Noble Intentions: Season Two (Episodes 6-10)

by L. T. Ryan

  Finally, there was a note from Sinclair that indicated Anastasiya might be on the same side as them and was planted into Boris’s group to take them down. He also advised her to treat every person she met with caution. People who appeared as friends might be foes, and vice versa.

  Was the man outside the apartment building a friend? Or was he a foe? He had obviously been waiting for Anastasiya. It might be a good idea to find and question him.

  Pain stabbed at her stomach. She looked at her watch and realized that she hadn’t eaten in nearly twelve hours. She called down to the lobby and ordered a steak. While she waited for her dinner, she reviewed the information again. She wanted to make sure she hadn’t overlooked a single detail of Anastasiya’s life. The thought crossed her mind that maybe the woman had deliberately lied to Sinclair in an effort to throw the operation off. Clarissa knew that’s what she would do if in a similar situation. If the woman really was on the up and up, and intended to take down Boris, she would fully comply in order to regain her freedom as soon as possible.

  A young man arrived with dinner. Clarissa signed for the meal and gave him a tip. She placed the food on the table and put the papers back in the folder and tossed the folder on the couch. Mid-way through her meal, the phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Jack.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Close. Almost to Moscow. How’re things there?”

  She thought about the man who called out for Anastasiya and subsequently ran after her. “Not sure yet. Just got the key to the woman’s apartment.”

  “You heading over there tonight?”

  She walked to the back of the room and pulled the curtain back. Fat snowflakes flew straight at her, hitting the window. The flakes melted and slid down, leaving a slushy trail in their wake. She said, “Weather’s kinda bad tonight. I need to get over, but I want to be able to see what I’m walking into. There was a man near her apartment today. He seemed to recognize me, well, her.”

  “Don’t take any unnecessary risks, Clarissa. Wait until we get there. We’ll meet and put a plan together.”

  “OK.”

  “We’re going to stay nearby. Apparently Frank felt it wasn’t a good idea for us to be in the same hotel.”

  “Since when did you start taking orders?”

  “I know, I know. He had a good point, though. If one of us were followed back to the hotel, we could all end up compromised or dead.”

  She wasn’t dead, but had she been compromised? “OK, Jack. Call me when you guys get settled in.”

  She placed her phone on the table and finished eating. The phone didn’t ring. She grabbed a bottle of Vodka from the freezer and filled an eight ounce glass halfway. Took a drink. The phone still didn’t ring. She finished the glass and poured another. The phone rang.

  “Jack?”

  No one replied.

  “Who is this?” she said.

  No one replied.

  “Who is this?” she said again.

  The line was silent.

  She ended the call and tossed the phone on the table. She walked to the window, pulled back the curtains. Couldn’t see anything through the wall of white that pelted the glass. The flakes stuck to one another and started to form a coating on the window.

  She paced the room, front to back, over and over. The phone began vibrating on the table. She picked it up and looked at the display. Unknown caller. Every call said that. She tapped the screen and lifted the phone to her ear. Said, “Who is this?”

  “It’s Jack.”

  “Are you in Moscow?”

  “Yeah, we’re about half a mile away. Other side of the Red Square, across the river. Place called the Hotel Baltschug Kempinski.”

  “I saw a sign for that.”

  “Where are you?”

  “A hotel called Metropol.”

  “We’re coming over.”

  “No, stay. I’ll come to you. I need to get out for a bit.”

  9

  Clarissa left the warmth of the hotel and stepped out into the heavy snow and the blustery cold. She trudged down an alley along the side of the hotel. Past the rear parking lot. The well lit street provided enough visibility to stay clear of objects in her way. Surprisingly, there were other people out, couples and singles, likely on their way back to a hotel after dinner.

  She passed a set of buildings and turned left, toward the Red Square. The outline of St. Basil’s stood out amid the sheet of white in the sky.

  As she approached the square, she noticed a man in a dark jacket leaning against a tree. He stared her down as she approached. Straightened up as she walked by. Fifty feet later she looked back and noticed that he was following her.

  She picked up her pace, not an easy thing to do when trudging through five or six inches of fresh powdery snow. The crowds had dispersed before the storm hit and the snow was not packed. Each step required extra effort.

  She glanced over her shoulder and noticed the man had closed the gap between them. That pinned him as a local, or at least a Russian that was used to the weather. She reached inside her jacket, around her back. Grabbed one of her pistols and stuck it in her coat pocket.

  The area in front of her began to narrow, leading to a four lane bridge. Tall light posts lined each side of the bridge. A car crossed, coming toward her. Its headlights lit up the wall of snow and made it impossible to see more than ten feet ahead. If she couldn’t see, neither could the man behind her. She took the opportunity to break to her right toward the Kremlin. Several trees stood between a tall red brick wall that separated the Kremlin from the road.

  The effort required to sprint when her feet were buried under snow left her slightly winded. She took cover behind a thick tree. Back to bark. Steadied herself. Listened to the sound of the wind. Watched shadows dance on the bright white ground. Branches swayed rhythmically. Snow swirled and passed her in every direction. Left to right and back again. Up and down, then settled on the ground.

