Noble Intentions: Season Two (Episodes 6-10)

by L. T. Ryan

  The plane continued northeast past the city and landed at what looked to be an abandoned runway.

  Jasmine turned on her phone and pulled up a map that centered on their location. She held it in front of Jack and said, “Halfway between the city and the border.”

  The pilot came out and opened the door. Dropped the stairs and disappeared again.

  “Guess that’s our cue,” Jack said.

  Jasmine nodded and stood.

  Jack stepped into the aisle, grabbed their bags and headed toward the front of the plane. He stopped at the door and poked his head out. A car pulled up, a large late model sedan. Black. Two men got out. The man on the driver’s side stood next to the car. The man on the passenger’s side walked toward the plane.

  Jack dropped the bags and reached behind his back. Grabbed his Beretta and held it out of sight.

  The man stopped five feet from the base of the stairs. He lifted his arms to the side, stretched his fingers wide. He spoke with an American accent. “I’m unarmed. You can put your weapon away, Jack.”

  “What about him?” Jack nodded toward the driver.

  “He’s unarmed. We’re on your side.”

  Jasmine placed her hand on Jack’s shoulder and leaned past him to look outside. She smiled at the man on the ground. “Jack, that’s Harris. He’s one of us.” She squeezed past Jack and went down the stairs.

  Jack tucked his gun away and picked up the bags. As he stood up, he noticed Harris reach into his coat. Jack dropped the bags again. Reached behind his back. His hand wrapped around the handle of the gun. Then he saw Harris’s hand emerge with two dark blue passport folders. Jack let go of the gun. Took a deep breath, then grabbed the bags and walked down the stairs.

  Jasmine was already on her way to the car. The driver walked around the back, met her and opened the rear passenger door for her.

  Harris stepped up and reached for one of the bags, then he handed Jack his passport. “I don’t think we’ll have trouble getting across. These passports are legit.”

  “What about the passports Frank gave us?”

  “We’ve taken extra precautions with these.”

  “What kind of precautions?”

  “Monetary.”

  “Paid someone off at the border?”

  “Paid to have someone in particular at the border.” Harris turned and walked toward the car. The trunk popped open. He lifted it with one hand and tossed the duffel bag in with the other.

  The men passed each other, Harris to the passenger’s side, Jack to the driver’s. He opened the rear door and slid in next to Jasmine.

  “Are we going straight to the border?” Jasmine said.

  “Yes,” Harris said. “After that we’ll take you to your car.”

  They spoke little during the thirty minute drive. Jack said nothing at all. He stared out his window, catching glimpses of barren farmland between thick clusters of trees that formed a ten foot wide barrier between the highway and open land. He wondered why they hadn’t planned to let them out close to the border. They could cross by foot somewhere off the beaten path. Then they could arrange to meet further down the road. The scenario played out in his mind. He found a major hitch. The area would be patrolled. Hell, there might even be a physical barrier. It was probably safer to take their chances crossing where they could pay someone off than to risk being picked up by the Russian Army in a field crossing an arbitrary line.

  The vehicle slowed and eventually stopped behind a line of cars. They were ten deep. It would take a few minutes to pass.

  Harris turned in his seat and said, “Just stay cool. They’ll want to look at your passports. They won’t ask any questions. Don’t speak. Don’t make eye contact. Simple instructions. Follow them and we’ll make it across with no problems.”

  Jack nodded. Looked past Harris. The scene ahead looked like something out of the 1970s. An old wood framed building stood next to the road. The windows were darkened. A high fence topped with barbed wire wrapped around the building on three sides and cut across the landscape as far as he could see. Two armed guards stood in front of the building. He figured there were a few more inside. Four more armed men positioned themselves around the car at the front of the line. One man stood next to the driver’s window and spoke. Two more stood in front of the car, and the last man at the rear.

  The process repeated itself as each new car pulled up. At the sixth car, they pulled the driver and passenger out. Inspected them, then the car. Normal operations resumed after that.

