Noble Intentions: Season Two (Episodes 6-10)

by L. T. Ryan

  Fletcher shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me, Mr. Feng.” He opened the door and nodded at Feng. “Go in.”

  Feng stepped through the doorway and looked around the room. The walls were covered with built in wooden bookshelves, each stocked with spine out books. There had to be thousands of them. They looked old. The room was at least twenty feet high and there was a sliding ladder on each wall. In the middle of the room near the back wall sat a large mahogany desk. Behind the desk was a tall leather chair facing a floor to ceiling window.

  Feng stopped just inside the doorway and cleared his throat. The chair spun around and he nodded at the man sitting behind the desk. The man stood and walked around the desk. Stopped in front of Feng. He was tall. Probably six three or four. He had broad shoulders and short blond hair. His eyes were blue and distant. He appeared to look through the old man rather than at him. He held out his hand and squeezed tight around Feng’s.

  “Boris,” he said. His accent was thick and distinct and Russian. “Let’s get started.”

  Feng stood back as Boris returned to his seat. Then he walked to the desk and sat down. Behind him the door shut closed and locked.

  Boris smiled.

  Feng frowned.

  “It’s for both our protection. Last line of defense if you will.”

  “What about the window?” Feng said with a nod.

  Boris shrugged.

  Feng studied the man. His face held no expression. His eyes seemed dead. This was a man who had retribution on his mind, no doubt about that. Feng had been that way much of his life and only now eased up as he knew the end was near. This deal was one of the ones he counted on to help push himself into retirement. The Russians were offering a large sum of money for the documents.

  “Our talks on the phone,” Boris said. “The early negotiations. I don’t think that price was quite right.”

  “You are indeed correct, Mr. Boris. I couldn’t possibly let these go for any less than ten million.”

  Boris smiled. He leaned back in his chair and said nothing.

  The old man said nothing in return. They faced off in silence for more than five minutes.

  The old man spoke first. “I could go down to eight.”

  “The agreement was five.”

  “Times change, my friend. I have had other offers. But I discussed this with you first, so I want you to have the first right of refusal.”

  “What other offers? Who has made other offers?”

  Feng smiled and brought his hands together in front of his face.

  “I won’t reveal them for fear of retribution against them.”

  “You might face retribution from me for not disclosing the information.”

  “If you make a move like that it will be the last move you make. I am old. I am ready to die. You can take nothing from me. Understand? Nothing. I, however, can take everything from you. I know all about you and your operations, Mr. Boris. I know more than you want me to know. Let’s cut this out and complete the deal. Five million as originally agreed.”

  Boris lifted an eyebrow. His cheeks turned red and his nostrils flared a bit. He took a deep breath. Feng guessed it was an effort to hide the anger that his face already betrayed.

  “Five million,” Boris said.

  Feng smiled and leaned back in his chair.

  “Why Iowa?”

  Boris shrugged. “Why not? Last place they would look for us.”

  Boris stood and walked to the corner of the room. He slid a section of books, revealing a hidden safe. He punched in a code and opened the safe. He returned to the desk and placed several stacks of cash in front of Feng.

  “That’s not all of it. My guys are at the bank getting the rest right now.”

  10

  Jack waited by the aluminum bleachers. The air was cool, but not cold. His brown leather jacket was unzipped. The park was full of kids and families playing and walking and enjoying themselves. He couldn’t help but feel out of place. He checked his watch. 11:45 a.m. Frank said noon, which meant he would be there within the next five minutes. Jack faced the football field but kept checking in all directions for any signs of Frank or other SIS agents.

  Less than five minutes later Frank appeared from the direction of the parking lot. Jack left the bleachers to meet him in the middle. Frank saw him, turned and waved for Jack to follow. Jack double-timed it and caught up with Frank before he reached the parking lot.

  “What’s the hurry?” Jack asked.

  “Like you, I don’t like being out in the open like that.”

