Noble Intentions: Season Two (Episodes 6-10) (3 page)

“That would be nice, Pierre.” She let go of his waist and took a step back. Reached up and turned his face by his chin. “Why don’t we start with my apartment? Wouldn’t you like to get out of here?”

He smiled. “I think that would be—”

His cell phone rang.

Pierre glanced at the cell phone and held up a single finger to Kat.

He looked at the display. It read “restricted.” He answered.

“Hello, Pierre. My name is Alonso. I am a business associate of—”

“I remember who you are. What do you want?”

“We’d like to offer you a job.”

“I’m listening.”

“Good. I’ll call you in a few days. Be ready to meet us at a moment’s notice.”

Pierre hung up the phone. A twinge of excitement passed through his body. It started in his stomach and spread through his chest. Traveled down his arms and legs. He felt the heavy skin on his face relax and loosen. For the first time in months he felt alive.

He looked back at Kat and said, “Let’s go.”

4

Feng leaned back in the oversized leather seat. Leg room wasn’t a problem on his private jet. One of the benefits of buying new and being able to select a custom seating arrangement. The rest of the seats were empty. He liked to imagine the ghosts of those who had fallen victim to him traveled with him. Ready to welcome him to Hell should his plane crash.

This was a business trip, and by the definition of his business, not the type of trip he should take alone. Technically he would not be alone, though. He had a team in place in Chicago and four of his best Chi-town men were meeting him at the small commuter airport west of the city.

One of the flight crew had just come back to inform the old man that they would be landing on time. He should expect the approach to begin in twenty minutes.

He shrunk into his seat and continued reviewing the documents in his lap. The documents that had caused so much trouble and put the final strain on his relationship with Charles. Perhaps he would have been better off taking out Jack Noble to appease his right hand man. Things had been smoothed over, though. Jack had died in that Russian prison, and Charles had been sent to France to oversee European operations.

And Charles had done quite a good job so far.

Feng didn’t find much of interest in the documents. It told of weaknesses that could be exploited. A foreign country might be interested in the information. Feng had no intent to try to overthrow the U.S. government, and didn’t think any terrorist organization really had a chance. Therefore he didn’t have any interest in using the information for any gain other than monetary. It didn’t take long to find a buyer, either. A small terror cell hidden in the heartland of America had a keen interest. A seven figure interest. They offered one million dollars. Feng countered at seven million. They settled on five million. A tidy sum for very little work. In the end he didn’t even have to pay Jack for the job.

The sudden drop in altitude signaled to Feng that it was time to lock the documents in his briefcase. He then turned his attention to the window. The setting sun turned the sky shades of pink and purple. The ground was littered with browns and greens, signaling the end of winter and the beginning of spring. Small patches of snow lingered on the northern side of houses in areas where shadows remained throughout the day, waiting to rejoin the night.

The plane landed and Feng remained seated until one of the flight crew emerged from the cockpit and told him it was time to depart.

* * *

The co-pilot opened the plane’s door and dropped a set of stairs. Feng nodded at him as he passed and then stepped through the opening into the blustery cold evening. The high in New York that day had been sixty. He figured it was in the low thirties in Chicago. He pulled his coat tight with one hand and held the briefcase in the other. He scanned the area and spotted one of his men. The old man took the steps one at a time until he reached the bottom.

Feng crossed an asphalt parking lot to meet Reynolds, the most trusted member of his Chicago team. Halfway across the lot he saw a group of men appear. He did not recognize them.

“Who are these men?” he asked.

Reynolds shook his head.

“Reynolds, who are they?”

“Sir,” Reynolds said.

One of the other men reached out and placed a hand on Reynolds. Pulled him back. The man stepped forward. He had blond hair and blue eyes. Pale, prematurely aged skin. He spoke with a slight accent that Feng couldn’t quite place.

“Mr. Feng, please come with us.” He extended an arm and gestured toward a parked limousine.

The old man narrowed his eyes and looked at each man individually.

