Noble Intentions: Season Four

by L. T. Ryan

  "WAIT!" HER VOICE cut through the humid air.

  Bear spun and re-entered the restaurant. Mandy rushed toward him. He held his arms out. She hit him with the force of a truck.

  The armed man hopped over the bar and said, "What is this? Are you sure you know this man?"

  Mandy looked at Bear, tears in her eyes, then turned her head. "Yes, I do. He's my father. I was angry with him for not letting me go out with some friends, so I ran off. I was trying to punish him."

  Bear took her hand and pulled her to the door. Better to get out while the men mulled over her words than to allow them to question her further. They turned left at the next corner. Bear stopped after another half-block, grabbed the girl by the shoulders and leaned over.

  "Way to think on your feet back there, kid. That was a great time for your memory to come back."

  He noticed tears running down her cheeks.

  "Mister, I have no idea who you are," she said. "But your voice… I hear your voice, like, all the time. Little bits of information. Lessons, I guess."

  "Mandy, that's-"

  "Is that my name? Mandy?"

  He nodded.

  "They were calling me Madeline in that house. It sort of felt right. Guess I know why now."

  Bear nodded again, said nothing.

  "Who are you?" she asked.

  "Riley Logan, though you and most other people call me Bear."

  She looked up at him. "That fits you."

  He laughed. "Sure as shit does, kid."

  They continued down the lit street for another few blocks in silence. He figured the kid had a lot to process. Hopefully some of which would lead to her memory returning.

  "Mr. Bear?"

  "Just Bear."

  "Bear?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Where are we going?"

  "Train station."

  "To where?"

  "Paris."

  "Why Paris?"

  "I've gotta visit with an old friend."

  Chapter 85

  Bethesda, Maryland.

  BRETT HOVERED OVER Ballard's computer. They'd managed to get into the file system, but there was little of use there. A bunch of empty folders. It seemed possible that Ballard knew something was going down and had managed to delete anything of importance.

  "Give us something we can use," he said to the laptop.

  "Maybe he did everything on USB drive," Jack said.

  "That's how most of it's done these days." Brett tapped a few more keys. "But I'd expect there to be some remnants on the system. Especially with all these empty folders."

  "How secure is your cell?"

  Brett pulled out his phone. "Don't think the NSA could crack the connection."

  "What if the other end of the call was in doubt?"

  "It'd look to them like we're in Islamabad." Brett spun the cell in his palm. "What are you getting at?"

  Jack rose and walked over and held out his hand. "I've got someone who can help us with our computer problem."

  Brett relinquished the phone. Jack dialed the number from memory. Two rings later, Brandon answered.

  Jack said, "Bet you thought you'd never hear from me again."

  "Shit, that really you, man? What the hell happened? I've heard reports you were toast over two weeks ago."

  "It's me, and I'll spare you the details other than to say whoever is behind this has a world of hate and pain heading their way."

  "Yeah, well I've been fighting goons from three agencies off daily. Finally found a solution yesterday. Been watching them try to crash my connection all day long with no luck."

  Jack nodded at Brett and covered the mouthpiece. "See, he's the right guy."

  Brett nodded.

  "So what can I do to help you?"

  "An agency analyst/handler wound up dead today. Not by our doing, but we managed to confiscate his laptop. Got into it, but haven't been able to find anything other than some video clips."

  Brandon said, "OK, first off, who's we?"

  "Brett Taylor," Jack said. "Name ring a bell?"

  "On a couple levels. Weren't you supposed to kill him some years back?"

  "Yup."

  "And isn't he the guy who supposedly killed you a couple weeks ago?"

  "Correct."

  "Man, you're gonna have to take a couple hours and explain this to me when it's all said and done."

  "Will do, Brandon. But for now, can you help with this computer?"

  "I sure can." Brandon proceeded to explain to them how to connect the laptop to a secure SSH tunnel he created. "The agency can have that machine rigged however they want. They won't be able to see a damn thing now."

