Noble Intentions: Season Two (Episodes 6-10) (36 page)

Clarissa picked it up. Grabbed the paper with Ivanov’s number. Dialed. She held the phone up to her ear and waited. Ivanov picked up before the second ring.

“Who is this?”

“Anastasiya.”

Ivanov cleared his throat. Paused. “You are a hard woman to find.”

She said nothing. Looked between Jack and Jasmine.

“Where are you?” Ivanov asked.

“Someplace safe.”

“Why don’t you tell me and I’ll send someone to get you.”

“You sent someone last night.”

Ivanov hesitated, then said, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“He’s dead.”

“What is it that you want, Anastasiya?”

“He said he was going to kill me, then you.”

“What was his name?”

“I want to meet.”

“Tell me where you are and I’ll send a car.”

“No deal. We’ll meet someplace public.”

“Why?”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Red Square.”

“I don’t want to be exposed like that.”

“There’s a place, outside of Moscow, we—”

“No. Has to be in town.”

Ivanov cleared his throat. “There are people who might not take kindly to the sight of me.”

“I have information you want.”

“What do you mean?”

“They never found the documents Boris procured did they?”

Ivanov was silent.

“I have them,” she said.

Jack watched for any change in Clarissa’s expression. He wondered what Ivanov would say. He held out his hands to get her attention.

She shrugged.

He mouthed the words “hang up.”

“I’ll call you back soon, General.”

She sat the phone on the table. Got up. Walked to the window.

“We should probably leave,” Jack said.

“Think he was tracing it?” Jasmine said.

“Probably.”

Jack looked at the newspaper spread out on the table. He pointed and said, “What’s that?”

Clarissa hovered over his shoulder. The ends of her hair brushed against his cheek. She said, “Russian Fire Theater. They do shows there. The Fire Show.”

“Dark and loud,” Jack said.

“Looks that way.”

“Call him back. Tell him to meet you at the show tonight. You’ll exchange the documents with him there.”

“What are we going to use for the documents?”

“There won’t be any documents.”

Clarissa and Jasmine looked at him like he had lost his mind.

“Trust me. Call him.”

Clarissa redialed the number. She didn’t wait for Ivanov to speak. She said, “Russian Fire Show. You know where that is?”

“I can find it.”

“Meet me there tonight. Alone. Eight p.m. It’s dark and loud. I’ll exchange the documents in exchange for your promise to stay out of my life.”

“Deal,” Ivanov said.

She hung up the phone. “What’s the plan, Jack?”

“It’s pretty simple. You’re going to tell him that the documents are hidden in the men’s room. Farthest stall. Behind the toilet, taped to the back.”

“Then what? You’re gonna take him out?”

“No,” Jack said. “Jasmine is.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. I can’t be in the building. Ivanov knows me. His men know me. He sees me and the whole thing blows up and innocent people will end up dead.”

“You really think he’ll go alone?” Jasmine asked.

“No, but he agreed to be alone. He’ll leave his guys outside. I’ll take care of them if necessary.”

“Should we go check it out?” Clarissa asked.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “We’re going to. But first, we need to get our stuff and ditch this room. You got anything at your hotel you need?”

Clarissa nodded.

“We’re going there next.”

It took Jack less than two minutes to pack. Jasmine a few minutes longer. They left the room and got in the two door white car. Drove a short distance to Clarissa’s hotel. They passed by the place where Clarissa had been attacked. Yellow police tape boxed in the crime scene. Jack and Jasmine stared between the trees. Clarissa turned her head the other way.

They stopped in the lot behind the hotel. All three got out of the car. Entered the hotel from the rear. They took the stairs to avoid being seen.

Clarissa inserted her key and opened the door. The room looked untouched. She grabbed her clothes and the submachine gun. Handed it to Jack. Said, “This might come in handy if he brings extra men.”

Jack nodded. Inspected the weapon. It was a PP-19 Bizon 9mm. Clarissa handed him two extra magazines. Almost 200 shots. He said, “Yeah, it’ll be a big help.”