“I don’t know if you are aware of who you are dealing with. I can buy and sell each of you fifty times over. I can kill your families in their sleep and force you to watch.”

The blond haired man smiled and nodded. “We know. Let’s go.” He grabbed Feng by the elbow and led him to the limo. Another man opened the door. Reynolds stepped in first, then Feng, followed by the blond haired man. The other three men got in and blocked the exits. All four men unbuttoned their coats, revealing pistols in holsters.

Feng studied each man individually and then turned to Reynolds.

“What happened, Reynolds? Where is your team?”

Reynolds looked from Feng to the blond haired man. “I think you should—”

“That’s enough,” the blond haired man said. “Mr. Feng, all your questions will be answered by my boss.”

“This is not how we arranged this, young man. I don’t do business in this manner.” He held up the briefcase. “You can tell your boss he can forget all about the contents of this briefcase if I don’t get answers now.”

The blond haired man smiled.

“My name is Jeremy. Jeremy Fletcher. I am your liaison for the next forty-eight hours. Everything will go as planned. Our plan, that is. You just sit back and relax and nothing will happen to you or your associate here.”

The old man turned his head and looked at the man at his side. Reynolds cast his eyes down to the floor and shook his head.

“Where is the rest of your team?”

“They…I…” Reynolds couldn’t finish.

Fletcher said, “Neutralized.”

“Any damages suffered to my organization will be paid back threefold. Understand? You can tell your boss that, too.”

Fletcher smiled. “Understood.”

No one said another word for the next half hour. Finally, when the limo pulled into a parking lot, Fletcher spoke.

“We’re here.”

“Where is here?” Feng asked.

“The hotel. We are going to stay here until my boss is ready for you.”

Feng resisted at first, but then decided he had no choice. He was cut off from everyone in his organization at the moment. For now, he would remain in survival mode.

“I know what you are thinking, sir,” Fletcher said. “Don’t worry. We’re working together here. No harm will come to you or your men as long as you cooperate.”

Feng stepped out of the car. Walked up to Fletcher. He opened his mouth to speak, stopped and waved the man off.

“Show me to my room,” he said as he turned toward the hotel entrance.

5

Jack’s plane departed Athens, Greece at 12:55 am. The flight took just over eleven hours, landing in New York’s JFK Airport at five in the morning. He passed through customs without any problems, thanks to the fake passport Frank had arranged for him. The name on the passport said John J. Martin. He wondered if that was his new alias. For the past six months he had been known simply as Jack. The Greeks he had befriended needed no last name.

He made the trans-Atlantic journey with two men. Both early thirties, close cut hair, dark suits. Anyone with an eye for such things would have labeled them as Feds without giving it as much as a second thought. The men didn’t talk much other than to introduce themselves as Coppa and Shipley. They sat in front of and behind him on the commuter flight from Crete to Athens. On either side of him in the middle row on the flight from Athens to New York. Jack tried to make small talk. They said nothing. Typical of the agents in the SIS.

Jack had spent two years as an agent in the SIS after his stint with the Marines. Frank had been his partner for the majority of those two years. He never got to know many of the other agents on a personal level, despite it being a relatively small group. They spent little time in the office.

Jack and the two agents stood next to the taxi line. Coppa scanned the artificially lit road and pointed toward a black sedan.

“There. Let’s go.”

They stood on either side of Jack and led him toward the idling car. Coppa took the front passenger seat. Shipley sat in back with Jack.

Jack stared out the window, wondering where they were heading. The street lamps along the airport’s roads gave way to the headlights of cars stretched out in columns along I-678. It was almost six a.m. and the eastern sky showed the first signs of sunrise.

“You guys trust me now?”

“No,” Shipley said. “Try something and we’ll shoot.”

Jack smiled. “Where’re we going?”

Coppa and Shipley said nothing.

“Last I checked the SIS was based out of D.C. That where we’re headed to?”

Shipley turned his head and nodded once.