  A sound penetrated the relative calm of the swirling wind. The unmistakable sound of snow crunching under heavy steps filled the void behind her.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out the Marakov pistol. Removed the glove from her right hand. Bare skin met the icy handle. The tip of her index finger lightly touched the steel trigger. One drop of snow and finger and trigger would freeze into one.

  The steps grew louder, slower, closer. Were they to the left or to the right? She honed in. Another step. Impossible to tell. She pressed back against the tree, becoming part of it. Perhaps he would walk right by.

  The bridge was less than one hundred feet away. She could try to sprint again. Flag down a vehicle, if she saw one. The bridge was well lit and might provide some safety from the man.

  A gloved hand wrapped around her face. Pulled her head back against the tree. The rough bark scratched her scalp and neck. The glove stifled her scream.

  The hand came from the right. The man was to the right of her. She decided to roll toward him. Fire a shot.

  Before she could, the man spoke in Russian. “What are you doing over here, Anastasiya? Why are you hiding out in a hotel?” He slid his hand off of her mouth.

  “Who are you?”

  “Listen to my voice. You know who I am.”

  Clarissa searched her mind, going over all the points she thought were important on the papers that Sinclair had sent to her. Nothing about a man came to mind. Who was this guy? Her partner in the field? Her partner in bed?

  “I can’t tell,” she said. “Let me go and come over here.”

  “Tell me what you are doing out here first.”

  “I’m working.”

  “I would know if you were working.”

  Partner in the field.

  “No, you wouldn’t. This is special and only involves me.”

  The wind increased and so did his voice. “Why are you lying to me?”

  She heard a clunking sound against the tree, to her left. He was armed. And pos
sibly left handed. Again, no recollection of a fact like that from the documents.

  He let go of her. She looked at the ground, at his shadow. It moved to the right. His left hand was blocked by the tree. She couldn’t tell if he held it up or down or out.

  She rolled to the right to face him, keeping her right arm behind her. The snow on the ground and the snow in the sky and the snow in between created a false daylight effect. She could see the man clearly and he could see her. The recognition she expected him to have wasn’t there. She recognized him, though. It was the man from earlier. The man from outside Anastasiya’s apartment. She hadn’t lost him after all.

  His eyes traveled back and forth between hers. He leaned back. Said, “Who are you?”

  “It’s me.”

  “No, it’s not. Tell me who you are.” He stepped to the side. The tree no longer shielded his left arm. It hung down, the gun aimed at the ground. He started to lift it into the air.

  “It’s Anastasiya.”

  “Then who am I?” The man continued to lift the gun.

  Clarissa reached for his face with her left hand. She faked a confused and hurt look. She leaned forward and to the left, as if going in for a kiss. It had the effect she desired. His left hand started to drop. She brought her right hand out from behind. Fired a single shot. She didn’t want him dead. She wanted answers. She had aimed low and sent the bullet into the side of his leg, above the knee, away from the femoral artery.

  He dropped his gun. Fell to the ground. Clutched his leg. The wind whipped his cries around her in all directions.

  She kneeled down. Grabbed his gun. Placed hers to his head.

  “Who are you?” she said.

  “Ivashov.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  He looked up at her. “Same people you do.” He shook his head. “Same people Anastasiya does.”

  Clarissa stared at him, waiting for him to name the organization. She pulled the gun away from his face.

  Instead, he said, “Where is she?”

  “Who’s side are you on?”

  “What?”

  “It’s a simple question. Who’s side are you on?”

  “Where is Anastasiya? Tell me.”

  “United States. Detained.”

  He shook his head. Brought his hands to his face. Yelled into his gloves.

  “Do you work for Ivanov?” Clarissa said.

  “No. I’m against Ivanov.”

  “Why did you corner me like this?”

  “I thought…” He let his hands drop to side and he lifted his head an inch or two out of the snow. “I thought that maybe they had turned her. Why else would she have run from me this afternoon? Now I see it wasn’t her. It was you. And you are telling me they have her detained.”

  She aimed the gun at his head again. “Who’s side is she on?”

  “She’s the same as me. The people we work for want Ivanov taken out.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.”

  He fell back into the snow. The ground around his knee had turned dark red.

  Clarissa pulled up her pant leg and grabbed the hidden knife. She opened her jacket and lifted her sweater. Cut a large strip from her undershirt. She used the fabric to bandage the wound.

  She stood and took a few steps back.

  “Are you just going to leave me here?” he said. “I’ll freeze to death.”

  “Do you think you can make it a thousand feet?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to meet someone. We are going to discuss our plans to take down Ivanov. I can take you there and we can see about getting you help.”

  He stuck out his right hand. Clarissa reached out and grabbed it. She leaned back. Helped him to his feet.

