by L. T. Ryan
The spartan room offered little in the way of clues. Three metal chairs all angled to face each other. Nothing else. Cold air piped in from a vent that ran the length of the room. It was painted white, like everything else he’d seen. It didn’t stink. It didn’t smell good. It had no odor.
Five minutes passed. Jack paced wall-to-wall, corner-to-corner, around the chairs. As a kid, he’d invent games based on pacing. Now it just helped filter the voices in his head. They’d change based on the direction he walked.
“Take a seat.” The voice boomed over a speaker Jack couldn’t see. He pointed at a chair. “Yes, that one.” The room contained a hidden camera as well.
He tried to pull the closest chair out but found it anchored to the floor. At least they wouldn’t beat him with it. He took his seat and waited another five minutes during which time it felt as though the temperature dropped ten degrees.
“I hope the delay is due to the coffee you’re brewing for me.” He could go for a mug. “And don’t bring any of that shit instant Folgers. I need high octane.”
The wall opened from a crease he couldn’t see and a tall gentleman wearing a suit with no tie entered the room. He had a mug in one hand, and a tablet in the other.
“That for me?” Jack said.
“No.”
“The coffee.”
“No.”
“Can I get a cup?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On how you answer my first question.”
Jack waited a couple beats for the guy to continue. “Not a mind reader, buddy. You gonna ask it, or…?”
“Your dossier revealed you were a bit of a—”
“Smart ass? Pain in the ass? Asshole? Something with ass, I’m sure.”
“Right.”
“I can see you’re the kind of British dude I don’t get along with.”
The man smiled at Jack, turned toward what Jack presumed was the camera, and made a gesture. He returned his gaze to his prisoner. “Doesn’t matter if we get along, Mr. Noble.”
“Mister.”
“Mister. Anyway, I just have some questions for you, and based on the answer to those questions, I will determine the best use for you, if any.”
“What happens if I don’t meet the qualifications?”
“You’ll never leave.”
Chapter 19
Jack’s grin lingered longer than it should have for a man who was informed his life might be over. The smile on the British man’s face dissipated into a tight-lipped expression somewhere between anger and constipation.
“Perhaps you think I am playing around?”
“Not really.”
“Are you sure? You quite appear to think this is a game.”
“Listen up, Paul or Robert or whatever the hell your name is. You don’t scare me. That ogre out in the hallway doesn’t scare me. The woman who put these on me”—he lifted his bound wrists “—actually, she kinda scares me, but in a good way. You know, an exciting way.”
“What the bloody hell is your point?”
“My point is death doesn’t scare me. I’ve been close to dying more times than you’ve stood to piss the past five years. So, if you wanna kill me, then get it the hell over with right now. If you have some use for me, tell me now. But, whatever you do, cut these goddamn bindings off my wrist because the shit is cutting my circulation off, and I’m no good to anyone without my hands.”
The man stared stone-faced at Noble for a few more seconds, then glanced at the camera and nodded. The door opened. A stale gust of air wafted past. The woman stepped around the empty chair and stood in front of Jack. She produced a six-inch knife and gestured for him to lift his hands.
“Be gentle,” he said.
She made sure to nick his right thumb.
The nylon cuffs fell to the floor. She kicked them out of the way. “Let me see your hand.”
“It’s OK.”
“Let me see it.”
He agreed, half-expecting her to put his thumb in her mouth. He was disappointed when she didn’t, instead tending to the wound.
“Can we get to the point now?” Jack stared at the woman in front of him.
“My name is Clive,” the man said. “I operate a team of highly skilled independent contractors—”
“Mercenaries,” Jack said.
“No.” Clive pulled his shoulders back and re-focused. “And if you cut me off again, she won’t have a simple flesh wound to tend to.”
Jack looked up at the woman and noted her smile had grown. She winked before taking a seat next to him.
Clive continued. “My team is all manner of specialists, from tech people, to surveillance, to social media experts. We have field operatives, perhaps you would call them mercenaries, but they are the best of the best from global Special Forces, US Marshals, CIA, MI6, and a couple, what the hell do they call themselves, Dirty Dog detectives, whatever in the name of Tupac that is.”
“Are they any good?”
“We caught you,” the woman said.
“That we did,” Clive said.
“I chose not to run,” Jack said.
The woman laughed. “Ines would’ve shot you.”
“No, she wouldn’t have.”
“Why not?”
“She was too conflicted.”
The woman and Clive both laughed.
Funniest guy in the room.
“She would have,” Clive said. “She played you well, though. I was impressed you got out of her sight the way you did.”
“Did she know?” Noble asked.
“That reinforcements were incoming?”
Jack nodded.
“In a roundabout way. She was on her own, but we had been waiting for tags on the BMW to pop up again, and when they did, we had a team nearby.”
“Guess she did play me well.”
“Don’t feel bad,” Clive said. “She’s snared tougher game than you.”
