Noble Intentions: Season Four

by L. T. Ryan

  "That's it?" Bear said. "Just get up and go?"

  Pierre shrugged. "There's some paperwork you have to fill out. Can't hold the government accountable. Can't speak of this. That sort of thing. You know how it goes."

  Bear nodded, said nothing as they walked out of the cell. Two armed guards waited at the end of the tunnel. What struck him was that there were no other cells lining the hallway.

  "I was a VIP, huh?"

  "The entire place is laid out like this. That way if there is a breach here, we can contain it up there." He pointed at Bear's cell, then at the solid door at the end of the short hallway.

  "What about -"

  Pierre cut him off and in a soft voice said, "Don't ask in here. Wait until we've left this place."

  Bear remained silent for the rest of his time in the facility. He signed off on all the paperwork. Didn't matter to him. Outside of France, the provisions carried little weight. Before leaving, his personal items were returned to him, minus the weapon he was carrying. He changed his clothes, and then he and Pierre exited the facility.

  They waited until they were ten minutes away before speaking.

  "So what the hell happened?" Bear asked.

  "This whole thing is a mess," Pierre said. "We were both being targeted by an outside agency. And you know why?" He glanced at Bear and continued without allowing him to respond. "Because of our connection with Jack."

  "Jack?"

  "They'd been monitoring me is all. That's what they say. Well, my agency was monitoring the other agency that was watching me. What I thought was because of a perceived slight due to me not rejoining was actually a large-scale operation. They wanted to see if I still had any connection with Noble."

  "Do you?"

  "Not in some time. But when you showed up, they assumed we were all working together and the hit was given a go. They were going to take both of us out."

  "Why Jack?"

  Pierre shook his head. "SIS. Only thing that makes sense to me. There have been quite a few former and current members that have ended up deceased in recent months."

  "I was never a part of that. Neither were you."

  "That is correct, but both of us worked with him during or after that phase of his life."

  "So why have I spent two weeks in prison?"

  "They followed us from Nice."

  "Who?"

  "My agency. Their assumption at the time was that you were working with this other team. They closed in on us at the hospital. It wasn't the staff that notified the police. They were purposefully trying to flush us out. We moved faster than they anticipated."

  "What happened to you after?" Bear asked.

  "I was questioned, then let go. And for the past two weeks I've been going at it with them to get you out." He slowed the car down and turned right. "And it wasn't easy. But I got it done."

  Bear made a note of the road they were on. "You said you made concessions."

  Pierre nodded and said nothing.

  "What was it?"

  Pierre pointed. "Look at that. It's the hospital."

  They pulled into the lot and parked close to the main entrance. When they entered the first person Bear saw inside was the same woman behind the counter. She did a double take at the sight of the men and reached for the phone.

  "That won't be necessary," Pierre said as he produced a badge and ID.

  That was the concession, Bear realized. He had taken a position with his agency.

  Pierre walked around the desk and placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. "I believe you had some information to pass on to my large friend."

  The woman glanced up. She forced a timid smile, then started typing.

  "I like the new monitor," Bear said.

  "It's much better than the last," she said. "I suppose I should thank you."

  "Just get me the information I need."

  The woman jotted on a pad of paper, then tore a sheet off. She handed it to Bear. He read it over. Satisfied, he nodded at the woman and he and Pierre exited the hospital.

  Back in the car, Bear said, "Was your agency behind it? Moving her, I mean."

  He nodded.

  "Then why'd we come back here?"

  "Because I don't trust any of those bastards."

  Chapter 79

  Little River, South Carolina.

  JACK LEAFED THROUGH the documents. As his instincts had told him, they were classified and had to do with clandestine operations. But not a single one was newer than 2006.

  "Doesn't make sense," he said. "Why would these be here?"

  "Someone in intelligence lived here," Brett said. "This Merrick guy, I suppose. We can put out some feelers on him."

  A photo fell to the floor. Brett scooped it up.

  "I recognize that man," he said.

  "Let me see." Jack reached for the picture.

  Brett turned it so they both could see and shined his light.

  "His name's Butch Monaco," Brett said.

  Jack studied the image. The hair was silver and black and short. A scar ran from one earlobe to the corner of the Monaco's mouth.

  "Shit," he said. "Put a curly wig on him and that's who I met with in New York."

  "You met with Monaco?"

  "Yeah, I guess so. Posing as the millionaire. That meeting is the reason why we're standing in this attic right now."

  "So, you mean to tell me, Monaco is Merrick?" Brett shined his light on the picture, then at Jack.

  "I'd say at the very least the two men are intertwined with one another."

  Jack and Brett went through the folders again, looking for additional pictures, names, or anything else to tie Merrick and Monaco together. After thirty minutes of searching, they hadn't uncovered anything.

  "What do you know about Monaco?" Jack asked.

  "He was a legend in the agency when I was there. I only met him once or twice. Didn't get to know him personally, but you know as well as I do that you don't need someone's history once you've spilled blood with them. He was cold and calculating and he never made a mistake. From what I recall, he had left either in 2000 or 2001. Whichever, it was before the attacks. His new position made him instrumental in the formation of Homeland Security, and later, SIS."