  Jack looked around. “Any reason for concern?”

  “None other than constant paranoia.”

  Jack laughed. He related.

  “Come on. I want you to meet your new partner.”

  “You won’t be working with me?”

  Frank shook his head. “I’m no longer in the field, Jack.”

  “A pencil pusher. Who would have thought it?”

  Frank said nothing. He led Jack to the corner of the parking lot and opened the back passenger side door of the dark sedan.

  Jack placed his left foot inside and ducked his head to enter the car. He paused at the sight of the woman in the backseat. Her ringed dark brown hair fell over her shoulders and framed her mocha colored face. She removed her sunglasses, revealing dark brown eyes. Even in her seated position, he guessed she was tall, judging by her long legs.

  She extended her arm toward Jack.

  “Jasmine Medina.”

  Jack reached for her hand and responded. “Jack, er, John. Who the hell am I now, Frank?”

  “I know who you are,” she said.

  “Jack,” Frank said. “Get in. We need to move.”

  Jack sat down and closed the door. He didn’t take his eyes off of Jasmine. To call the woman beautiful was an understatement. What the hell was she doing working with the SIS? He made a mental note to find out.

  Frank twisted in his seat until he faced Jack.

  “Jasmine joined us about a year after you left. She’s the best agent I’ve got. I’ve got no doubt that you two will be able to crack this thing if it goes as deep as I think it does.”

  Jack cleared his head and let Frank’s words settle in.

  “What about the CIA? FBI? Homeland Security?”

  “Nobody’s talking,” Jasmine said.

  “That’s right,” Frank said. “Someone knows something and they don’t want to give it up.”

  “What about you guys?” Jack asked. “You giving them anything?”

  “No. Nothing. Not even the documents.”

  “Shouldn’t someone know if they are as bad as you made them out to be?”

  Frank shrugged and turned in his seat to face forward.

  “I give them that, then I have to give them you. None of us wants that, Jack.”

  Jack stared out the window. Row homes gave way to single family homes. Single family homes gave way to farmland. Farmland gave way to the woods. Trees passed by in a blur. Patches of snow spotted the thin strip of grass between the road and the trees. They reached a clearing and the car pulled into a gas station parking lot.

  Frank and the driver didn’t move.

  Jasmine undid her seat belt and opened her door.

  “What’s this?” Jack asked.

  “This is where you get out,” Frank said.

  Jasmine stuck her head back in the car.

  “Come on, Jack. Let’s go.”

  He opened the door and slid out of the car. Followed Jasmine across the parking lot. She held out her hand and pressed a button on a key fob. Tail lights on a green sedan blinked twice. Jasmine rounded the trunk and went to the driver’s door. Jack opened the passenger door and got in.

  Jasmine stuck the key in the ignition and started the car.

  “Need anything before we go?”

  Jack shook his head.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Cherry Hill.”

  “What’s there?”

  “A l
ead.”

  He tried to pry more information out of her during the drive to Cherry Hill, New Jersey, but Jasmine remained tight lipped. Jack conceded to her and stayed quiet the last fifteen minutes of the forty minute drive.

  They arrived in Cherry Hill and Jasmine pulled into a parking lot. Parked the car in front of a laundromat. Jack opened his door and placed his feet on the ground.

  “Stay here,” she said.

  “What?” Jack held his hands up. “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  He waved both hands at her and returned to his seat in the car. He watched Jasmine walk into the laundromat. The front of the building consisted of large floor-to-ceiling windows, enabling him to keep an eye on her. She walked to the back corner and began talking with a man. Jack strained to make out the man’s features, but the sun glare on the windows prevented him from doing so. He placed his hand on the door handle and thought about getting out. Decided to stay in the car. If Jasmine had been a field agent in the SIS for seven years then she could handle herself.

  Jack checked his coat pockets for a cigarette and sighed when he found none. All those months not smoking ruined thanks to the old Greek lady.