  With the computer connected, the line fell silent while Brandon searched the laptop. Jack took note of the concern on Brett's face. When he caught the guy's gaze, Jack nodded and assured him that Brandon could be trusted. He'd always said there were two people he trusted in this world.

  Bear and Clarissa.

  In truth, there were three. Because Brandon always had his back. Just in a different way. But if the guy had arms and legs that worked properly, he'd lay his life on the line if Jack asked.

  Like he was doing right now. If anyone traced the action back to Brandon, a hit team would be en route immediately.

  "OK," Brandon said. "I can tell you this is going to take a while."

  "Define a while," Brett said.

  "Four hours, give or take."

  "Kidding, right?"

  "The stuff you are looking for is in there. But it's buried."

  "Brandon," Jack said, "we don't have four or five hours to kill right now. We need to be on the move."

  "Yeah, well then I suggest you start moving toward New York City."

  "Why's that?"

  "Because from the content of this email I'm reading, seems that's where your daughter Mia is right now."

  Jack picked the phone up off the bed. "I never told you about Mia, Brandon."

  "I know, and I gotta say, I'm a little hurt you didn't share something like that with me. Disregarding that, I can tell you that your guy received a message and it clearly states, 'Jack Noble's daughter, Mia.'"

  "Date?"

  "Yesterday. It tells Ballard to stay put, and that they'll use his guy to put an end to it."

  Brett leaned forward. "Did they use a name with 'his guy'?"

  Jack assumed they had meant Brett. "And put an end to what?"

  Brandon said, "You guys are gonna have to give me some time to figure all that out."

  Jack said, "What's going to happen to the laptop when you're done?"

  Brandon said, "Depends on you, I guess."

  "It has provisions to notify the agency of its location, right?"

  "Affirmative."

  "How about you make it light up their monitoring system as soon as you're done with it. And by done, I mean plant a bunch of bullshit information that they're going to have to wade through for two weeks before they realize they've been duped."

  Brandon laughed and said, "You got it."

  "OK. We're out of here. Will call you in four hours."

  Fifteen minutes later, they were merging onto I-95 north. Brett was at the wheel. Jack kept his eye on the side mirror, watching for tails, which was considerably harder to do in the middle of the night.

  "So what do you think went wrong?" Brett asked.

  "With what?"

  "Ballard gets a message to stay put another day or two, and then to recall me to finish something. Then he winds up dead. He had to have done something, right?"

  Jack thought it through as he stared at the passing streetlights. Their orange gaze lit up the interstate, but failed to penetrate the thick woods that lined the highway. Then it came to him.

  "Yeah," Jack said, "he did do something."

  "What?"

  "He lied. And so did you."

  "Shit." Brett started checking his mirrors.

  "They know I'm alive."

  Chapter 86

  I-95, New Jersey.
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  HELP COMES AT the oddest times. Like a call at three o'clock in the morning from a friend four thousand miles away.

  The phone that Sasha had given Jack rang for the first time. He wondered if she had uncovered something, or if the call was to check up on him.

  "I'm getting some strange hits here, Jack."

  "On what?"

  "There's an account, two of them, actually, that are linked to you."

  "Mia's trusts," Jack said without hesitation.

  "Right, and from what I can tell, they are hefty accounts."

  "So what about them?"

  "Someone is trying to access them."

  "They'd need mine and Erin's permission." He paused, realizing the slip. "Well, I guess mine until Mia is of age."

  "You're dead, Jack. Remember?"

  He said nothing. Didn't need to. He knew where this was going.

  "I dug a little deeper. Someone has filed custody papers of Mia."

  Jack didn't have to ask her for the name.

  "John C. Merrick is listed on the paperwork," she said. "But it isn't approved, yet, so I don't know what they are doing trying to access the account."

  Jack had a clearer picture of what was going on. "They're trying to gain access to it now because they know I'm alive. My guess is that they are going to push their lawyers to get this custody ruling through quickly. But how did they find out? Christ, you think they knew all along?"