“OK, that’s everything.”

Jack opened the door. Stopped. There were voices in the hall. Feet shuffled slowly across the floor. He waited. The shuffling of feet had stopped, but the voices continued. They were in Russian and he didn’t understand what they were saying. He opened the door, stepped to the side, and looked into the hall with one eye. An old couple stood next to the stairs. They appeared to be catching their breath before taking the next flight.

“We’re clear,” Jack said. He left the room first.

They took the stairs back down. Exited through the rear. Got in the car and drove north through the city.

The theater was only five miles or so from where they were staying. The drive took close to fifteen minutes. They parked a few blocks away and walked. A sign outside the theater said closed and the door was locked.

“So much for that idea,” Jasmine said.

“What now?” Clarissa said.

“Let’s go shopping,” Jack said.

“For what?” Jasmine said.

“Communications equipment. I want to be able to stay in contact and hear what is going on.”

14

Feng woke up at six a.m. Earlier than normal. But today was not a normal day. It was the one day a month he looked forward to. The day he’d get to spend with his granddaughter, Maggie.

Feng had missed the first seven years of the little girl’s life. It had been his fault. At least, that’s what he told himself. He had raised such a stink over his daughter marrying a white man that she disavowed him. Said she’d never speak to him again, and when she had kids, he’d never see them. She held good on that promise for a long time. He always wondered if he had not been such an ass, would she have remained close to him. In the back of his head he knew that his daughter wanted to get away from him, and he provided the perfect excuse.

But time heals all wounds, or so they say. She did come back and introduced him to his granddaughter. He promised his daughter that he was leaving the business. Just had some loose ends to tie up, and once things were squared away, he’d be done.

And now, that day was close. Retirement was near. Not many gangsters get to say that.

He straightened his tie and grabbed his overcoat. Left his office and walked through the compound. Found his driver and said, “Let’s go.”

They drove north for an hour to Stamford, Connecticut. Stopped in front of a two story colonial. Feng got out of the car. Walked to the house. Stood under a covered porch supported by two thick white columns.

A thin woman in her late thirties opened the door. She smiled and reached out and hugged the old man.

“Biyu, my loving daughter,” Feng said. “How are you?”

She barely got out the word, “Good,” before Maggie barreled past her and latched onto her grandfather.

“Hi, Grandpa,” Maggie said.

Feng reached down and patted the top of her head. Then he took her hand in his, kissed his daughter on the cheek, and led Maggie to the car. “Where should we go today?”

“The zoo in the park,” she said.

“You want to see the monkeys?”

Maggie giggled and made a sound like a monkey, “Ooh-ooh, ahh-ahh, ee-ee.”

The old man laughed. He wrapped his arm around the little girl and pulled her close. All the years he’d been involved in crime. The people he’d killed or had been responsible for their deaths. The lives he’d ruined. He didn’t deserve this moment with his granddaughter, and he knew it. He knew it and he thanked whoever from above looked out for him and allowed him to live as long as he had and given him this precious time.

“To the zoo,” he instructed the driver.

They drove an hour back to the city. The driver let them out on 65th and Feng and Maggie walked to and through the zoo. They spent an hour talking and laughing and making faces at the animals. Then they returned to the car. It was time to have lunch in Queens.

15

Pierre lay on his back, staring up at the blue sky. Clear, not a cloud in sight. The rooftop of the apartment building was easy to get to. He had waited for someone to leave through the locked front door. Grabbed it before it closed. Found the stairs. Took them to the top of the building. He had expected some kind of action or resistance, but it had gone quite well.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen. It was Bear. He answered.

“It’s almost time,” Bear said.

Pierre checked his watch. Performed time zone calculations in his head. 11:45 a.m.

“I’m going to the parking lot now,” Bear said. “You need to watch the street.”

“OK.”

“You ready for this?”

“Yes.”

“You sure? It’s been a while, right?”