  Jasmine emerged from the laundromat with the man following behind her. He was middle aged. Thin except for a round bulge protruding from his mid-section. He had a dark beard and a bald head.

  Jack opened his door and started to get out. Jasmine waved him back in. She walked past her door and opened the back door. The man got in the backseat without saying anything.

  Jasmine got in the car. “Jack, this is Igor. He is going to lead us to a house. Isn’t that right, Igor?”

  The man nodded with a groan.

  Jasmine continued. “If he acts up, reaches for me or tries to leave the car, shoot him. OK? Your piece is in the glove box.”

  Jack opened the glove box and removed the pistol and holster. He wondered what would have happened if someone had broken into the car while it had been left unattended at the gas station. He inspected the gun, a Glock 17 9mm with a 17 round magazine. Not his weapon of choice, but it would do.

  “Works for me,” Jack said.

  The man in the back seat started giving directions. He had a thick Russian accent.

  Jack leaned toward Jasmine. “Where are we going?”

  She turned her head to the side and gave him a look that indicated she had no intention of telling him.

  “Fine,” he said.

  Igor spoke up as they passed a white cape cod with green trim. “There.”

  Jasmine kept the car steady and turned left at the next street and then left again. She pulled up to the curb and parked. She reached under the steering column. Pulled a lever. There was a click and then the trunk popped open.

  “Get out, Igor.”

  The man protested. “Why?”

  “Just get out,” she said. “Want to help, Jack?”

  Jack got out of the car and walked around to the driver’s side. He opened the door and grabbed Igor by his arm. Yanked him from the car and then pushed him around back. He gestured to the open trunk.

  “Here’s your chance, friend. Easy or hard?”

  Igor shook his head and spit on the ground.

  Jack swung fast and hard and hit the man in the abdomen. The man bowed over and Jack pushed him into the truck and closed the lid. Igor started kicking against the trunk interior a few seconds later.

  Jasmine told Jack to stay put and she opened the trunk again. This time Jack stood there with his Glock 17 aimed at the man in the trunk.

  “Listen up, Igor,” Jasmine said. “If I need to tie you up and gag you, I will. I can’t leave you in the back seat. If I did and you decided to run, that would be bad. Or maybe you would decide to run into the house after us—”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Igor said.

  “—and that would just cause a big old mess that would result in you and your friends being shot. Is that what you want?” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “No, of course it’s not. Trust me, as soon as we are done we are going to return to this spot and let you out of the trunk. OK?”

  Igor exhaled and seemed to relax. He lay down and closed his eyes. Said nothing.

  Jasmine nodded at the trunk and Jack closed the lid. She ducked into the driver’s seat, rolled up the windows, locked the doors and joined Jack on the sidewalk.

  “Best we walk from here,” she said.

  Jack nodded.

  “What’s the plan?” he asked.

  “We knock on the door.”

  “And then?”

  “Depends on what they do after we knock.”

  “Say they answer.”

  “I ask them some questions.”

  “And if they don’t answer?”

  “The questions or the door?”

  “Christ,” Jack said. “Are you always this difficult?”

  Jasmine smiled and nodded.

  “Every second of my life.”

  They turned right again and then crossed the street. Walked up to the white cape cod with green trim. Jasmine stood in front of the door and Jack stood to the side in between the door and a window. Out of sight. She knocked on the door. Waited a minute and knocked again.

  Jack heard muffled sounds from inside.

  “They’re inside,” he said.

  She nodded and lifted an eyebrow.

  “Ready to kick this door down for me?”

  “You hardly strike me as a damsel in distress.”

  “I’m not. These are expensive shoes, though.”

  She stepped aside and Jack stood in front of the door. He stepped back a few feet to get his momentum going. He held his pistol in his right hand. He lunged and kicked and smashed the door in. Then he burst through the opening with his gun pointed in front of him.

  Four men sitting at a round table looked up at him, horror written across their faces.

