Noble Intentions: Season Two (Episodes 6-10) (47 page)

“This is a load of bull. I got a source that leads me to the Pentagon. That’s the angle I want to work.”

“We did some follow up on Jasmine’s theory,” Frank said. “It’s more than a theory. That’s where I want you.”

“I don’t work for you,” Jack said.

The line went silent except for Frank’s breathing. It rose and fell, quickly at first and then returned to a normal pace.

“Jack,” Frank said. “Either you’re on board or I let it be known that your death was faked and you are alive and well and creeping around the Pentagon. I think there are a few people that might be interested in hearing that information. It’ll tie up a few loose ends and deflect some blame at the very least.”

Jack felt his cheeks burn hot as anger welled up inside him. Frank was lucky this conversation was being held over the phone, or he’d likely have ended up dead. He took a deep breath and regained control of his emotions.

“You and I go back a long way,” Jack said.

“You know I don’t care about things like that,” Frank said.

“Just give me twenty-four hours. If I don’t have it figured out by then, I’ll go wherever you want.”

“Give me a sec,” Frank said.

Jasmine grabbed the phone and held it up to her mouth. “You’re not considering this, are you?”

“Jack,” Frank said. “Take the phone and get me off speaker.”

Jack held out his hand and waited for Jasmine to hand the phone over. She dropped it on the table and left the kitchen.

“What do you want, Frank?” Jack said.

“You alone?”

Jack looked at Clarissa and held his right index finger to his lips. “Yeah, all alone. Jasmine left the room.”

“You sure about your source?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Who is it?”

“I stand by him. Isn’t that enough?”

Frank let out an audible exhale and said, “You got twenty-four hours. After that the phone gets switched on and you report to me or I go public and tell the world you’re alive.”

Jack ended the call and placed the phone on the table. He glanced through the opening between the kitchen and living room and saw Jasmine sitting on the sofa. He thought about trying to convince her to work his angle for the next day, but in the end decided against it. She’d be more of a hindrance than a help at this point.

He turned to Clarissa. “We should get out of here.”

She stood and walked past Jasmine to the front door. Stepped outside without saying a word. Jack followed her and stopped at the door. He looked over his shoulder at Jasmine.

“If this doesn’t go down the way I think then I’ll be back in the morning,” he said.

“I’ll be gone, Jack.”

“Then I’ll find you.”

She said nothing.

“Good luck, Jazz.” With that, he shut the door and headed toward the rental car.

Clarissa stood next to the driver’s door. Her face was drawn and she refused to make eye contact.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Sinclair’s pulling me,” she said.

“Why?”

“I can’t say anything other than he’s sending me away to attend to another matter.”

Jack reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders. She stepped into his grasp and brushed up against him. They kissed for a dozen seconds before she pulled away and jogged to her vehicle.

“You be careful, Jack,” she said. “Watch your back.”

“Always,” he said. “Keep that phone line open.”

She waved at him with her cell phone in hand. Wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her other arm.

He waited until she drove out of sight, then got in his car and pulled away. He needed to speak with Marlowe before proceeding and figured he might still be able to catch the man at his house.

15

The apartment building cast a shadow across the street, turning the warm spring day cool. Bear and Pierre stayed close to the building. Bear’s plan was to wait for someone to enter or exit the building and then grab the door before it closed. There was a risk in waiting outside, but if Charles showed up, then they’d have a gun fight on the street. It might make for bad press, but that’s why they had Frank. He could clean up any mess they made.

“You remember which apartment it was?” Bear asked.

“It’s the right side of the top floor,” Pierre said. “Penthouse.”

Bear shrugged. Looked up. Charles had done all right for himself, he thought.

The door opened and a woman in her seventies struggled to get herself and her dog through the doorway. Pierre stepped forward and grabbed the door, holding it open for the lady. She thanked him in French and walked away from the building without looking back.

“That was easy,” Pierre said.

Easier than Bear had expected. “Let’s move.”

