They aren’t likely to help.”

  “Dammit, Pierre,” Jack said. “If I get out of here—when I get out of here— you are fucking dead. You got that?”

  “Jack,” Pierre paused again, seemingly trying to find the right words to calm Jack down, “I’d come myself, but its eight to ten hours for me to get there.”

  Jack banged his head against the window. “Give me an idea then. I’m fresh out.”

  “Don’t think you can take them down?”

  “Four men, sure. But they have tactical advantage over me, Pierre. Two down the street about two blocks away. Two directly across the street.” Jack checked the other end of the road just to make sure he didn’t miss anything new. “I can take out the first two, but then the others can get a drop on me.”

  “I’ll make some calls, Jack. Keep your phone switched on.”

  Jack hung up.

  He opened the back window and stuck his head out, looked left, then right. The alley opened to a street at both ends. About four feet to his right a drain pipe offered his best chance of escape. Jack shook his head. It would have to do. About a mile behind the building sat a marina with hundreds of boats. If he could make it out of the alley he could take cover for the night at the marina and find a boat to steal. Solid plan, assuming he made it out of the alley.

  Jack returned to the front window, sat down in the hard wooden chair, watched the street again. The blue sky started to give way to the orange glow of sunset. He checked his watch. An hour till dark and his best opportunity to slip out undetected.

  Thirty minutes passed. Jack noticed a car approaching just as he prepared to abandon his position. It wasn’t the car that caught his attention as much as the reaction of the men guarding Jemma’s car. One of the men stood tall, appeared to yell at his associate, and pointed at the approaching vehicle. The car slowed as it approached the front of the building. Another vehicle, same make and model, pulled up behind the first. Three men got out of each, then the drivers pulled into the motel’s parking lot and got out. They jogged across the street and joined the other six men. Five minutes later the eight men were joined by the original four.

  All of them across the street.

  All of them stared at the motel.

  All of them had their hands on their pistols.

  You gotta be kidding me.

  15

  “Comrades,” Dimitri said. “Let me explain what we have here.”

  “This better be good,” the man Dimitri knew as Demyan said.

  Demyan, like Dimitri, had been one of Russia’s top agents. Now they were the most sought after independent contractors in the country. Together, the two of them could take down any man, any normal man that is.

  “Jack Noble is not a normal man,” Dimitri continued. “Not a normal target. Truth is he’s better than any five of us combined. When governments have a job that requires precision, accuracy, and secrecy—something they themselves have to distance themselves from—Jack Noble is the man they hire when they cannot fail. You know why we were sent. He took out three officials, and two of our own men. All on a boat less than fifty feet long. How does a man do this?”

  No one said anything.

  “He’s a trained sniper. He could take three of us out right now before we could make a move.”

  “Then why are we standing here?”

  Dimitri smiled. “I welcome him to do it. Then we’d know which room he’s in. I’d give any of your lives for that information.”

  The men laughed.

  “How do we know he’s in the hotel?”

  “I just do,” Dimitri said. “You two.” He pointed at two men from the other team. “I want you to go in and give this picture of Noble to the manager. Get his room number.”

  Kostya took the picture from Dimitri and nodded. He motioned to Vlad and the two slipped across the street.r />
  “Now we wait.”

  “If he’s up there,” Demyan said, “he’s probably watching us. We should move now.”

  Dimitri shrugged. “I’m in charge here. We wait.”

  Demyan squared off with Dimitri. His eyes were wide, brows furrowed, nostrils flared.

  Dimitri smiled. “Relax, Demyan.”

  Kostya emerged from the office and ran across the street.

  “Where’s Vlad?” Dimitri asked.

  “Taking care of the body,” Kostya said.

  Dimitri arched an eyebrow. “Did we get what we wanted?”

  Kostya smiled and held out a key.

  Dimitri took the key and looked at the tag. “Room 322.” He looked up and pointed at the third floor. “Let’s go. You know the plan.”

  The eleven men crossed the street in a group and fanned out once they hit the parking lot.