Jack took that as an affirmative response to his question. They were looking at a five to six hour drive to reach D.C. depending on the traffic around New York City and Philadelphia, which they would reach during the peak of morning rush hour traffic. He kept his focus on the road until they merged onto I-95 southbound. Satisfied they were heading to D.C., Jack closed his eyes and fell asleep.

* * *

The car slowed to a stop. Nothing unusual, probably traffic. Then one of the car doors opened and slammed shut. Jack sat up and looked at his watch. Barely seven am. He looked around. They were in a parking lot. In front of the car and off in the distance were two basketball courts. Behind them were four tennis courts. To his left was a baseball field. He turned in his seat and saw a brick building

“Where the hell are we?”

Shipley opened his door and stepped out. The only remaining person in the car was the driver.

Jack reached forward and grabbed the man by his shoulder. The driver leaned forward and shrugged out of Jack’s grasp.

“You can get out of the car now,” the driver said.

Jack took another quick glance around. The sun was high enough in the sky that the park posed only a limited risk of agents lurking in the shadows. He placed his hand on the door handle and pushed the door open. Got out of the car and walked around back to where Coppa and Shipley were standing. He glanced across the parking lot. On the other side of the road was a line of houses. He figured they were somewhere residential outside the city.

“Where are we?”

“Walk with us,” Coppa said.

Shipley touched Jack’s elbow.

Jack pulled away and started walking. Jack and his two escorts passed the building and the ground under them transitioned from parking lot to a paved walkway that cut through the park. A few people walked in pairs and walked their dogs along the network of pavement throughout the park. They passed through a grouping of trees and then headed toward a football field with a track circling it. On one side of the field was a single four row aluminum frame bleacher. On the top row, a lone man sat facing the field. His back was turned to the approaching men. He wore a dark overcoat and held a cup of coffee in his right hand. There appeared to be a second cup of coffee on the bench to his left.

Coppla and Shipley stopped. Shipley pointed at the man sitting atop the bleachers.

Jack kept walking. He approached the bleachers from the side, entering the man’s peripheral vision slowly and cautiously. Out here, in this environment with no weapon of his own, he was a sitting duck. Best to take his time and avoid surprising the man.

The man turned his head and Jack instantly recognized him as Frank. His short, dark hair was neatly groomed. Same as it was eight years ago when they were partners. His face had aged some and there were slight lines etched into his forehead. But his face remained strong and cut with muscular jaws.

“Glad to see you, Jack.”

“Frank. Wish I could say the same.” Jack climbed the bleachers and sat to Frank’s left. “Where are we?”

“Newark. West Side Park.”

“This where you’re based now?”

“No.” Frank took a sip of coffee and motioned to the steaming cup in between him and Jack. “I figured if you didn’t like what I had to say, then it was best you didn’t know where our new office is.”

“What is it you have to say?”

Frank nodded toward two middle aged women wearing oversized red and blue coats and spandex pants. The woman were walking moderately fast along the brown track circling the field. After they passed, Frank spoke.

“Alik was going to come work for me. He’s been providing intel for some time and I thought… Hell, you know the score I’m sure. Anyways, there’s a cell, probably more than a cell, that we’ve identified. Near here, Jack.” He waved his hand in the air for emphasis.

Jack said nothing. His eyes focused on the two women who were now a quarter of the way around the track.

Frank continued. “From the intelligence we’ve gathered and had shared with us, the group is Russian. Possibly with ties to your friend, Ivanov.” He glanced sideways and made eye contact with Jack. “We’re not sure what they are planning, but we’ve gotten word that a set of highly classified documents were intercepted and fell into a certain old man’s hands.”

Jack shrugged. Said nothing.

“And now that old man is selling those classified documents to another cell in the terrorist organization. We now believe that we are dealing with more than a small group of terrorists. We have reason to believe that this is big, Jack. And I mean big as in huge. Alik would’ve been our in. He still might be, but I’m guessing it is going to be a month, maybe two, before he’d be fit for this kind of work. And with the recent intelligence confirming that this group is getting those documents, well, we just don’t have the time to waste.”