Noble Intentions: Season Three (4 page)

“You could have said something
other than I’m armed.”

“I wanted to finish my piss.
Christ, is that a crime?”

Jack inspected the handgun he’d
knocked from Leon’s hand, a Browning High Power single action 9mm. It told him
a few things. Leon had been in the Special Air Service (SAS), and had probably
retired some time ago as most of the guys now carried the Sig Sauer P226. He
also surmised that Leon had no intention of hurting him. The Browning’s safety
was on, but it wasn’t cocked.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Leon
said.

Jack nodded once. “How long have
you been out?”

“Of what?”

“SAS.”

“Who says I was SAS?”

“Who else still carries a
Browning?”

“I’ve heard some members of various
intelligence organizations do.”

“Does that mean you were never
SAS?”

“I didn’t say that.” Leon flashed a
grin and Jack smiled back.

“Come on, let me buy you a drink,”
Jack said.

Leon wet a paper towel and wiped
his face. The two men exited the restroom and took a seat at the end of the
bar. Leon ordered for both of them, a lager that Jack had never heard of. When
the bartender set the beer down in front of him, Jack immediately noticed that
a tan frothy head filled a third of the mug. The sun’s setting rays found their
way through the tinted glass of the restaurant, knifed through Jack’s mug,
turned a burnt orange as they found a final resting spot on the antique bar
top.

Jack lifted the mug containing the
sun soaked lager and took a large gulp. He savored the head that was left over
on his upper lip while swirling the liquid in the mug in a counterclockwise
motion. Bubbles and brew mixed.

“It’ll be dark soon,” Leon said.
“We should get going.”

“What’s the rush? My hotel is half
a block away.”

“You can’t stay there now, Jack. If
I could find you, anyone can.”

Jack shrugged. “I can handle
myself.”

“Besides, Dottie wants to see you
tonight.”

“I’m tired. I just want to rest
tonight. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks.”

“You can sleep on the way. We’ve
got a bit of a drive ahead of us.”

“I thought she lived in the city?”
Jack said, concerned now that everything Leon had told him up to this point was
a lie.

“She does. She also has a place
outside of the city. Tonight, like every night the last couple months, she is
outside of the city. It’s a place that
he
doesn’t know about. And she
wants you to stay with us tonight so she can discuss terms with you tomorrow.”

Jack’s lingering doubts remained.
He reached around his back, pretending to scratch an itch. The stiff handle of
the Browning brushed his palm. Relief washed over him like the warm waters of
the Mediterranean. Would a man hell bent on killing him offer him a loaded
weapon? Jack thought not. So he lifted his mug, tilted it toward his open
mouth, finished his beer. He patted his chest and pockets, mostly out of habit,
making sure he’d left nothing behind.

“Let’s get going then,” he said.

Leon led the way to the door. The
portly fellow nodded, faked a smile, and then looked away. Jack followed Leon
outside.

“Dammit.” Leon stopped, took a step
back, bumped into Jack.

“What is it?”

“Get inside.”

Jack did.

“Four men in front of the hotel,”
Leon said. “Black Bentley parked on the street.”

Jack slid his head through the
opening and saw the men. They were dressed in dark clothing, long sleeved
t-shirts, and black or dark gray cargo pants. Heavily muscled. Probably armed.
Two of them entered the hotel. One stood on the sidewalk, looking up. The
fourth leaned back against the Bentley.

“Who are they?” Jack asked.

“I presume they work for someone
who has an interest in why you entered our country.”

“In or out?” the voice called from
behind.

Jack turned and saw the portly man.

“Whatever you guys decide, you need
to stop blocking my doorway.”

“Shut up,” Jack said.

Leon placed a hand on Jack’s
shoulder. “What my American friend meant was, do you have a back exit?” Leon
pulled open his jacket, revealing his holstered weapon.

The man’s expression was blank. He
jerked his head back, motioning toward the kitchen. He said, “Through there.”

Leon said, “Many thanks,” and he
handed the guy a folded bill.

As soon as he left the dining room,
Jack retrieved the Browning. He cocked the hammer, left the safety on. Two
quick taps remained in order to file a round. He hoped it wouldn’t come to
that, not in the middle of London.

