Noble Man

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Noble Man Page 10

by William Miller


  Ramos gripped the cell phone so hard the plastic creaked. “I want to talk to her. I want to know she’s all right. Put her on the phone.”

  “You have forty-eight hours.”

  “If you hurt her-” Ramos started to say, but Eric had already hung up.

  He slammed the phone down on the dresser. The glass screen cracked. Ramos paced around the room with his fists clenched, breathing curses. He grabbed his cell and went to the kitchen where he poured a drink. Two fingers of bourbon helped steady his nerves.

  Eric was as good as his word. If Ramos did not hand over his operations in forty-eight hours, Bati would die badly. He didn’t want to think about that. It felt like a mean little rat gnawing at the lining of his stomach.

  He poured another drink and went to his study. He had work to do. In forty-eight hours he would be ready for the trade off, but he had another card to play first. He picked up the phone and dialed Fredric Krakouer.

  His wet workman picked up on the first ring. “Hello.”

  “She’s in Hong Kong,” Ramos told him without preamble. “Eric Tsang has her. Take my private jet to HK. It will be fueled and waiting by the time you get to Ninoy Aquino.”

  “I’m on my way,” Krakouer said. “Before you hang up, there is something you should know. I think the CIA has operators over here looking for Bati.”

  Ramos pulled out his office chair and sank into it. “You think or you know?”

  Krakouer hesitated. “I’m almost positive they’re operators. There are two, a guy and a girl. They showed up at Diego’s place earlier this evening and then again at a club owned by Lady Shiva. The boxer got the drop on the girl. They are in a meeting with Ana right now.”

  Ramos ran a hand through his thinning hair. If the CIA was investigating, it wouldn’t take them long to put two and two together. But if Ana had the agents then she might be able to dispose of them before they caused any trouble.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to do what I told you,” Ramos said. “Get to Honk Kong, find out where Eric Tsang is keeping my daughter, and bring her home. If anyone gets in your way, kill them.”

  “Okay,” Krakouer said and ended the connection.

  Ramos punched in a number he hadn’t dialed in years. The situation was quickly spiraling out of control. He needed to get out in front. He was dealing with people who knew his secrets. If the agents in Manila were talking with Ana, they would start making connections. Ramos couldn’t take that risk. While he listened to the phone ringing on the other side of the planet, he saw a book of poems by Robert Frost on his bookshelf.

  “And miles to go before I sleep,” Ramos said to the empty room. “And miles to go before I sleep.”

  28

  Noble hung from a hook in the ceiling. Oscar was using him as a punching bag. They had duct-taped his wrists together and lifted his hands over the hook like a slab of beef. His toes barely scraped the threadbare rug.

  Boxing gear and exercise equipment littered the makeshift gymnasium. There was a bench press loaded up with 210 pounds, a teardrop-shaped speed bag on a platform, and a rawhide jump rope tangled up on the floor. Scotch tape affixed a poster of Oscar De La Hoya in red trunks and matching gloves to the crumbling plaster wall. The room had the stale, lingering odor of a high school gym locker. Noble’s gun, wallet, phone, and the small pouch with Bati’s insulin syringes lay on the bench press.

  Samantha had been duct-taped into a cheap rolling office chair. They had secured her wrists and then Oscar and his buddy had left her alone to focus on Noble. She had watched the first few minutes with her face pinched and tears rolling down her cheeks. She pleaded with them to stop, and when that didn’t work, she shut her eyes tight and turned her face away.

  Oscar was stripped to the waist, his fists wrapped, working Noble’s midsection like a champ. The driver stood behind Noble, holding onto his belt loops to stop him from swaying—the way a coach would steady the bag. They had obviously done this before. Oscar kept his punches centered on Noble’s stomach and ribs to cause maximum pain without destroying his ability to answer questions later. Hit a guy in the head, and you risk knocking him out or breaking his jaw. Too many blows to the head will cause the brain to swell; the pain receptors short-circuit. The victim can’t feel a thing. You can wail on a guy all day long and get nothing out of him. But punch a guy in the rib cage, and he will feel it every single time.