  16

  The only thought that crossed Jack’s mind as he watched the eleven men cross the street was run.

  Run as fast as you can.

  The men hit the parking lot and split up. He knew it would only be a minute at the most before two of them blocked his escape route at each end of the building.

  He grabbed the bag off the bed and tossed it out the back window. Jack pulled himself through the window and reached for the drainage pipe. His right hand slipped on the pipe at first, but he managed to get a grip with his left and he steadied himself. He dragged his left foot around the outside wall and placed the sole of his shoe against it. He did the same with his right. He scaled the wall slowly and deliberately. Ten feet from the ground he pushed off from the wall and let gravity take over. Pain seared through his right knee when he landed. Jack brushed it off. He straightened up, looked right then left. Both directions were deserted. He chose left. It looked shorter.

  Jack sprinted through the alley in a race against the clock. He was a sitting duck back there. He needed to get to the open street to have a chance. He rounded the corner and kept his sprinter’s pace.

  “You,” a heavily accented voice yelled from behind. “Stop.”

  Jack didn’t stop.

  “Ivan, Makar,” the voice yelled. “This way.”

  Jack looked back over his shoulder and saw three men chasing him on foot. He spotted another alley up ahead. He turned at the alley and looked back, only two men now. The other one must have gone back for a car.

  Jack pushed through empty boxes and trash that clogged the narrow alley.

  “Stop,” the voice called.

  Jack looked back. They were at the entrance to the alley now. He knocked over a stack of boxes and pushed through an old wooden door. The room was dark, musty and cluttered with junk. He got low and went to the darkest part of the room.

  The men stopped outside the door. Jack heard their heavy breathing. One wheezed. They spoke in Russian. Only one man talked. The other said nothing during the pauses. Jack knew it wouldn’t be long until the rest of the men showed up.

  Cornered like a rat.

  He looked behind him, but couldn’t make out any discernible exit. He got low and found the back wall. Felt along the wall until he came to a door frame. He searched for a knob, found one.

  “Mr. Noble,” a different voice said with the same thick accent. “We are not here to hurt you. We need to talk to you.”

  Jack said nothing.

  “Our government,” the voice continued, “wants to thank you for your service. You took care of some very bad men. Saved us a lot of time and money.”

  Jack bit his lip to keep from laughing. They had to know better than that. He leaned back against the door, one hand on the doorknob, the other on his Beretta. He slowed his breathing and prepared for his escape, or a gunfight.

  The footsteps got closer, only one set ,though. The other man must have remained near the door waiting to signal the others when they arrived. Jack thought he could hear the sound of hard soled shoes hitting the pavement in the distance.

  The sliver of light the front door provided disappeared. Jack made out the shape of a man. A light flicked on and pointed at Jack. Jack fired just above the source of the light. The flashlight fell to the ground and so did the man who had been holding it.

  “Ivan,” the other man yelled. He appeared above the dead body of his associate.

  Jack fired again.

  The man collapsed.

  Jack stood, reached for the door handle. It didn’t turn. Locked.

  “In there,” a voice said.

  Jack kicked the door. It bent, but didn’t give.

  Lights flooded the room.

  He kicked the door again. It burst open.

  Shots rang out behind Jack.

  He ducked and slipped through the door. Wide open space greeted him. He turned to his left, sprinted about twenty feet and then set off diagonally for the next set of buildings. He didn’t look back, but he heard the men as they emerged from the dark room. Shots rang out. He braced to be hit.

  He hit the sidewalk at full speed. Felt the pain in his knee again, ignored it. He followed the sidewalk along the wide building. Tires squealed in the background. Jack dug deep down and went into an all-out sprint. The end of the building was just ahead.

  More shots rang out.

  A bullet slammed into the building above his head. The wall crumbled. A cloud of plaster dust enveloped the air around him. He didn’t stop. His knees pumped and his feet hit the ground in a fast rhythm.

  C’mon, Jack. Run, damn you.