  Finally, it was their turn. The driver pulled the car up and stopped when one of the armed men held his hands out.

  All four windows rolled down. Cold air rushed in and swirled around the car and enveloped them. Jack resisted the urge to pull his jacket tight. The move might alert the guards.

  The guard approached the driver’s window. He said, “Passport,” and waited for the driver to hand his over.

  The driver obliged.

  “Why are you visiting Russia today?” the guard asked.

  Jack shifted his line of sight from the two armed men in front of the car to Harris. Harris’s head turned to the side. The look on his face matched the feeling in Jack’s gut. Harris had said they’d ask no questions.

  The guard straightened up and appeared to gesture toward the front of the car. One of the men left his position and went to the passenger side of the vehicle. He asked Harris for his passport and followed it up with a question. “What do you do for a living?”

  “Contractor,” Harris said. “We’re all contractors. U.S. based and heading into Russia to make an estimate.”

  That was all Jack caught before the guard on his side of the car stuck his hand through the open window. Jack lifted his hand, the passport held lightly between his thumb and forefinger. The guard snatched it and took two steps back. It felt like the process was taking longer than it should have. Out of his peripheral vision, Jack saw the guard approach again. The man’s hand hit the side of the car and the door next to Jack opened.

  “Get out,” the guard said.

  Jack cast a glance toward Harris, then stepped out. He felt Jasmine staring in his direction. Didn’t look back.

  “State your name.”

  Despite Harris’s proclamation that there would be no questions asked, Jack had studied the passport and created a back story. He hoped Jasmine had done the same.

  “Milton,” Jack said. “First name, Mark.”

  “What are your plans in Russia?”

  “Like the man already said, we’re contractors and are on our way to estimate a job.”

  “Don’t move.”

  The guard backpedaled toward the front of the car. He handed the passport to another guy. Each guard took a turn looking at the picture on the passport, then at Jack, then back to the passport.

  The open fields and possible physical barrier and roving teams of guards along the open border seemed like a better idea as far as Jack was concerned at that moment. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that the guard on the other side of the car. He now stood with his weapon aimed at Jack’s head.

  Jack slowly turned his head forward. Stared out across the empty field in front of him. No place for cover. Nowhere to run. No place to hide. He felt the heft of his gun against his back and wished he had hid it under the seat.

  Just stay cool.

  Easy to do with the air temperature. Tough to do under the circumstances. But Jack was trained for this. If it came down to it, he’d go out in a hail of gunfire rather than allow himself to be taken back to that hell hole prison.

  The voices from the front of the car stopped. He heard the footsteps of the guard approaching. He didn’t turn to look.

  The sound of the guard’s hard-soled boots hitting the pavement rose above the wind and idling engines. The man kept his rifle aimed in Jack’s direction.

  His mind raced, thinking five steps ahead. He let his right arm drift toward his back. Toward his gun.

  6

 
The man stopped a few feet away from Jack. The guy’s eyes were narrow and dark. His cheeks red and chapped. A few seconds stretched into twenty. What was the delay? Either they knew who he was or they didn’t. Finally, the man lowered his weapon and stepped forward. Lifted his other hand and said, “Here is your passport, Mr. Milton. Get back in the car.”

  The guard lifted his rifle halfway, pointed in Jack’s general direction. Aimed at nothing. He stood there like a statue.

  Jack reached behind his back and opened the door. He kept his eyes on the guard and had decided that any sudden movements he deemed as a threat would be met with equal force. The guard didn’t move until Jack sat down.

  “What the hell?” Jasmine said.

  Jack closed the door. “Roll the windows up.” He waited for the driver to oblige, then continued, “Someone recognized my face. They couldn’t place it, though. They all looked at my passport picture. The face wasn’t quite what they recalled. The name didn’t match.”

  “The assassination,” Harris said. “The politician last year.”

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “They sent me to Black Dolphin over that.”

  “I thought no one gets out of Black Dolphin alive?” Harris said.

