by L. T. Ryan
The guy driving coughed a couple times and muttered an indecipherable comment under his breath.
“Something bothering you?” I said.
“That disgusting smell,” he said, his voice thick with a southern drawl.
“Guess we need to find a barbecue restaurant for you, huh? Or maybe a place that serves fried catfish.”
“That’d be good, man. That’d be good.”
“Go to hell.”
That was the last we spoke. After I’d seen enough of Manhattan, I rolled the window up and turned my attention to the route ahead. I estimated we’d reach the airport in thirty minutes. It took almost a full hour. Felt even longer.
I hopped out of the car when we arrived at the terminal, grabbed my bags and headed toward the ticketing counter. I checked the bag that looked like it had been packed for a ninety-year-old man. Carried on the other. Surprisingly, I made it through security in a matter of minutes, and reached the gate with an hour-and-a-half to spare.
Once on board, I had a drink, closed my eyes, and nodded off before we’d reached cruising altitude.
CHAPTER 7
The plane touched down around ten a.m. GMT. The airport wasn’t as busy as I’d seen it in the past. Could’ve been the day of the week, time of day, or any other number of variables I supposed. It only mattered at Passport Control. An overworked Border Force officer was more likely to ask fewer questions. A bored one might want to dig deeper.
I made my way through the sparse crowd of Terminal 2 with my carry-on bag in hand. It only contained clothing. I’d used the cell phone to take pictures of the documents and the photos of Katrine, then destroyed the originals. Everything else Frank had given me was on my person. None of it would arouse suspicion.
There were four Border Force officers working this morning. As I made the long approach, I studied each, and got in line for the woman who seemed to talk the least and moved travelers through the fastest. When it was my turn, she only asked a few basic questions, including the reason for my visit. I gave my standard answer about an aunt having emergency surgery. The woman looked at me once, when she gestured me past. I grabbed my bag and continued through the airport, skipping baggage claim.
The trans-Atlantic flight had left me groggy. Despite my nap, I was on Texas time, which made it 4:15 am. I stopped at Caffe Nero, and bought the tallest cup of coffee they offered. And a shot of espresso. I found a spot along the wall and observed life amid the expansive steel and glass terminal.
I tossed the espresso cup and made my way toward the exit. Presumably Frank had arranged a specific window of time for my contact to wait around. I remained vigilant and aware, using subtle changes to line of sight, and stops and starts to monitor for a tail. Despite the fact that I was here because of Skinner and had to rely on the assets he put in place for me, I couldn’t trust the man. The entire assignment had the potential to be one massive setup, placing me as the unwitting target. Death or imprisonment, it was all the same to guys like us. In fact, most would prefer death. I’d escaped detainment enough times, whether on my own or with assistance, that I’d opt for that route.
And whether Frank had true intentions regarding Ahlberg, or if he wanted me taken care of, he had eyes on me.
I identified two who fit the mold amid the thickening crowd trying to exit the terminal. It wasn’t their look, or their actions that made them suspect. It was how they carried themselves. How aware they were of their surroundings. When I glanced around the terminal, most travelers were weary-eyed and moped around like zombies. This man and woman were different. They took note of everyone, and did so in a way that was not overt. They quickly surmised the physical capabilities of each person that entered their personal space and then reacted accordingly.
And both held my gaze a beat longer than anyone else in the terminal.
The exits were one turn and another hundred feet away. I prepared myself for the multitude of scenarios that might present themselves outside. Before reaching the final turn, I tossed a quick look around and spotted each of my potential tails. Neither had moved, nor did they appear interested in my actions.
But someone else did.
Nothing stood out about the guy. He looked like an average businessman, probably arriving from Dayton, Ohio, or Freeport, Mississippi, or some other city that was as American as one could get. I caught sight of his reflection in a mirror. Instead of turning toward the exits, I continued on, stopping at a small bookshop. I picked up a science fiction paperback and flipped to the middle, acted like I was reading a passage of the book.
The guy walked past, slowed, stopped in front of a monitor littered with flight information.
I passed the guy after exiting, headed toward the men’s room at the end of a wide corridor. Inside the restroom I ran cold water over my hands and rinsed my face. The jolt from the frigid water combined with the adrenaline rushing through my veins banished any remaining grogginess. I grabbed a towel and wiped my face.
And then I saw the guy in the mirror. He stood at a urinal, his back to me. He turned and approached the sink next to me, maintaining eye contact in the mirror. The wall was lined with sinks, yet he chose mine. I readied myself for the eventual fight.
He looked over, nodded. “Should be nice weather here the next couple days.” His neutral accent gave nothing away.
I ignored him, stepping past to the air dryer.
“Not one for conversation?” he asked.
My heart rate rose as I crossed the next few feet. I had my back to him now. In such close proximity he could strike before I could react. Why had I put myself in that position? Because I wanted to draw him out. He might land a blow, and it’d likely hurt, but that’s as far as he’d get. I hadn’t been “retired” so long that I’d forgotten how to handle myself.
He shook the water from his hands and smiled. “Picking up my daughter. She’s flying in from her mother’s place in Denver. Nerve-wracking waiting, you know?”