They stuck to the stairs instead of riding up the elevator. They stopped at the final landing and caught their breath and went over their plan one more time.

“Promise me you’ll be quick,” Pierre said.

“Faster than a ninja,” Bear said.

When said to Jack, a joke about the big man’s size was sure to follow, or at the very least, a laugh. The phrase did not elicit the same response from the Frenchman.

* * *

Pierre crept down the hall, every step carrying him further away from the relative safety that having a partner provided. He reached the corner and followed the hall as it angled to the right. The door stood twenty feet away. He stopped and took a deep breath. As he shifted from foot to foot, the cold barrel of his gun brushed up against the skin of his back. The feeling was reassuring in some ways, and gave him cause for doubt in others. He’d have to rely on a clean release, something that was not guaranteed without a holster.

He recalled the last time he had been in the apartment. It was shortly after he had returned to France from Russia. Charles had offered him work and invited him over to discuss details. They hadn’t come to a working agreement at the time, and Pierre fell further into his depression as the days and weeks passed.

Now he stood there again, feeling as though he had an opportunity to erase the pain of the previous six months by taking Charles’ life.

The air in the hall was still. The skin on his forehead felt clammy. He wiped his brow and took a series of deep breaths, calming and centering himself. Then he walked to the door. Extended his arm. Rapped against the solid wood with his knuckles four times.

The light from the small peephole in the center of the door was extinguished as someone peered through. Pierre braced himself internally. On the exterior he tried to remain as calm as possible, letting his shoulders slump slightly and his arms hang down by his side.

The door opened a bit and Alonso stuck his head out. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m here to collect.”

“For what?”

“What do you mean for what? You know what for.”

“For wasting our time?

“Where’s Charles?”

“Are you crazy? He’ll kill you if he sees you.” Alonso looked genuinely concerned for Pierre’s safety.

Pierre kept the act going. “Kill me for what? I should kill you two. I completed a job and then the old man goes missing just after. No one in New York would pay up. You guys set me up and left me hanging on my quarter million.”

“You didn’t complete anything. You should leave.”

Alonso started to shut the door. Pierre wedged his foot in the opening, preventing it from closing.

“Are you saying I am a liar?” Pierre said.

Alonso shook his head and looked down at the floor. A moment later he lifted his eyes and met Pierre’s. “You need to leave. We are about to go. He won’t think twice about killing you.”

Pierre leaned forward, placing his left forearm against the door frame. He slid his right hand around his back and wrapped his fingers around the handle of his pistol. “Get Charles now.”

Alonso stepped back and let the door fall against Pierre’s shoe.

Pierre waited and listened. Through the opening he could hear the sounds of the men discussing the situation in the hall. He braced himself for the confrontation.

The door swung open. Alonso stepped up to Pierre and held out both hands. “You need to leave. Now.”

Pierre heard the distinct clicking sound of a pump action shotgun being cocked behind the door. In a split second his instincts took over and he reached behind his back and retrieved his weapon.

* * *

The sound following the ultimatum to Pierre was impossible to confuse. Bear had heard that sound ever since he was a child and went hunting with his father and uncles. Someone had a shotgun and that someone was about to shoot Pierre. Bear had already positioned himself at the point in the hall where it angled toward Charles’ door. He launched himself around the corner, gun drawn and ready to fire.

Pierre stood near the wall. The Frenchman’s right arm whipped around, gun in hand. Bear couldn’t see inside the apartment, but he did see a man he didn’t recognize, but assumed was Alonso, in the open doorway. Pierre fired and hit the man in the stomach. Alonso fell backward and disappeared from Bear’s line of sight.

Pierre turned and started toward Bear. The loud sound of a shotgun rang through the hallway and a flash of light filled the shared area of hall and doorway. Pierre yelled and fell to the ground. The cocking sound of the shotgun being pumped followed.

Bear unloaded his seventeen round magazine into the wall and doorway as he ran toward Pierre. He loaded another magazine and switched the gun to his left hand. Fired four more shots. Heard a groan from inside the apartment, but had no way to tell if it was Charles or Alonso.