  “I wasn’t alive when I left.”

  Jack waited for Harris to ask the inevitable follow up question. He didn’t. Instead he leaned back in his seat and stared out his window. The driver put the car in gear and slowly started forward. They rolled past the guards, who lined up two to a side. Knees locked. Shoulders pinned back. Weapons aimed down.

  The driver accelerated quickly past the old wood framed building on the side of the road and the guards positioned inside and out. Tall trees lined the road again, blocking the views of barren farmland. No one spoke. No one moved. Thirty minutes dragged on and felt like three hours. Jack was relieved when Harris finally spoke.

  “We’re here.”

  “Where’s here?” Jack asked.

  “Outside Belgorod,” Harris replied.

  The location meant nothing to Jack.

  The driver pulled the car into a residential neighborhood. Turned onto a street that dead ended into a cul-de-sac.

  Harris pointed toward a two door, white car parked in front of a dirt lot and wood framed skeleton of a house. Said, “That’s your ride. All the papers are inside.”

  “Did you put them there?” Jasmine asked.

  “No,” Harris replied. “I had a friend do it.”

  “Like your friend at the border crossing?” Jack said.

  Harris twisted in his seat and turned toward Jack. “I apologize for that, Jack. He wasn’t there. I’m going to make sure that never happens again.”

  “Do what you want. Don’t leave until we know everything we need is in that car.” Jack stepped out and walked around the back of the vehicle. Met Jasmine on the other side. They grabbed their bags from the trunk then walked toward their new ride.

  “Think it’s rigged?” Jasmine said.

  “Wouldn’t doubt with the luck we’ve had with explosives lately,” Jack said.

  She laughed. “Seeing as how I’ve got nobody waiting for me, I’ll open the door.” She reached out and grabbed the white handle, pulled up and opened the driver’s side door.

  Jack looked back at Harris, who sat in the car and had his feet on the street. “Keys?”

  “In the glove box.”

  Jack crossed the front of the car to the passenger side and got inside the vehicle. He opened the glove box and pulled out its contents. There were two keys and a plastic bag containing paperwork. He pulled the papers out. They were in Russian. “These do me no good.”

  “Give ‘em here,” Jasmine said. “I can read Russian.” She looked over each paper, top to bottom, front and back. “We’re legit.”

  Jack stepped out of the car. Looked over the top and nodded at Harris.

  Tires squealed and the engine roared. A minute later Harris and the unnamed driver were gone.

  “They left in a hurry,” Jack said.

  “If I weren’t tied to you, I’d be gone too.”

  Jack laughed. Slipped into the passenger seat.

  Jasmine waited for Jack to close his door. Then she put the car in drive. She had already programmed the GPS in the dash to take them to Moscow. “We got about six or so hours to kill. Ready to tell me what you did after you left the S.I.S., Jack?”

  “No.”

  7

  “I hate being in Moscow,” Ivanov said.

  “Why’s that?” Julij said.

  “Feel like I’m under a microscope. These people always around. Can’t operate like I want to.”

  “It’s only temporary.”

  Ivanov stood and stepped out from behind his desk. He crossed the room. Opened the door and poked his head into the gray industrial colored hallway. Satisfied it was empty, he closed the door and returned to his desk. “So what is the latest on the woman?”

  “We know that she’s not in Iowa anymore. At least, not at the compound.”

  “She’d be a fool to stay there after what happened.”

  Julij nodded. “Her body wasn’t found. I think the logical next step would be for her to return home.”

  “Agreed. Where is home?”

  “Here, sir. Arbat district.”

  “Do we know the address?”

  “Yes.”

  “We should get a man there.”

  “Already did, sir.”

  “Any luck?”

  “Sort of.”

  “How do you sort of have luck, Julij?”

  “He believes he saw her,” Julij paused. He brought his hands together and rested his bottom lip on the tips of his index fingers. He continued, “He saw a woman that resembled her. Her hair was up. According to our man, he called her name and she fled. Ended up on a bus and he says that he lost her.”