  Instead of standing straight up, he bull rushed her. He had at least seventy pounds on her. Tall and athletic. She was no match for his large frame and the momentum he had built up. She fell to the ground. The gun she held in her hand was no longer there. Only snow that melted against her touch.

  He rose up above her and swung a fist toward her face.

  She dodged her head to the left. The fist still connected, but at far less force and in a far less damaging place than if he had been on target. She gave the impression that the blow had been successful. She closed her eyes and relaxed into the snow. She felt him lift off of her. He hobbled through the snow. She looked back and saw him heading for the gun that had been in her hand. He reached down to pick it up.

  Think fast. Act faster.

  She had tossed his gun behind them. She still had one of her pistols holstered behind her back, but there was no way she could get to it in time. She lifted her left knee and brought her ankle to her waist. Reached under her pant leg and grabbed the second tactical knife. She cradled the handle in her palm, and let the blade slip inside the arm of her coat.

  He trudged over to her, dragging his left leg. He stopped beside her. Looked down at her. A maniacal look spread across his face. He said, “I lied.”

  Clarissa spoke softly. “I need to tell you something.”

  He shook his head slightly. Leaned forward. “What?”

  “I need to tell you something.”

  His lips thinned. He hovered over her.

  “It’s about Anastasiya,” she said.

  “What about her?”

  “This,” she said. The motion was quick and fluid and decisive. She flipped the blade in her hand. Her right arm traveled straight up. The point of the blade entered the lower left portion of his neck. It sunk in three or four inches. Clarissa whipped her body to her right. The motion caused the blade to rip the man’s neck open. Blood gushed and sprayed over her and the virgin snow.

  He dropped the gun. Grabbed his neck. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell forward, face first into the snow. Crimson fluid spread along the pits and peaks their violent dance had created in the snow like a Hawaiian lava flow.

  Clarissa felt his wrists for a pulse. Found none. She hunted around and grabbed all the weapons in sight. And then she ran as fast as she could through the ever deepening snow. She crossed the bridge and made her way to Jack’s hotel.

  10

  The banging on the door was loud and hard and frantic.

  Jack rushed across the room and opened it without first looking through the peep hole. The sight before him doubled his heart rate.

  “Clarissa,” he said. “What the hell happened to you?”

  The woman stood before him covered in blood. Her skin, her clothes, her shoes. Nothing was spared.

  “Are you OK?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”

  “It’s not mine,” she said.

  Jack pulled her into the room.

  “I was followed,” she said. “Same guy from this afternoon. He followed me over here. We were in the Red Square. He was closing in on me. I had an opportunity and I ducked behind a tree. He found me. He was looking for Anastasiya and knew her well enough to know that I wasn’t her.”

  Jasmine handed Clarissa three wet towels and took her coat off of her.

  Clarissa continued. “I shot him in the knee. He said he was against Ivanov. I was going to bring him here and let you question him. Then he attacked. I managed to get him with a knife.”

  “Where is he?” Jack said while trying to process the information Clarissa had thrown at him. “Did he follow you over?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Where?”

  “Red Square.”

  Jack looked at Jasmine. “Should we clean this up?”

  “Did anyone see you, Clarissa?” Jasmine said.

  “No, not that I know of.”

  “I can reach out to Frank and see what he wants to do,” Jasmine said.

  “No,” Jack said. “Not yet. Let’s wait for her to calm down and go over this again.”

  Jasmine helped Clarissa to the bathroom and then brought her fresh clothes.

  “She’s going to get washed up,” Jasmine said.

  Jack nodded. “Someone kn
ew Anastasiya was coming home.”

  “I’m sure they figured she would, Jack. After what happened in Iowa, why would she stay in the States?”

  “What if someone is waiting for that guy?”

  “Maybe he was acting on his own. Wait for her to get out of the shower. She’ll have calmed down and can tell us what happened.”

  Jack started a pot of coffee and grabbed boxes with leftovers from the mini fridge. He heated the food in the microwave when he heard the shower cut off.

  Clarissa stepped out of the bathroom wearing a pair of blue sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt. She took a seat at the table.

  Jack placed a cup of coffee and a plate of food in front of her.

  She pushed the food away and took a sip of coffee.

  “Go over this again, Clarissa,” he said. “Starting from earlier today when the man saw you outside her apartment building.”

  Clarissa recounted the entire day. The weapons delivery. The excursion through the center of Moscow. Being spotted by the man. The extra documents she received on the woman she was impersonating. She went over every step she took after she left the hotel. Where she saw the man. When she noticed him following her. What he said when he grabbed her. The look on his face when she stuck his neck with the knife.

  “What’s your gut say?” Jasmine said. “Did he act alone or did someone know he was out there?”

  “He knew that woman as more than a partner in the field. I sense that she betrayed him or his beliefs. He said he was going to kill her at her apartment. He was going to kill her after she left the hotel.” She paused. “After I left the hotel.”

  “He acted alone,” Jack said. “Ivanov doesn’t work this way. He’d want to see Anastasiya first. Put fear into her. Then kill her.”