He quickly inspected Pierre. The damage appeared to be on the right side. He was losing blood at a steady rate. Bear hooked his right arm under Pierre’s left and dragged him down the hall, firing occasionally toward the apartment.

When they rounded the corner, Bear hoisted Pierre onto his shoulder. The man had become incoherent and Bear had to hurry. He opted to try for the elevator instead of the stairs. He pounded against the button on the wall next to the stainless steel doors.

Then he heard sound of the shotgun being pumped. Bear adjusted Pierre on his shoulder and extended his arm.

“I’m gonna kill you bastards,” Charles said from the hallway.

Bear said nothing. Glanced up at the display above the elevator and saw that it had two more floors to go. He fired a shot down the hallway in an attempt to slow Charles down.

The barrel of Charles’ shotgun appeared from behind the wall and began to drop into position. He looked at the display again and saw that it still hadn’t moved from the third floor. There was no time to wait. He barreled down the hall toward the exit that led to the stairs. A shot rippled through the air from behind. Bear braced for the bullet to tear through his flesh. It didn’t. He hit the door at full speed, barely managing to get his hand on the knob and turn it. He hoped that Pierre’s internal wounds weren’t severe, otherwise he’d be sending the man to his deathbed with all the jarring and slamming and bouncing.

Bear turned and saw Charles in the hall. He fired without aiming as the door slammed shut. He had no idea if any of the bullets had connected or not. Had no intention of opening the door to find out. As quickly as he could, Bear took the stairs to the bottom floor. He raced through the lobby. The elevator dinged as he approached and the stainless steel doors opened. Bear aimed his gun at the opening, ready to fire on Charles if he were standing there. An elderly couple saw his weapon and cowered back to the corner of the elevator.

“Please don’t shoot,” the old man yelled out in French.

Bear ignored him at first and continued toward the door. Then he stopped and turned around. The elevator was still open. He stuck his foot in the front of one side of the doors to prevent it from closing. He peered in and found the controls. Pressed the button marked for emergency.

“Do either of you have a cell phone?” Bear held his fingers to his head to mimic the action of using a phone.

The man nodded.

“Police,” Bear said, then turned and exited the building. He heard the stairwell door crash open as he left the building and stepped onto the sidewalk. He spun around and fired blindly into the lobby. Sirens approached and Bear craned his neck to see which direction they were coming from. He saw the ambulance turn onto the street and he rushed toward it, waving his free hand.

The ambulance screeched to a stop in front of him. A man and woman emerged from the front. A second man came out from the back of the vehicle.

“Be quick,” Bear said in French as he laid Pierre on the ground. “There’s a madman inside with a gun. I’ll cover you for a second, but I have to go.” He knew that the team would be violating half of their training by loading Pierre without first assessing him, but his urging had been met with a rapid response.

The two men scooped Pierre off the ground and rushed him toward the back of the vehicle. The woman got behind the steering wheel of the ambulance and took off before the back door was closed.

Another set of sirens approached. The police, Bear figured. He looked around. Saw a man step out of his car and walk toward a mailbox, leaving his driver’s side door open. Bear ran toward the car and jumped in and threw the car into gear. He sped off. He had to get out of the city, then contact Kat, and then find out about Pierre.

16

Jack drove through the quiet neighborhood and approached the street that led to Marlowe’s house. As he turned, he saw an army of police cars, government cars and an ambulance parked in front of the man’s residence. Medics wheeled a gurney toward the ambulance. A sheet was pulled over a body. Jack pulled the car to the curb and stopped. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a cell phone. Dialed the daisy chained number that led to Frank.

Frank answered almost immediately.

“Did you know who I was talking to?” Jack said.

“Jack? What are you talking about?”

“Dammit Frank, don’t screw with me now. Did you have any idea who my source was?”

“Was?” Frank paused for a beat. “I think I do now. I just got word that Robert Marlowe was murdered. General Prather, too.”