  And Noble felt it all right. Every impact sent shock waves of pain rippling through his internal organs. His ribs groaned from repeated blows, threatening to break. The hard flat smack of Oscar’s fists filled his ears. Beads of sweat rolled down his face and pasted his shirt to his chest. He tried desperately to remember his training.

  Between the military and the CIA, Noble had been through two courses on resisting torture. The Army had forced him to stay awake for days without food, standing in the ‘stress position,’ and screaming in his face. It wasn’t pleasant, but he survived. The Company took things one step further, locking him in a room and giving him low voltage electric shocks. It was never enough to do any real damage, but enough to hurt like hell. Noble had endured it all knowing his life was never really in danger. Resisting interrogation at the hands of his training officers was different than holding out under genuine torture. Everybody has a breaking point. Sooner or later Noble would reach his.

  They would start asking questions, and Noble didn’t have the answers they were looking for. When they found that out, he and Samantha were dead. For her sake, if not his own, he had to hold out as long as possible and hope an opportunity for escape presented itself. He hung there with his lips peeled back from clenched teeth, reminding himself to breathe.

  It was hard to say how long Oscar wailed on him. Noble’s sense of time lagged and leapt as the pain took its toll. Eventually the door opened and Lady Shiva entered wearing a poison-green dress embroidered with a red dragon.

  She was tall and whisper thin. Crow’s feet had started around her eyes. Her age did nothing to detract from her cold beauty. She examined Noble with hard eyes.

  The champ took a breather. Sweat matted his black hair to his head. He kept up his footwork, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and looking over his shoulder at his employer.

  Lady Shiva perched herself on the bench press with a straight back. She crossed one leg over the other. The split in her dressed revealed a tantalizing glimpse of bare thigh. She gave a slight nod to Oscar. The punishment resumed. Lady Shiva watched.

  Noble grunted with every impact. One of his ribs was ready to snap. He could feel it. While he played the part of the punching bag, Shiva picked up the Armscor pistol. She turned the weapon over in her hands and then set it aside. She picked up the leather pouch. She inspected the contents. “That’s enough,” she said.

  The beating stopped.

  Noble gasped for breath. Sweat stung his eyes, forcing him to blink.

  “Oscar has a prize fight next weekend,” Lady Shiva said in an offhand tone.

  Oscar thrust his chin at the poster taped to the wall. “I named myself after Oscar De La Hoya.”

  “We have high hopes for him,” Shiva said.

  “His right cross could use some work,” Noble said. “Plant your feet more. Get your waist into it.”

  Oscar cocked his fist back and drilled a punch into Noble’s fly ribs. The force caused his whole body to pendulum back and forth on the hook.

  “Much better,” Noble managed to groan out.

  Samantha let out a sob.

  Lady Shiva’s expressionless eyes went to the girl and then back to Noble. “You are a hard man,” she said. “Mr…?”

  “Taft,” Noble told her. “William Howard Taft.”

  “Twenty-seventh President of the United States,” Shiva said. “I’m familiar with American history.”

  She waved a long-fingered hand, and Oscar rewarded Noble’s lie with a flurry of blows. The last one slipped below the belt. A sickening ache spread through
his guts like liquid fire. He groaned in pain.

  “Admirable,” Lady Shiva said.

  She stood up, crossed the room, and ran her fingers through Samantha’s hair. Sam ducked her head and hunched her shoulders. Shiva took a fist full of Samantha’s black tresses and yanked.

  Sam shrieked. Her chin came up. Her small breasts strained against her black cotton shirt.

  “Americans are so very predictable,” Lady Shiva said. “You think nothing of giving your own life, but when it comes to the life of an innocent…”

  Lady Shiva nodded at Oscar.

  The boxer back-handed Samantha across the face. The slap rocked her head to the side and left four perfect fingerprints on her pale cheek. To her credit, Samantha pressed her lips together and refused them the satisfaction of hearing her pain.

  Oscar cocked his hand back for another slap.