Pierre neglected to tell Bear about the previous night’s activities. “I’m steady as a rock, my friend. I can do this.” He disconnected the call, then stuffed the phone in his pocket. He sat up. Reached into his bag and pulled out two blankets. The blankets matched the cream colored exterior of the building. He covered himself with one of the blankets and stood, hunched over. The rooftop had a four foot high wall. He leaned over the wall and watched the street. His rifle, a Remington 700P Bear had somehow secured, rested next to his right leg. He backed up and draped the second sheet over the rifle.

The street was a little less busy than the day before. Cars passed one or two at a time, but at irregular intervals. The same went for people on the sidewalk. He guessed that there would be a lunch rush at the three ethnic diners across the street.

Pierre’s mind wandered while he stared at nothing in particular. He had his sights focused on one thing, and one thing only. A white Mercedes. Until that appeared, he could think about whatever he wanted. And he did. He thought about Marcy. He could have had the woman the night before. Why hadn’t he? Was it really because of the job, like he had told her? It was true, he had needed to get up early. Before five in the morning. He was at the apartment building by six, and on the roof by six-fifteen. The job was not an invalid excuse. It could have been Kat, though. What would he do about tonight? He told Marcy he’d have dinner with her. But would he even have the chance? Would they remain in New York after the hit? What if things went badly? He might end up dead himself. Or worse, in jail.

His phone buzzed again. He fished it out of his pocket, brought it up to his face. Marcy. He sent the call to voice mail. He felt a quick vibration against his side, an alert telling him that she had left him a message.

His eyes drifted lazily down the street as he thought about his date the night before.

Focus.

He recognized the car the moment it turned left onto 74th. It approached slowly as it passed the surplus store, then the bank, then the jewelry store. All the parking spots along the street were taken. The Mercedes stopped in front of the diner. Hazard lights blinked in a rhythmic pattern.

Pierre had grabbed the rifle the moment he saw the white luxury sedan. He leaned over the side of the building. Right hand on the trigger. Left hand on the barrel. Center of the rifle balanced on the narrow edge of the four foot high barrier between the roof and sky.

The rifle was equipped with a scope and iron sights. Pierre used both. He aimed just over the roof of the car, at the crack between the rear passenger door and the frame. He lifted his head for a second to get a full view of the street. He had to make sure there were no pedestrians that might cross at the same time he fired.

The area was clear. Only the old man and the driver, who remained seated and looked as though he had no intention of getting out of the Mercedes.

The door opened. At first an inch, then three, and finally all the way. He saw the old man’s arm, covered with a navy blue sleeve adorned with pin stripes, reach out and grab the arm rest.

The old man followed. A tuft of silver hair appeared. Then his head. He stepped out.

Pierre’s heart rate escalated. His breathing quickened. His index finger trembled slightly. He took a deep breath. Steadied himself. He had to remind himself that he’d done this before.

The old man leaned forward and his head was inside the car again.

Pierre cursed under his breath. Shifted against the wall. Readjusted the weapon in his hands.

The old man reappeared. Stood up straight. He had a smile on his face.

Tis a blessing to die happy and unaware that your life has ended.

Pierre squeezed the trigger, removing any slack. He exhaled. Pulled the trigger all the way.

The muffled sound of the shot was most likely inaudible on the ground. The impact of the shot, however, was felt by one man and noticed by another.

The bullet hit Feng in the forehead. The damage it caused was severe. The man’s body flew back a few feet. A cloud of blood hovered in the air from the car door to where he landed on the sidewalk. From the view Pierre had through the scope, he could confirm that Feng was dead.

Pierre leaned back. Took in a full view of the street. The driver, who he had expected to drive off, stepped out of the car. He looked around and then ran to his boss’s side.

Pierre adjusted, aimed, and pulled the trigger again. He rushed the shot, but still managed to hit the driver in the back of the head.

The man’s large body fell forward on top of Feng’s.

Pierre heard a scream. The scream of a child. He lifted his head and saw a little girl emerge from the backseat of the Mercedes. She was short and thin and not even ten years old.

He covered his mouth with his forearm to muffle his yell. Then he pulled out his phone and called Bear.

“Is it done?”