I did, in a way. And for a moment I let my guard slide a bit. “Yeah, I can relate.”
He walked past, said, “Enjoy your stay in London, or wherever your travels take you.”
I remained in the restroom for another minute. Random encounter? I supposed it was possible. But random rarely invited me on board. It seemed anyone who held that much of my attention either needed my help or wanted to kill me.
The janitor held the door open as I exited the restroom. I moved toward the center of the terminal, scanning the area for the man. When I found him, he was headed in the opposite direction his story indicated. I began to doubt his story about picking up his daughter.
I swiped a hat off the janitor’s pushcart. It didn’t do much to alter my appearance, but in a crowd it prevented me from standing out. A little, at least. People clustered together in the corridor, huddled together the way mobs of unrelated people tend to do as they move through a confined space. I hustled past the first of them, and settled in behind the next in a spot where I could still keep tabs on the guy. He turned down a hall that led to the exits. I stopped at the corner and waited a few seconds before proceeding.
He glanced back near the exits. His gaze swept past me. Had he missed me, or was he trained well enough that he kept his eyes moving no matter what? Did he process each frame as he took it in without needing to stop and analyze?
He stepped outside, and I followed. But amid the bustle of activity on the sidewalk and street, I lost track.
When someone jabbed something in my back, I realized he had found me.
“Just relax, Mr. Noble.” He ran one hand around my back, then down my arm. I let go of the bag after he tugged on it. “Just a precaution. Now act normal and start walking.”
I felt the small package against my thigh.
“Long stay car park for Terminal 2. Hit the unlock button a few times and you’ll figure it out.”
I heard a thud on the ground next to me.
“Don’t forget your bag.”
CHAPTER 8
/> The A8 Frank had arranged was loaded to the hilt. And not only with features. I located a hidden compartment in the trunk, to the right of the spare tire. It contained two Sigs, one 9mm and the other a .45, an extra magazine for each, and two boxes of ammunition. The compartment also contained a lightweight Remington Defense concealable sniper rifle, broken down into three parts. The accompanying rucksack, made to look like something a regular guy would carry around, was on the trunk floor.
I had plenty of firepower. More than I’d need for one target.
There were two envelopes on the front seat. The first contained a picture of Ahlberg. There’d be time to deal with that later. I turned my attention to the other envelope, which contained a single sheet of paper with two lines of text.
Riley Logan.
And an address.
I punched the address into the GPS and adjusted the mirrors while the computer mapped my route. It estimated the drive at two hours and forty minutes. Good thing I napped on the plane.
Highway miles comprised most of the drive. The M25 led me counterclockwise around the northwest part of London. Traffic was stop and go, even at the early hour. Maybe there was an event that morning. Perhaps the heavy flow was normal. I made it through the herd, hopped on the M1, and drove north, exiting about halfway between Nottingham and Sheffield. From there a series of turns onto increasingly narrower roads guided me to my destination. I wasn’t sure which towns I’d passed through on the last leg, or even which city I was in at the moment. Odd how GPS did that to me.
The car idled at the end of a long gravel driveway that led to a large estate house. The tall iron gates stood open wide enough to pass through. Was this the right place? I waited at the edge of the property for a moment, half-expecting a sentry to come out and check my ID. When no one arrived to vet me, I grabbed the piece of paper with Bear’s name on it and re-confirmed the address. Things didn’t add up. The house looked like it had been built a century or two ago. The well-maintained lot was several acres with an impressive garden through the middle and around the house.
“What have you gotten yourself into, Bear?”
The tires crunched on the gravel as I rolled forward. The driveway curved and circled in front of the house. I took the empty spot amid the four luxury vehicles parked there. All were more expensive than the A8.
It felt as though I was being watched from every direction as I crossed the driveway to the front door. I scanned the area looking for security cameras and rooftop guards. I didn’t find any sentries posted, but the four cameras mounted to the house seemed to ignore me.
The double doors were solid oak, each ten feet high and five feet wide. They dwarfed anyone who passed through. I rang the bell and waited as the chimes echoed throughout the hidden foyer.
There were a number of scenarios that could play out here. It hadn’t escaped my mind that Frank could’ve made this my final destination. I waited in anticipation with my hand around my back, resting on the .45.
The door made no noise as it opened. Surprising for such an old house. Sunlight pervaded the space, but beyond that it was too dim to see. A face I hadn’t seen in some time appeared. She looked shocked at first, then her eyes settled. She bit her lip.
“Jack? I wasn’t expecting to see you any time soon.”
Sasha looked beautiful, perhaps more so now than our last encounter. Of course, most of the time I’d spent with her had been while working. Even our casual time together had been in the midst of a job. I recalled the last time we spoke. It was around the time of my incident with Frank. Sasha had asked me to return to London with Mia. She offered to start a life with me.
And I had turned her down.
“It’s me,” I said. “But, what are you doing here?”
She blushed, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her right ear. “This belongs to my family.”
“Are you done with MI6? I mean, you’re looking at a three hour commute from here to Legoland.”