  “Enough,” Noble said.

  “Like I said…” The hint of a smile played across Lady Shiva’s painted lips. “Predictable. That’s why America hasn’t won a war since the fifties. The American public can’t stand to see collateral damage. They want nice, clean wars where no one ever gets hurt.” She flashed her teeth at Noble. “Where is Bati Ramos?”

  Noble was running out of moves. He decided to gamble. “Let the girl go, and I’ll tell you.”

  She laughed. “Or I could let Oscar and Li take turns with her while you watch,” Shiva said. Her words lacked malice. She wasn’t trying to scare him. She was simply stating a fact. She would hurt Samantha until she got the truth from him. “Where is Bati Ramos?”

  “I don’t know,” Noble said.

  Lady Shiva snapped her fingers, and Oscar struck Samantha another stinging blow.

  “I don’t know where she is,” Noble said. “I thought you had her. Why else would I try to set up a meeting with you?”

  Lady Shiva’s brow pinched. “Perhaps,” she said. She picked up the Armscor pistol from the bench and put the barrel against Samantha’s kneecap. “Perhaps you are lying.”

  Samantha looked at Noble with naked terror etched on her face. Her mouth opened in a silent plea for help. Shiva’s finger tightened on the trigger. The hammer inched back. He should have told her to pound sand, but he couldn’t watch while Lady Shiva crippled Samantha.

  “My name is Jacob Noble,” he said.

  Shiva’s finger relaxed on the trigger. She cocked an eyebrow at him. “The truth at last. Who do you work for?”

  “I used to work for the CIA,” he told her.

  “Now you work for Bakonawa Ramos?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m an independent contractor.”

  “A mercenary,” Shiva said.

  “If you like the expression.”

  “Where is Bati?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, Mr. Noble,” Shiva said. “If you don’t know where Bati is then you are of no use to me.”

  She pointed the gun at Noble’s head.

  He had nowhere to go and no cards left to play. She was close enough that he could try one last, desperate attempt to kick her, but that would only buy him a few moments at best. Shiva was about to punch his ticket. He was going to step over into the unknown, and that nagging fear hit him. The question of what happens after?

  The tip of Shiva’s manicured finger turned white against the milled aluminum trigger. Noble squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the thunderclap that would end his life.

  He was saved by a knock at the door.

  Shiva looked annoyed at the interruption. She lowered the weapon. “Enter!”

  The door opened and the potbellied man from downstairs stuck his head in. He held up an old gray cordless telephone the size of a brick. Shiva’s nostrils flared. She snatched the phone from his hand, and he retreated, closing the door gently.

  29

  Shiva was frustrated. Oscar had made a mistake bringing these two here. They had no information and now she had to murder them both. As a rule, Shiva tried to avoid murder whenever possible. It was messy, attracted attention, and left a trail. It would force her to change tear down shop and set up somewhere else for a while, just until the heat was off. Fortunately she had several clubs and safe houses where she could hide. She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Ana.”

  A bitter smile curled up one side of her mouth. She had been waiting for this call. She handed the gun to Oscar. He took it and paced back and forth in front of the mercenary.

  “To what to I owe the pleasure?”

  “My sources tell me you are holding a man and a woman,” Ramos said.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Don’t play games,” Bakonawa said. “I know the boxer got the drop on them. They’re with you right now. They are CIA operatives. They need to be eliminated.”

  Shiva switched ears with the phone and looked over her shoulder at Jacob Noble. Sweat trailed down his face, gathered on the tip of his chin, and fell in fat droplets to the floor. One side of his shirt was untucked and his hands, bound in duct tape, were turning purple. His fingers resembled tiny eggplants. If he was still with the company, killing him would bring a world of hurt down on her head. Was he lying when he said he no longer worked for the CIA? And what about the girl? She sat with her head bowed and her eyes screwed shut, muttering to herself or whimpering. It was hard to tell.

  “How very interesting,” Shiva said.