  “Why would she run?”

  “Perhaps she was afraid it was someone out to get her. If we’re her friends, that means she has some powerful enemies here.”

  Ivanov nodded slowly as he stared at the younger man through narrowed eyes. “So how many men do we have watching over her place now?”

  “Four.”

  “Make it eight.”

  “Sir?”

  “You heard me. Eight men.”

  “And then?”

  “What do you mean, ‘and then’?”

  “Do you want them to kill her?”

  “I don’t trust her, but I don’t want her dead. Not yet. Bring her to me.”

  “Here?”

  “Do you think this is the kind of place I can question her?”

  “No.”

  “No, it’s not, Julij. Have her brought to my place.”

  “What will you question her about?”

  Ivanov felt his cheeks grow hot. He took a deep breath and placed his hands flat on his desk. “I’m getting tired of you questioning me, Julij.”

  Julij said nothing.

  “I don’t trust her. I want to find out why she is the only high ranking person who made it out of Iowa alive. Why didn’t she go down with the others defending the plan?”

  “I see.”

  “Yes, Julij, you see. In fact, you can see yourself out of my office.”

  Ivanov waited until Julij left the office. After the door closed shut, he pulled out his cell phone. Placed a call. Midway through the third ring a man answered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Any news?”

  “On?”

  “You know what. Noble. Do you have news on Noble?”

  “Yes, I can confirm that he is now in Russia and is headed toward Moscow.”

  “Excellent. Do we have a fix on him yet?”

  “No, sir. We’re still working on that.”

  “Call me when you do. I want to know the exact moment Noble arrives in Moscow.” Ivanov ended the call and placed his phone on the desk. It wouldn’t be long, he thought, until Jack Noble was back in his custody. He would not make the same mistake this time.
He would not leave Noble’s death to someone else. He’d pull the trigger on his own and cut the man’s heart from his chest.

  8

  Clarissa had the bus driver drop her off near St. Basil’s Cathedral. She crossed the artificially lit walkway in front of the huge building. The sky was white due to the impending storm. The wind whipped her face. The cold air stung her cheeks and nose.

  She moved quickly, partly in an effort to keep warm, but mostly to get to the safety of the hotel. She stepped into the lobby and the man behind the counter looked up from this computer, nodded and then looked away. Fine with her. The less attention she drew, the better. She walked past the elevator and took the stairs. The hallway outside her room was empty. She stuck her key in the door and opened it. The room appeared undisturbed.

  She sat on the edge of the bed. Noticed the light flashing on the phone. Picked it up and was directed to the front desk.

  “Ma’am, we have a package addressed to your room. I’ll have somebody run it up now.”

  “That’s OK. I’ll come down and get it.”

  Five minutes later she was back in her room with the package. There was no return label, which she viewed as both good and bad. Sinclair would not use a return label. Neither would someone who had sent her a bomb.

  She placed the package on the table. Grabbed the unsheathed knife and cut the thick brown packaging tape. She stuck her fingers in the slit and pulled the flaps of the box apart like a heart surgeon spreading his patient’s ribs apart.

  Inside the box she found a manila folder that contained a dozen or so papers. There was a key chain with four labeled keys. She looked at each individually. Front. Mail. Room. Bank. Were the keys labeled like this when Sinclair got his hands on them? Or had he coerced Anastasiya into giving him the information? She flinched at the thought and quickly buried it. She didn’t know. She would never know. And she was fine with that.

  She set the keys aside and grabbed the folder. It seemed Sinclair had been busy with the woman. Each page had new information on Anastasiya. Most of it was about her background, and not exactly classified intelligence. Clarissa learned that the woman had attended boarding school in New England for three years. She was the daughter of a Russian government official. Their family bred horses. She had been an athlete, but not good enough to make the cut. At the age of twenty she joined the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation, formerly known as the KGB. She specialized in counter-intelligence, and then counter-terrorism.