“Done? Not exactly. Took a post here. Less stress.” She smiled, shrugged. “Less pay, too. But it’s worth it.”
I nodded, not sure what to say next. The woman lived for the stress British Intelligence put on her. It didn’t seem right that she would semi-retire out here.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I just can’t figure out what you’re doing here. How did you find me?”
“It’s not you I’m looking for.”
She bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder. Her hair fell across her face as she turned back toward me. She brushed it aside, keeping her finger at her temple.
I could tell by the look on her face that I should’ve chosen my words more carefully. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, I’m—”
“You’re here for Bear.”
Almost as if on cue, he lumbered down the hallway into the light.
“Babe, what’s taking so long? Need to get the kiddo settled so we…” His gaze swept past her and settled on me. He froze where he stood, arms locked with his hands in front, mouth hanging open an inch. Looked as though he’d seen a ghost. Perhaps that’s what he figured me for.
“Big man,” I said. “How the hell are you?”
“Jack.” He remained still for a moment, then hurried past Sasha, throwing the door open wide.
I couldn’t escape the ensuing hug. It didn’t matter how we made our living, how tough we were supposed to be, Bear and I had a bond that was stronger than blood.
He moved his paws to my shoulders, and held on as he stepped back, leaving a few feet of space between us. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”
“You, too.”
He let me go and moved to the side. The smile faded as his eyes narrowed. His gaze darted around the courtyard. “How’d you find me?”
“I didn’t,” I said, hesitant to go into further detail with Sasha standing there.
All it took was a quick glance in her direction, and she picked up on the reason for my hesitation.
“What’s going on?” she said. “If you’re here for any reason other than a family reunion, I need to know about this.”
I looked at her, then Bear, and shook my head. “I wish I could fill you in, Sasha, but I can’t. Not at this point. It’s—”
“Jack?”
The voice of an angel.
Bear and Sasha both straightened, their eyes fixed on me.
The girl approached apprehensively, looking at me much the way Bear had. What had they been told about me? Were they led to believe that I had died? I studied Sasha for a tell, anything that indicated she was made nervous by my presence. After a few seconds I shifted my focus to the girl I hadn’t seen in months.
“Mandy,” I said. “I swear you’re taller every time I see you. Practically a woman now, aren’t you?”
She smiled, said nothing while inching closer.
“Are you living here?” I looked to Bear for confirmation. He nodded. “You going to school here?”
She crossed the final few feet quickly, throwing her arms around me in a hug that rivaled Bear’s. “I go to a boarding school that’s close enough I’m actually able to spend most nights here. But I’m well-protected there.”
“I’ve taken care of that,” Sasha said. “If she’s not here, there’s security around her.”
Mandy handled the situation like a pro. I couldn’t see a trace of fear or doubt on her face. In her, I saw a future Fed, if that was the route she wanted to take. And at the same time, there was still a hint of childhood wonder and a softness about her. Balance, I supposed. She’d been through so much. Most people, if they had faced everything she had, would give in, give up, let life harden them to the point they lashed out in ways that led to trouble. Mandy traversed a different path. One uniquely her own. And she was guided by the best man I knew.
Bear grabbed Mandy and Sasha and pulled them close. “Babe, why don’t you take Mandy and help her get ready for the week. I think Jack and I need to talk.”
Sasha’s protests were neutralized
as Bear ushered her and the girl down the hallway. He returned to the foyer, leaned up against the banister, draping a large arm over the railing.
“Can’t imagine you’re here for any good reason,” he said. “What do you say we head into town and talk about it over a beer?”
CHAPTER 9
The tavern stood alone at the edge of town, apart from the long two-sided row of shops that stretched through the center. One of the two white-haired gentlemen at the bar nodded at Bear. A bald man close by leaned against the opposite side of the bar, next to a line of eight taps. He greeted Bear with a smile, and nodded at me.
I figured the big man was a bit of a curiosity in the locals-only town, so it was no surprise that the three men stared at his American friend. But they weren’t a threat, so I ignored them.
Bear led me to a corner table, away from the old guys and the front door. A brunette woman in her early thirties stopped by the table to take our order. She was attractive, in a plain way. Nothing remarkable, and nothing unpleasant about her. She left us, slipped behind the bar, and grabbed a couple mugs. Bear and I sat in silence until she returned with two pints.
I took a sip of an imperial stout so dark it looked black, from a brewery I’d never heard of but which had probably been in existence since the early rule of Queen Victoria. Might’ve been the best stout I ever had. A couple more, and I might strike up an English folk song I’d learned from my old man with the old guys at the bar.
Bear set his mug to the side, cleared his throat.
I didn’t wait for him to start talking.
“So you and Sasha?”
He nodded, eyes aimed toward the front door. “Crazy, right?”
“Yeah, it kind of is, actually.”
He took a long pull from his mug, wiped away the frothy head from his mustache, leaving a small piece to trail down his beard before dwindling away.
“Look, Jack, I know there was something between you two. And I don’t want you to think I didn’t consider that. But, you know, things happen.” He turned his hands palms up on the table. “And this just…happened.”