  "I'm going to file an injunction to stop it here, Jack. And I'm going to freeze those accounts. OK?"

  "Sounds good." He paused, then added, "One more thing."

  "What?"

  "Can you pinpoint their location for me?"

  "I can't, and I'm not sure I can use any of my assets here to do that for you. This is dark territory we're dealing in."

  "What if I put you in touch with someone who can?"

  "I suppose we can do that."

  Jack gave her Brandon's information and told her it would be OK for Brandon to contact him with the results. If he got any at all.

  Brett glanced over after Jack hung up. "What was all that about?"

  Jack turned to the window. He rolled it down and let the warm air wash over him. Beyond the haze of orange stood the dark woods. The only constant on the highway.

  He turned to Brett. "Let's stop and get some coffee."

  The guy shrugged and moved to the far right lane. Took the next exit. Two minutes later, they were parked in front of a convenience store. Brett went in, while Jack remained behind on watch.

  Brett returned with two large travel mugs. He set one on the roof, opened the door, grabbed the second mug and lowered himself into the driver's seat. As he turned to hand Jack his coffee, he found a pistol aimed at his forehead.

  "The hell, Jack?"

  "How much did they offer you?"

  "For what? To kill you?" Brett glanced between Jack and the gun. "It was a standard fee. Why do you think I let you live?"

  Jack ignored the guy's smile. "No, not for killing me. You know what."

  Few men could remain as calm as Brett did at that moment. Like Jack, it wasn't the first time a gun had been aimed in Brett's direction. The man had options. Jack was aware of that, and he remained vigilant should Brett try to throw the coffee at him.

  "You're going to have to give me a clue here," Brett said.

  "You're leading me right to them. They stand to make billions off this. What's your cut?"

  "I can assure you that I'm only here for two reasons, both of which amount to the fact that I owe you. You spared my life years ago. And now, because of me, Erin is dead, and your daughter is being held by some very dangerous men. If I can help you get her back, then in some way I'll have repaid you."

  Jack considered his words, but said nothing.

  "It's up to you whether to believe me or not. But I ask that you make the decision quickly, because these paper mugs are starting to burn my fingers, and when it comes time, I'd like to be able to operate my weapon properly."

  Jack lowered the pistol an inch and shifted it to the right so it wasn't aimed at Brett.

  "If you're lying to me," Jack said, "I'll kill you first."

  "I wouldn't expect any less from you." He set the mugs in the center console cup holders. "What's going on? What did you find out?"

  "Ever hear of the name Thornton Walloway?"

  Brett glanced up, then shrugged. "Refresh my memory."

  "British billionaire. Dabbled with criminals, then terrorists. Dottie Carlisle worked with British Intelligence, and did some stuff on the side. That's how I met her. Anyway, she and Walloway hooked up a few years back. Neither had children. Walloway had no family at all, and Dottie only had her niece. Erin. Which makes Mia her great-niece. Get the picture?"

  "Mia's the heir to Walloway's fortune."

  "That's right."

  "Could this whole thing have been a plan to get to that money?"

  "The scope of this, from what you've said and with what I expect Brandon is going to tell us, is far too great to pin it all on that. Why kill off so many people when all they needed was me for the payoff? I think this goes back to that first meeting. It was contrived to put a face to a name. When they started digging into my past, they came across Erin and Mia, which led to Dottie and Walloway, and someone saw it as an opportunity."

  "Who?"

  "They're trying to gain custody of Mia. The name on the paperwork is John Merrick."

  "Which means we're dealing with Butch Monaco and whatever team he cobbled together. That pretty much confirms he killed Ballard. They probably thought you got to him and turned the guy. Why else would he report you dead when you're not?"