“Ouch.” Noble feigned hurt. “I have a question.”
“Go ahead.”
“How’d you know to have her in that car? I could’ve gone out the front door first, missed the bullet, and ran.”
Clive smiled as he adjusted his cuffs. “No, you couldn’t have.”
“Screw you, anything could’ve happened.”
“Walk me through those moments before the journalist died.”
The thoughts caught in Jack’s head. From what he could tell so far, this man would not ask a question he did not know the answer to. They were there, whether in person or watching through video. They were there the entire time.
“You had eyes on me,” Jack said.
Clive neither confirmed nor denied. “Tell me what happened before he was shot.”
Jack closed his eyes and replayed the scene after stepping out of the elevator. Some faces remained, others were blurred out now, not worth remembering. He passed through the lobby. There was a small crowd between the front desk and the entrance doors. They had to pass through these people. At the time, he figured this was the best approach. It gave him a little cover, a bit of interference. He was ahead of Schreiber, but then something happened.
It wasn’t a full-on body check, but it had been enough to slow him down. His eyes were on the street. The person was only in front of him for a moment. The guy…no, the woman, apologized in German. Had he looked at her? His eyes flicked to the left. The hair dark, her smell lingered. Lemongrass. Was there more? His eyes flicked up from her shoulders. To her face.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Jack said. “You knew what was about to happen?”
Clive shook his head. “Wish I could take credit for it. Ines knew of the journalist and his trip to Luxembourg. It was a hunch, nothing more. Ines went and waited. She never told us. We didn’t know where she was.”
“She let Schreiber walk to his death.” Jack stumbled over the words, the thought, and finally, the realization it would’ve been him who had his head blown off, not the journalist, if
not for Ines.
“She saved your life,” the woman said.
“Why?” Jack had trouble understanding the subsequent chain of events. “Why didn’t she just have you come in then?”
“The city was too hot,” Clive said. “And we didn’t know what was happening. We only saw it moments after it went down.”
“Still, you could’ve jumped in. What if I had figured out she wasn’t who she said? What if I had opened the duffel bag before we left the garage?”
Clive offered nothing more than a shrug. “Then she might’ve died.”
“And you’re OK with that.”
“It’s not that he’s OK with it,” the woman said.
“Sorry,” Jack interrupted. “What’s your name?”
“That’s not important.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll never see her again,” Clive said.
“Something tells me that’s a lie,” Jack said.
Clive’s smile returned. “Look, we can discuss all this in the near future if you accept my offer. Hell, I’ll tell you more about yourself and your closest friends than you would ever want to know.”
Jack remained silent for the next minute, and no one else spoke. The conversation had reached a point where it could only travel in one direction. Was he ready to hear what was waiting for him? Could he accept whatever they offered? And if he didn’t, what came next?
“Not saying I’m accepting anything, but, what’s in it for me?”
“Other than living?” Clive said.
“Already told you that doesn’t work on me. If I’m dead, I’m dead.”
Clive opened his mouth to speak, and Jack cut him off.
“And don’t even think about threatening my family. There are systems in place that will rain hellfire down upon you should you come close to any of them.”
“I’m not a monster, Mr. Noble.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Work with me, complete this task, and we’ll clear your name. I have a treasure trove of intelligence on Frank Skinner that will show the world you did everyone a favor when you acted upon information that no one, not even your top security officials, has ever seen.”
“I do your job; you clear my name.”
“Correct.”
“Clear my name and give me a fresh new identity so I can drop out of this forever.”
“Correct. But, first, I want you to take the night to think it over.”
“I think my brain would work better if fueled by steak and lobster and beer. Good beer, too. No damn Pabst. I’m not a hipster.”
“Consider it done.” Clive turned and the hidden door opened. “Lacy, take him to his new room.”
Lacy led him to the hallway. For the first time, Jack noticed she had a slight limp.
Ogre was no longer present. No one was, though Jack knew they were being watched the entire time.
“So, Lacy,” Jack said. “Wanna have steak and lobster with me tonight?”
Her hardened exterior broke for a moment and a smile spread across her lips. “I’m vegan.”
“I’m OK with you breaking your lifestyle for a night.”
“And I’m a lesbian.”
He shrugged.
“You really are quite full of yourself, Mr. Jack Noble. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“I got a drawer full of t-shirts with that written on them.”
She stopped in front of a door. “This is you.”
“Doesn’t look like where I was earlier.”
“You’re part of the team now.”
“I haven’t accepted anything.”
“You will.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.” She turned and walked away. “See ya tomorrow.”
He enjoyed watching her walk away until the latch clicked and the door swung outward, blocking the view. Jack took a deep breath and pulled it open the rest of the way, anxious to see his new digs.
But what he saw ripped that breath right out of him.
“Whole thing’s gone to shit now.” A can fell and hit the floor. “Should’ve known this had something to do with you.”