  Oscar stopped pacing, thumbed back the hammer, and pressed the barrel into Noble’s cheek, forcing his head to one side. Shiva snapped her fingers. Oscar looked over his shoulder. She waved him off. His mouth pressed together in a thin line, but he took the gun out of Noble’s cheek.

  “Kill them both and get rid of the bodies.”

  “As usual, I don’t think you appreciate my position,” Shiva told him. She was not in the habit of taking orders from Bakonawa Ramos, and killing CIA agents was bad for business. She stayed alive by staying in the shadows. Murdering intelligence officers would invite open warfare.

  “Eric Tsang has Bati,” Ramos growled into the phone. He paused to let that information sink in. “We both know he’ll kill her. I’ve got a man on his way to Hong Kong to rescue her right now, but he can’t do his job with two American agents complicating the situation. Get rid of them.”

  Shiva paced the floor. The ‘man’ Ramos referred to was Frederick Krakouer, a hot-tempered ex-marine with an alcohol problem and trouble with authority. He was the proverbial bull in a China shop. Despite all his faults, he had more of a chance of getting to Bati than any of Shiva’s people. “Very well,” Shiva said. “We’ll do it your way.”

  30

  Noble hung from his wrists. He couldn’t feel his fingers, and his ribs grated with every lungful of air. It made breathing painful. He listened to the phone conversation, trying to pick out any small detail he might use to stay alive a little while longer. He was clinging to life on a second-by-second basis.

  Lady Shiva was careful with her words. She didn’t give anything away or use names, but Noble didn’t need both sides of the conversation to know the winds had changed. Were they blowing in his direction?

  She set the phone down on the bench press, crossed her arms over her narrow chest, and considered Noble the way an astute trader might study a potential stock investment. Oscar and Li waited. Shiva picked up the insulin case and rapped it against her open palm. “The girl is diabetic?” she asked.

  Noble inclined his head. Anything more would cause pain.

  Shiva weighed her options. “Bati is being held by a man named Eric Tsang in Hong Kong. Do you know him?”

  Noble had heard the name mentioned during intelligence briefings on human trafficking coming out of Hong Kong. Tsang was the current head of the Nine Dragons. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  Oscar drove a punch into his navel.

  “I might have heard of him,” Noble admitted.

  Oscar hit him again.

  “Now I remember,” Noble spoke through gri
tted teeth.

  “None of my people have the necessary skills or subtlety to go up against a man like Tsang,” Shiva said. “But you have a fighting chance.”

  “Why would I help you?” Noble asked. He was going to do it, of course. It was the only way he would leave this room alive, but he wasn’t going to make it easy on her. He had to make Shiva think she was coercing him, instead of the other way around.

  A cruel smile turned up her red lips. Her eyes went to Samantha. “Because I will be holding onto your friend until you return. She can help entertain my guests. Who knows? She might even enjoy it.”

  Samantha choked back a sob.

  Noble clamped his teeth together and jerked his head forward, conveying reluctant acceptance.

  Shiva’s grin widened. She held up the slim box of insulin. “I will be holding onto these as well.”

  “You are gambling with Bati’s life,” Samantha said.

  Shiva flashed her a withering stare. “A risk I’m willing to take.”

  Oscar pointed the gun at Noble. “You’re going to trust this guy?”

  Lady Shiva cuffed his ear with an open palm. The blow turned Oscar’s head. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together.

  “Take the girl to my studio,” Shiva ordered.

  Oscar and Li pushed Samantha to the door. One of the wheels made a sound like a tiny mouse hunting for cheese. Samantha threw one last, desperate look over her shoulder at Noble as they steered her out of the room, and then she was gone.

  Lady Shiva ran one manicured fingernail over his chest. “Other parties want you dead, Mr. Noble.”

  “Tell them to get in line.”

  She toyed with one of the buttons on his shirt. “I hope I’m not making a mistake letting you go.”

  “I’ll find the girl, just don’t hurt Samantha.”

  Oscar and Li returned, lifted Noble off the hook, and dropped him unceremoniously on the threadbare rug. Pain tap-danced up his spine to his brain. He groaned.

 

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