  Jack nodded as he sipped coffee. "Unless it was you, which it was. So, I wouldn't doubt that they've paid your apartment a visit just to cover all bases. You probably left town at the right moment." He paused a beat. "Back in Johannesburg, someone found me minutes after I hit the street. I was so disoriented at the time, all I could do was run. Honestly, I lucked out getting away with my life. Had to be someone they sent. I just can't see it being Frank. If he wanted me dead, he'd have done it in New York, not waste the resources sending me to the other end of the world."

  "That meeting you had, though," Brett said. "Before I even had orders to terminate you. If they wanted you dead, why not do it there?"

  "Doesn't make sense, right?

  Brett nodded. "They sent Erin's killer." His features darkened as he recalled his time in Tenerife. "Dammit, I saw him, Jack. Saw him in their hotel lobby. Wasn't someone I knew, but he had the look. Know what I mean?"

  Jack nodded, said nothing.

  "In SA, we rarely met the others, but you could always tell. Anyway, he took the same seat I had used when I was scouting the place. I left to make arrangements…" He paused and looked away. "I was going to take Erin and Mia offshore to draw you out. And when I left to do that, he must've started trailing them."

  Jack bit down against the anger rising. "You were doing your job, Brett. Same job I did dozens of times before. It'd be hypocritical of me to blame you."

  Brett said nothing. They drove on in silence for a few minutes.

  Jack recounted the events that led to him ending up in South Africa, as much for his benefit as for Brett's. From the strange meeting with who he believed to be Monaco, to the encounter with Charles. The supposed hit in Ithaca. Finding the dead man in the house. The team closing in on him there. And then Frank showing up. Finally, being shot with a tranquilizer and then waking up in South Africa.

  "Have they been working against each other?" Jack said. "Or together? And if that's the case, why send me so far away? Just do the damn job and get it over with."

  "You know I don't trust Skinner," Brett said. "But as you've explained it, I don't see him selling you out. But it sounds like he knew what was going on and was trying to get you as far away as possible."

  "How did you find out where I was?"

  "Everything came through Ballard."

  "An
d unless Brandon finds something, we'll never know who was feeding him."

  Jack's cell rang. It was Brandon.

  "Tell me you found something," Jack said.

  "I found lots, mostly irrelevant. But I'll get to the most important, which is totally backed up by the info your girl in London just passed on to me."

  "Lay it on me, man."

  "You know where the Excelsior Hotel is in NYC?"

  "West 81st," Jack said. "I was there a few weeks ago. Had a run in with a couple stewards and one of their maintenance men."

  "Hope you left on good terms, because that's where your daughter is. I'm close to pinpointing the room they tried to access the account from."

  Brandon said he'd call back as soon as he had it, then hung up.

  "Now's your chance to erase your guilt," Jack said to Brett. "Upper West Side. Excelsior Hotel."

  Chapter 87

  Paris, France.

  BEAR LOCATED LAURE'S home with a little help. The same help that put him in touch with private security for Mandy. A thousand dollars for two men. Non-refundable. He prayed that meant they were that good.

  His instructions should he not return by ten p.m. were explicit. Get the girl on a plane to Heathrow, and call Sasha Kirby.

  After all, it had been her that had given him Laure's address and recommended the security firm.

  She had also caught him up on everything that had happened to Jack. The guilt Bear felt was worse than bile rising in his throat. He'd deactivated the number Jack had always used to reach him. Cut the man off. His partner. One of his oldest friends. The only one who could understand how Bear thought and felt and acted.

  He'd pressed Sasha for additional details, such as where Jack was now and whether she knew who was behind everything. She had declined to answer, telling Bear he had enough on his plate at the moment. As usual, it was what she hadn't said that spoke the loudest.

  The situation was dire, and Sasha had said nothing more in an effort to protect Bear and Mandy.

  He suspected it had something to do with the forces that had come after Pierre. They might've even been tailing Bear and Mandy when they had arrived in Nice. That was part of the reason he had to get to Laure. She knew where he could find Mandy. Bear assumed that at a minimum she had knowledge of why Pierre had been killed. Might've even had a hand in it.