Jack stood there, grinning like he was standing in front of his best friend.
Because he was.
“Big man, how did you manage to get us such great accommodations?”
Bear rose, steadied himself and welcomed Jack in an embrace.
Chapter 20
Clive stood in the middle of the command center. The buzz of activity reminded him of bumblebees in a cherry tree, the constant drone almost meditative. The room held a different feel than twenty-four hours ago. Then, the activity had risen to a fever pitch, fueled by a race to retrieve Noble and Bear before the other group.
The other group.
The unidentified group had nearly taken Bear out at the hospital. The fact they didn’t was a testament to the man’s status as a superhuman. The woman, Sasha, had not surfaced, but so far, she had not been found among the dead. The hospital looked like a battlefield, though, and not a medical center.
And thank God Ines had eyes on Noble at the hotel. Had she not bumped into him, stopping him from exiting the building, it would’ve been his brains being picked out of the concrete, and not the journalist. Letting them run as far as they did posed a major risk to Ines if Jack had uncovered her identity. But moving in too soon for the extraction once they had their location could’ve tipped off the other group. They had to expand the web. Give themselves time.
Two matters remained. Identifying that group and determining how high up the chain their orders originated. And convincing Noble and Bear to work for Clive.
“It’s too quiet in here.” Isa startled him with her touch.
He straightened. “Just a lull. You might want to enjoy it.”
“Lulls bring out the other voices in my head. The bad ones.”
“Maybe you should listen to them for a change.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I do.”
“Is there a good reason for that?”
“Open yourself to your dark side, and you’ll never question anyone’s motivation again.”
Isa seemed taken aback by the suggestion. The woman was an integral part of the team as their social media and digital tracking expert. If you left anything identifying on the web, Isa would find you. Might take a little time, but she’ll find you. She could never be an operative, though. She’d asked to join a team in the field, suggesting she could do her work from the back of a van, that being onsite would allow her more insight because she could see things that their version of Google street view would miss.
But if things went sideways—as they almost always did—she’d be a liability. Everyone loved Isa, even the most jaded operators they had on the team. You can’t have those emotions out in the field. Sure, there was a bond between partners, but you signed up for the same thing, and when tracking down hardened criminals, rogue agents, assassins, and everything in between, you knew death could occur.
But not to someone like Isa.
Clive angled his face toward her. “Any—”
“Nothing.”
“How do you know what I was going to ask?”
“I’ve been listening to the Clive voice in my head.”
Clive chuckled and let his shoulders droop a tick. Not only was Isa an expert in digital tracking, she was the only member of the team that connected with him on a personal level. As a friend. In some ways, he felt like her protector.
“Something will turn up,” she said. “No one can remain a ghost forever.”
“I’ll change your mind one day.”
“Oh, really? You, Clive Swift, are going to vanish.”
He nodded.
“Just disappear, and you think I won’t be able to find you?”
He nodded.
“After this mission is over, why don’t you put it to the test?”
“To the test?”
She nodded.
“One week. Book a flight under a false identity I know nothing about.”
Clive laughed. “You seriously think you can outfox the fox? Do you remember who taught you how to do all this?”
“Mark Zuckerberg?”
Clive couldn’t contain himself over her remark that the founder of Facebook had been more instrumental in Isa’s career than himself.
“You’ve taught me well, Clive. Probably too well. It’s the reason I can’t hold down a relationship.”
“You’re too beautiful. These boys you date can’t handle it.”
She laughed. “No, the crazy voice in my head—”
“Which one?”
She slapped his shoulder. “It alternates, OK? Anyway, once the crazy takes over, I do a little stalking, and BAM, I want nothing to do with these losers.”
“You should let me set you up, Isa. I know a guy or two.”
“I want nothing to do with the kind of men you know.”
Clive shrugged off her words. “Suit yourself. But don’t start bringing your future cats with you to work. I’m allergic.”
“Figures.”
“Doesn’t it.”
The banter lingered in the air for a few moments like the smell of maple syrup before being wafted away by a few analysts heading out for lunch. They invited Isa and Clive, who declined.
“Seriously, though,” Clive began, “we need to nail this down. Noble has been off the grid for some time. No one is particularly missing him, and I think we were far enough away, and he was apprehended in an area without surveillance, so we shouldn’t expect any immediate heat on that.”
“But Logan,” she said.
“Right, Logan.” Clive paced to the nearest wall and glanced up at the monitors. All the major news networks. A few surveillance feeds they had tapped into. And the cell where Jack Noble and Bear Logan were getting reacquainted. Smiles. Steak. Beer. He almost wanted to join them.
“What kind of backlash do you think we’ll face on this?” Isa asked.
Clive took a deep breath, held it, centered himself as he shifted mental gears. “His location was obvious. They had it for some time, no other explanation on why the two assassination attempts happened so close together.”