  Jack searched his memory for an instance where Frank or other member of SIS had mentioned Monaco. There was none that he could recall.

  "What day did this meeting occur?" Brett asked.

  "It was on a Thursday," Jack said. "Had been arranged a day prior. I ran into you a few days later."

  "I got my orders to kill you that Friday."

  "The day after I met him." The coincidence was not lost on Jack. "He was scouting me."

  "He wanted to use you, like they are me."

  "I must have said something he didn't like. So instead of hiring me, they issued the order to kill me."

  Brett paced to the other end of the attic. "So why not do it there? Why go through all this to make it happen?"

  It was a good question. It could have ended then and there. Unless there was more to it. They wanted something from Jack. And it wasn't possible for him to give it to them in death. The way he saw it, a gun pointed to his head in their presence would have been far more effective. Then he thought of a possible explanation.

  "He's involved," Jack said. "But too far involved to be able to pull the trigger."

  Brett walked back to the empty rack. He glanced down at the files strewn about on the floor. "Given his past history of achievements and positions in clandestine agencies, I'd say he's more than involved, Jack. I'm betting he had a major hand in orchestrating the entire thing."

  "So it's plausible. Now we have to stay alive long enough to prove it."

  "I think I can help there."

  "How?"

  "Ballard."

  Jack recalled Brett mentioning the man while they were in South Africa.

  "Joe Ballard," Brett said. "Little weasel nose rat bastard acting as my handler."

  "Where do we find him?"


  "D.C. Maybe at Langley."

  The men dropped through the attic opening then exited through the rear of the house.

  "Can't stop thinking about those shovels," Jack said.

  "What do you want to do? Search the property for a hole?"

  Jack looked out over the expansive backyard. "Let's scan the perimeter."

  They searched the yard and a few feet beyond the tree line, but couldn't find any disturbed ground. Something had been dug up, or buried, and those shovels had been used. But what? And when? For all they knew, landscapers could have been out last summer and left them behind.

  "Let's go," Brett said. "We've got more to worry about than a phantom hole."

  Two minutes later they were traveling northwest, en route to I-95.

  Chapter 80

  Unknown Location.

  IT HAD BEEN three days since Kat last saw her captor. He'd come in and placed a cooler in front of her, then left. She worked the ropes around her wrists and ankles until she was in a position to remove the lid. When she did, it was empty except for three bottles of water. At some point they'd put a white t-shirt on her that hung to her mid-thigh.

  It'd taken the better portion of two days to work the ropes off her wrists. Thirst led her to down the entire first bottle at once. She realized her mistake as the liquid came flooding up her esophagus. She couldn't hold it down. Any of it.

  At least she was free. And to celebrate, she had curled up in a ball in the corner and fell asleep. It was the best sleep she'd had in two weeks.

  Still concerned that someone remained beyond the door, she took her time before even approaching it. If they knew she'd freed herself from the ropes, they might use something else to restrict her movements.

  Not this time. If someone entered the room, it'd be a fight to the death. No longer did Kat care if that meant it was her life that would end.

  The fact that the man who'd been visiting her cell had been American cast several doubts about the other man she knew from the United States. But how could any of this have to do with Bear? No, it had everything to do with Bear, but he had nothing to do with it. She knew it wasn't him that cast her in the dirty pit and tied her to the chair.

  But things hadn't escalated until he and Mandy arrived.

  What had happened to the girl? Pinned in the vehicle after the wreck. Had she survived? Was she injured in the crash?

  These bastards had caused the wreck. If not for Kat's quick thinking, the girl would be with her now. She wondered which fate was worse.

  Kat wiped the tears from her cheek.

  "Time to go," she whispered.

  She tipped the chair over. It was a heavy wooden thing. She began kicking at one of the legs, working it free. In time, it became loose enough that she was able to twist it off. She wrapped the rope around one wrist. Never know when it might come in handy, she figured.

  She crept to the door. The dirt was cool against her bare feet, loose in some areas. She stopped and piled it to her right. If someone rushed her from the hall, she'd try to direct them to the loose dirt. They might lose traction there. A fight against an off-balanced man was preferred to one that could square up to her.

  Kat stopped in front of the door. She leaned forward, pressed her ear to it. If someone was there, she couldn't hear them. The knob was cold to the touch. She turned it, expecting it to give a half-inch then stop. To her surprise, it spun freely. The door was unlocked. She pulled it open and stuck her head through the opening.

  A short landing led to stairs that ran up. Light pooled near the top step, but the source was out of sight. They could be up there. Her gut knotted. Intuition? Fear? A combination, perhaps? Kat glanced back at the room where she'd spent the last two weeks. Death would find her in there. She had to take the chance that the light led to freedom.

  Armed with the wooden chair leg and the rope wrapped around her wrist, Kat ascended the stairs. The silent first step fueled her adrenaline and she quickened her pace. But the next two creaked under her weight. She froze, eyes wide, staring at the bright opening not fifteen feet away.

  Shadows passed. Should she turn back? Lock herself in the room again?

  No.