The kitchen was loud, bright, full
of stainless steel countertops and shelves. Voices went mute as stares fell
upon the two armed men hurrying toward the exit. A large red-haired man with a
long braided goatee stepped away from his duties at the fryer and blocked the
narrow path between the kitchen equipment and the door leading outside. He
looked like a modern day Viking.

“Who the frig are you guys?” Red
said.

“Do you really want to find out?”
Leon said, casually aiming his pistol in Red’s direction.

“I want to know what you’re doing
in my kitchen. You’re putting the food at risk.” Red’s head leaned back on his
thick stump of a neck. His eyes were wide. Jack wondered if the guy was high or
just had a death wish.

“We’re only passing through. Take
it up with the fat guy out front. He told us not to linger in the doorway.”

“You could’ve gone through the
front.”

“No, we couldn’t,” Leon said.

Jack wondered what the hell was
going on. If he’d been in the lead he’d have taken Red out and stepped over his
unconscious body. Yet, here was Leon treating the guy like they were in the
debate club. He nudged Leon forward.

“Just step aside, mate,” Leon said.
“You don’t want us to be in here when the other guys come through.”

Red narrowed his eyes and studied
the two men for a moment. Then he took a step back and allowed them passage
through the kitchen.

They stepped into a narrow
alleyway. The sky was a deep shade of pink. Tall buildings shielded the area
from the sun’s final rays. The air was cool and crisp, especially after being
in the hot kitchen.

“My car is two blocks from here.”
Leon took off in a jog.

Jack hesitated, thought about
turning and sprinting off in the other direction. Four hours in town and
already he’d been chased, had a gun pulled on him in a bathroom, seen a Bentley
with four guys obviously looking for him, and been confronted by a pissed off
cook that resembled a Viking god covered in grease and flour.

Perhaps he’d be better off
returning home.

Leon’s footsteps slowed to a
shuffle. Jack looked up and saw the man facing him, jogging in place.

“You coming?”

Jack looked back. A block or so,
then the open road. He already had a good thirty foot lead. If he sprinted he
might be able to lose the guy.

“Well? We haven’t got all bloody
night.”

Jack turned, started walking, sped
up to a jog. “Let’s go,” he said as he neared Leon.

Thornton leaned back in his chair,
rested the base of his skull on the ridge of the chair back. He stared down his
nose at the four men who cowered on the other side of the overbearing mahogany
desk. He looked from one man to the next, shook his head as he made eye contact
with each. He said nothing, figured the men would have been more comfortable if
he was yelling at them. At least then they could accurately gauge his level of
aggravation. Instead, the silence in the room told the story of his anger at
their failure to bring in the man who earlier that day showed up on their
screen like a Great White’s dorsal fin, spotted by a lifeguard, too close to
shore, circling its prey.

None of the men knew Noble as
intimately as Thornton. None of them had been in Monte Carlo when he’d had an
encounter with Jack, who had used a pseudonym at the time. Perhaps if they had
been there, Noble would no longer be an issue. Then Thornton wouldn’t have had
to drop a million plus in legal fees to get him off the hook for slapping
Dottie around after she’d insulted and embarrassed him.

Those are the chances you take
when you bring your B team.

What did that say about his A team,
though? They couldn’t get the job done tonight.

Thornton placed his palms on his
desk, leaned forward, rose out of his chair. He lifted his hand. His index
finger shook out of anger. The men across from him straightened.

“Leave.” Thornton jabbed toward the
door. The four men turned, heads hung in shame, and headed toward the door.
“Not you, Owen,” Thornton added. Owen was the lead man. The A guy on the A
team. When a job was done right, he took the majority of the praise. Tonight
he’d take the brunt of his boss’s anger.

Owen stopped, turned, waited. The
three other guys left, one by one, through the open doorway. The last man
crossed the threshold. The heavy reinforced door shut with resonance that told
the men in the room they were isolated, separated, protected.