  He grabbed the corner of the building and propelled his body around it. The alley cut clear through to the next street. Halfway down the alley he heard brakes squeal.

  “Stop,” a man yelled.

  Gunshots rang out, missed him again. He didn’t look back. He knew he had to make it to the next street. Anything could be waiting there, but it was better than what he had behind him at that moment. He pushed harder. His muscles screamed. His lungs burned.

  I really gotta quit smoking.

  He emerged from the alley, turned right, stopped, leaned against the wall. He took a moment to catch his breath while waiting.

  The man popped through the opening. Jack caught him with an outstretched arm. The man’s legs kept going, his torso didn’t. He flipped in the air and landed on his head. Jack kicked him in the side.

  He looked around. Across the street, to the right, he made out the entrance to the marina he saw earlier from his motel room. He took a deep breath, scanned the street. Empty. He dashed across the street and took cover behind a stretch of thick, unkempt bushes. He waited and watched. Ten feet of open grass stretched out behind him. He peeked over the bushes. Five more men gathered around the guy on the ground. A car stood by with no one in the front seat.

  Now or never, Jack.

  He crouched low and ran as fast as he could. It didn’t take long, a second, maybe two, to reach the relative safety of the wall, out of sight. He stayed close to the plaster wall until he reached the six foot fence. Jack scaled the fence then sprinted to the first building he saw, a concrete restroom and vending facility.

  He opened the door to the ladies room and yelled. No response. He stepped in, cut the lights and slipped into a stall to catch his breath.

  Only another twenty minutes or so until dark, then he’d find a boat.

  Jack cleared his mind and mentally went over every possible scenario. Three men down. That meant there were nine left. Had any of them seen him cross the street? Run away from the bushes? Climb the fence? Every move he made he’d had to check behind him to make sure no one else was following. What about all the missed shots? If he was dealing with who he thought he was dealing with, there was no way would they have missed that many shots.

  He got up and cracked the restroom door open an inch, heard nothing but silence. He slipped through the door and picked his way across the grassy area to the concrete walkway that led to the piers. The walkway butted up to the water. During the day you could probably see the bottom of the sea. Now it was not
hing more than dark glass that reflected the lights.

  Jack scanned the area. The place was deserted. He chose a pier at random and looked for a boat, trying to find one that could stand up to heavy seas and appeared to have been sitting for a while. The pier was long and Jack took his time checking each vessel. Every once in a while he’d check over his shoulder to make sure that no one followed him.

  Then he saw it. It took over an hour, but there it was, a forty foot Flybridge motor cruiser. Perfect. He hopped on deck and checked the wheel house. Broke open a lock box and found the keys. Jack smiled, sighed. He searched the ship for extra gas cans. Found a couple, but they were empty. He grabbed the twenty-gallon containers, stepped back onto the pier and took the empty cans back to the end of the pier to the gas pump. He set the containers down and scanned the area for movement.

  Jack took a deep breath. Perhaps he was in the clear now. He crossed the concrete walkway and leaned up against a building where he lit a cigarette. He’d been saving it for a while. It tasted—well it tasted like the street. But that didn’t matter. The rush of nicotine coursed through his body and steadied his nerves. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the sea. The small waves gently lapped against the bulkhead. A small plane passed by overhead. A gentle breeze blew in from the sea. The smell of salt filled Jack’s nose and reminded him of being a kid at the beach. He smiled, probably for the first time all day.

  Every scent, sound, and taste felt like one thing. Escape. And escape was close. He could ride that boat across the Med if he wanted. He’d likely take it around the boot of Italy and settle in somewhere along the coast of Croatia or Albania or Greece. He had friends in those places that could help him get back to the States. He scratched at the stubble on the top of his head, chuckled. God, he hated being bald.

  Jack dropped the cigarette on the ground and crushed it with his foot. He walked toward the gas cans. He didn’t hear the footsteps behind him until it was too late. The gun pressed into his back. The barrel felt cold through his sweat soaked shirt.