  She hadn't left only to return. From this point on, anyone who got in her way should expect a fight. If she lost, so be it. She would do her damnedest to take down any and all assailants who crossed her path.

  After thirty long seconds, the shadows didn't reappear. No one approached.

  Forward.

  The voice in her head was not her own. It wasn't Pierre, either. It was gruff, and American, and it pushed and prodded her forward up the steps. She moved with a purpose that led to reckless abandon. If someone met her at the top, she'd knock them over.

  At the top step, Kat paused, both arms planted against the walls, holding her in place. Her knees felt weak. Her drive to push forward strong. She filled her lungs with mold and dust-ridden air. Exhaled slowly. Closed her eyes and repeated it two more times.

  Leaning forward, she opened her eyes. Looked left. Nothing. Swung her head in the other direction. A hallway stretched out in front of her.

  It led to a door. Four panes of glass made up the top third of it. Sunlight poured through and warmed the spot where she stood. She saw trees beyond that. They swayed in a stiff breeze. The sun hovered close. It had been the trees that cast the shadows, probably the result of a strong gust.

  She went to the door, opened it. Stuck her head out. Glanced in all directions. Nothing and nobody. A vehicle rumbled in the distance. How far away? She couldn't tell. But the direction was obvious.

  Kat reached deep and found the energy to run. Her bare feet pounded the dirt, then through the fields, where thorns and briers tore at her flesh. She didn't care. Each scrape, each needle penetrating her, only served to push her forward. The road was in sight. It was empty, but she'd heard a vehicle passing, which meant another would come along.

  She sunk into the overgrowth. It wasn't that the brush grew higher. The ground dipped. Tiny knives tore at her shirt, and dug into the flesh of her hands and arms and torso and neck. They punctured her cheeks. She brought her hands to her face to protect it. Did little good.

  When the earth leveled out again, the road was a mere twenty meters away. The brush dissipated. Kat slowed to a walk. She reached the edge of the road. There was no gravel shoulder. It transitioned from grass to asphalt.

  She fell to her knees. Her body bowed forward. She placed her arms on the road and her head on her arms. Her limbs trembled. Her muscles cramped. How she managed to run as far as she had was a mystery.

  Heat rose up from the blacktop. The sensation comforted her. Kat felt her mind slipping. The colors faded to gray.

  Get up. This isn't the time to give up.

  The voice again. Pushing her forward.

  She took a deep breath that tasted of cigarette butts. The tar from the road, she supposed.

  Then she felt something different. A trembling vibration of some sort. It didn't come from within. It started low and built. Kat lifted her head, looked to her left, then right. She heard it now. The tremble had grown into the sound of a roar.

  The car appeared from around the bend. Two headlights penetrating the daylight. It seemed to stand still. Not advancing, nor retreating. As the seconds passed, it slowly moved closer.

  Kat rose and remained on the side of the road. Half her foot in the grass, the other half on asphalt.

  The vehicle came to a stop next to her.

  Kat's reflection in the windows caught her off guard. Her shirt was stained brown and red. Her face was gaunt, lined with cuts, scratches, and blood.

  The driver's window rolled down.

  "Bist du okay?"

  She stared at the man, processing what he had said. He repeated it. The phrase clicked.

  "Are you okay?"

  She nodded, told him in German that she needed to get away from this place.

  The man, presumably detecting her French accent, switched to Fr
ench as he stepped out of the car.

  "Yes, get in," he said, glancing in all directions, perhaps on the lookout for someone following Kat. He pulled a blanket from behind the backseat and wrapped it around her.

  Kat thanked him and made to enter the car. There were two women in back. They slid over to allow her room to sit.

  "Can we take you to a hospital?" the driver asked.

  Kat shook her head. "Just take me wherever you are going."

  "That's across country," he said.

  "Which country are we in?"

  He narrowed his eyes at her. "Germany, of course."

  She glanced out her window at the field that stretched before her. The small house with the cellar she'd been confined in was out of sight. The men weren't coming after her. But what if she returned to France? Would they find her?

  "Miss?" he said. "Have you decided?"

  She nodded and replied in German, "Take me to your destination."

  Chapter 81

  Germany.

  THE HOSPITAL COULD only tell Bear that the girl had been placed in foster care. She had no major injuries. Cuts and bruises. And she didn't know who she was. Pierre had to restrain the big man to prevent him from getting arrested again.

  Bear had questioned why Pierre didn't already have this information. To that, Pierre had no answer. Only that he would get someone he trusted to work on locating the girl.

  As they left the hospital, a call came in on Pierre's cell phone. Bear felt his heart skip a beat, then deliver a pounding surge of blood that had caused him to see a burst of light in the outer reaches of his vision. A subtle version of the headaches he had been facing had followed.

  The conversation was quick, and after Pierre had hung up, he stared anxiously at his phone. It had buzzed. The Frenchman fumbled through a few menus, and then opened a map.

  "We have a lead on Kat," Pierre said. "It's about three hours from here."

  Bear felt himself being pulled in two directions. What if during that time Mandy's location was revealed?

  "I know what you are thinking," Pierre said. "But we know she is somewhere safe. There is a great chance that is not the case for Kat."