Owen lifted his head and made eye
contact with Thornton, who smiled and gestured toward the chair across from
his. Both men sat. Thornton pulled out a cigar, lit it, remained quiet for a
minute for dramatic effect. The heavy odor of the cigar enveloped his senses
and he recalled meeting Owen at a back room poker game. The man had thrown a
hand that Thornton was all-in for. He’d seen Owen’s cards. Pocket aces. An Ace
on the flop. Thornton had a potential full house. He went all-in. Owen called.
Garbage on the turn, an Ace on the river. Owen folded his cards, nodded, got up
for a beer. Two days later Thornton had the man in his office and offered him a
job.

Tonight was the first time he’d
ever been let down by Owen.

“So tell me again, Owen. How did
you fail to find Mr. Noble?”

The muscles in Owen’s jaw rippled.
The man appeared to be doing his best to control his temper.
A good thing
,
thought Thornton.
He knows better than to challenge me
.

“He had reservations at the hotel.
We went there. He wasn’t there.”

“You had all exits covered then?”
Thornton said.

“It didn’t matter—”

“It always matters.”

“He never checked in.”

“Yes, so you said.”

“We even tried a few of his known
aliases, in case he made multiple reservations.”

Thornton nodded. “And you showed
the picture?”

Owen closed his eyes, took a deep
breath. He was the picture of calm, except for his clenched fists and rippling
jaws.

“Yes,” he said tersely. “We showed
the picture. The girl behind the counter did not recall seeing him.”

“Did you check any other
establishments in the area?”

“There’s a pub nearby. We went
inside. The manager said he hadn’t seen anyone fitting the description.”

“Any place else?”

“There was a ladies clothing store
across the street, but I figured he wouldn’t have gone in there.”

“You figured, eh? Someone in there
might have seen him. Didn’t you think of that?”

Owen said nothing.

“You’re telling me you didn’t check
under every stone then?”

Owen still said nothing. His
hardened look softened.

Thornton rose, stepped out from
behind his desk. He paced the perimeter of the room then stopped behind Owen.
He placed his hands on Owen’s shoulders, squeezed reassuringly. How could his
best man, his A guy on his A team, have failed him like this?

“Who is this guy?” Owen asked.

Thornton pulled his hands away.
“Seven months ago. Monte Carlo.”

“I see.” Although Owen had not been
there, Thornton had told him what had happened. “You think he’s here because of
you?”

“I don’t know. That bitch wife of
mine knows him though, so I wouldn’t put it past her being the reason he’s
here. And if that’s the case, then
I
might be what he’s here for.”

Owen nodded slowly while tapping
the tips of his index fingers together. “We should have someone watching the
house.”

“She’s not there. Hasn’t been there
in weeks.” Thornton rounded the desk, sat, slumped. “I’m not sure where she is
right now. I was hoping you’d bring Mr. Noble in and he could tell us.”

“What else do you know about this
guy?”

Thornton shrugged. “Not much. He
can handle himself, I know that. I’d like you to use your contacts to find out
more.”

“My contacts are your contacts.”

“You know who I mean.”

“Why can’t your contacts look into
it?”

Thornton smiled at his associate.
“They are busy with something else.”

Owen lifted an eyebrow and made a
do
continue
gesture.

Thornton waved him off with a brisk
flick of his wrist. “Soon, Owen. I’ll tell you more soon. Get on the phone with
your guy and find something out.”

Owen shifted in his seat. His hands
were wrapped around the arm rests. His body angled toward the door. Clearly he
was ready to leave the room. “Anything else?”

“No. You can leave now.”

Owen nodded, rose, left. Thornton
waited a few minutes then pulled a cell phone from his jacket’s inside pocket.
It was not his regular cell phone. That lingered face-down on his desk. He had
been aware for some time that certain local and foreign agencies liked to
monitor that phone. He’d use it, but not for anything related to business, only
to jerk them around. But right now he needed to make a business call, and that
required the phone that no one knew about.

He cradled the phone in his hand,
cool plastic against a sweaty palm. His finger grazed against a button on the
side. The phone’s display came to life. A tranquil pond with swimming koi fish
greeted him. He navigated to the dialing screen and pressed and held down the
number 5. A moment later, the phone began to ring.