  “Don’t any of you move.”

  11

  Bear pulled Mandy close. The little girl looked like she was in shock. Her eyes glazed over and her mouth hung open. He knelt over Mr. Jones and held his hand against the man’s back. He applied pressure to the gunshot wound in an attempt to reduce the amount of blood lost. He looked around the room. Everything happened in slow motion. One teller dropped to the floor. The others worked frantically at their drawers trying to ready themselves for the armed men. The people in line all had different reactions. Some lowered themselves to the ground. One woman stood in place, frozen and crying. A few others backed up to the far wall, distancing themselves from the five men who blocked the only way in and the only way out of the bank.

  The bankers who sat at desks all disappeared from sight, hiding behind and underneath their desks. They cowered beneath the false security their desktops offered. They shivered and cried and begged for their lives on the carpeted floor.

  Office doors slammed shut. A bad move, Bear thought, and likely to draw the ire of the armed men. Sure enough, one of the men turned and aimed his assault rifle at one of the offices with a closed door.

  “Not yet,” one of the masked men said.

  A man emerged from the last office. He was tall and fit and older. He had a full head of silver hair and wore a gray suit with a blue tie. The bank manager. He approached the front of the bank with his hands held out in front of him. He walked slow and steady. His face held the same expression during the walk. An expression in between shock, terror and defiance.

  “Stop there,” one of the armed men yelled.

  The sound of the man’s voice acted as a catalyst to Bear’s brain and the events began unfolding at normal speed.

  “I just want this to go peacefully,” the bank manager said.

  Bear turned his head and caught the manager’s eye. Bear shook his head and moved his eyes between the manager and the floor.

  The manager ignored Bear and continued moving forward. He straightened his outstretched arms.

  “I said stop.” The voice was deep and thick. The acc
ent eastern European or Russian.

  Bear turned his head to the front of the bank.

  The masked man lifted his assault rifle and aimed it at the manager.

  The manager stopped and held his hands higher. “I just want this—”

  “To go peacefully. Yes, you said that already.” The masked man started to walk toward the manager. “Turn around and get on your knees.”

  The manager didn’t move.

  “Now,” the man yelled.

  When the manager still refused to move, the masked man rushed him and drove the butt of his gun into the manager’s stomach. The manager fell to his knees but kept his shoulders back and his head held high. His face turned bright red and then darkened to a shade of purple as he fought for breath. He never caught his breath, though. The masked man moved behind him and placed the barrel of his rifle against the manager’s head.

  “Let this be a lesson to all of you,” the masked man said.

  Bear grabbed Mandy and pulled her to his chest, covering her eyes and ears.

  The gunshot echoed through the bank. The room fell silent.

  “Anyone else want this to go peacefully? Or, perhaps to go peacefully themselves?”

  No one said anything.

  The man started barking orders in a foreign language. One of his men guarded the door. Two others went behind the counter and yelled at the tellers and forced them to remove the cash from their drawers and dump it into burlap sacks. If a teller didn’t comply, they smacked them across the face and stuck their guns into the teller’s back until they did as told.

  The fifth man joined the first and they interrogated the bankers under their desks and hidden in their offices until they found one who would lead them to the safe.

  Bear turned his attention to the old man bleeding on the floor. Mr. Jones stared beyond Bear. His eyes focused on something not of this world. Bear felt the old man’s neck for a pulse. He found it, but it had become thready and uneven and weak. The old man’s breaths were shallow and the time between each grew further and further apart. A trickle of blood ran from the side of his mouth and down his cheek toward the floor.

  “Mr. Jones,” Bear said.

  The old man’s eyes widened and focused on Bear. He brought his thin hand up in front of his chest. Bear reached out and grabbed the old man’s papery white hand. Mr. Jones squeezed tightly. His lips moved and gasps escaped his mouth. Then he became still. His head fell slightly to the left and his unfocused eyes stared at nothing.