Noble Man

by William Miller

  “I need to hitch a ride to Hong Kong,” Noble said.

  “Try the airport,” Manny told him.

  “I was hoping for something a little more clandestine.”

  “A gun is one thing,” Manny said. “A black crossing requires a lot of resources. I’ll have to pull strings. People will ask questions.”

  “Have you got a pen and paper handy?” Noble asked.

  He gave Manny the address to club LUSH. In the intelligence community, nothing is free. Noble needed to give a little to get a little. And it wouldn’t hurt to curry favor with Manila branch.

  While he spoke, Sam got his attention. She pointed to herself, pointed out the window to a drug store across the street, and then made a walking motion with two fingers. Noble shook his head, but she was already on her way out the door.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” Manny asked.

  “How would you like to be the guy that brings down Lady Shiva?”

  The sleep evaporated from Manny’s voice. “You’re kidding?”

  “She’s been living in the top floor of a cat house in the red-light district,” Noble told him.

  “Right under our noses,” Manny said.

  “You’ll have to move fast if you want to catch her. She knows you are coming,” Noble said. “Any ideas on getting me into Hong Kong?”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Keep this phone handy,” Manny said and hung up.

  Noble dialed Matthew Burke. Through the window he watched Sam cross the street and disappear into the twenty-four-hour convenience store. Flashing signs advertised beer, cigarettes, and lotto. What could she possibly need at two in the morning?

  Matt’s baritone voice answered. “Twenty-four hour plumbing.”

  “It’s me,” Noble said. “Had to switch phones.”

  “Jake, tell me you have good news?”

  “Okay, I have good news.”

  “You’ve got the girl?”

  “No,” Noble said.

  “You know where she is?” Burke asked.

  “Not exactly,” Noble admitted. “But I know she’s in Hong Kong. What can you tell me about a triad boss named Eric Tsang?”

  Noble heard Burke tap keys. “Nasty piece of work. He started out as a runner for the Nine Dragons when he was ten. Worked his way up through the organization. Now he’s running the show. Our sources say he murdered the previous Dragon Head with a box cutter. He also fed an enemy through an industrial press.”

  “Sounds like a real charmer.”

  “Tsang isn’t your average street thug. Our analysts say he’s self-educated. Never went to school, but he’s a voracious reader. Since taking over the Nine Dragons, he’s expanded the operation from a minor heroin ring into prostitution, gambling extortion, trafficking, you name it. He’s even got several legitimate fronts that are making honest-to-God profits. Tsang has a wife and a seven-year-old daughter. He’s also got a younger brother called Tiger. Little brother is a bit of loose cannon.”

  Noble snorted. “There’s one in every family. Any connections to Bakonawa Ramos?”

  Keys tapped. “None, but he’s got a team of mercenaries on his payroll. Five of them. These guys aren’t doughnut-eating ex-cops padding their pensions either. Let’s see.” Burke read off the roll call. “Henries, Johnathan. Former Australian Special Air Service Regiment. Two tours in Afghanistan with the SASR and two more as a private contractor. Donaldson, Graham. Also former SASR. Philippe, Rene. French Foreign Legion. Served in Cambodia, Somalia, Rwanda, and Sarajevo. Lehrer, Daniel. Israeli Defense Force with ties to the Kidon. And last but not least Fischer, Otto, a former sniper for the Kommando Spezialkräfte.”

  Noble bared his teeth.

  “Quite a roster. If Eric Tsang has the girl, you can bet these hard cases will be guarding her,” Burke said.

  “Lucky me,” Noble said. “Has Ramos contacted any authorities?”

  “No. In fact he hasn’t emerged from his house since this whole thing started. He’s being awfully cagey. Any ideas why that is?”

  “I’m starting to get an idea,” Noble said. He switched ears with the phone. Sam emerged from the convenience store with a shopping bag dangling from her elbow.

  Layers within layers.

  He watched her cross the street. “I should be able to lay out a more complete picture once I’ve got the girl. Do me another favor.”

  “I live to serve,” Burke said.

  Noble ignored the cheek. “Dig up everything you can on a Samantha Gunn. That’s Gunn with two Ns. She works with Bati at the shelter.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Noble hung up before Burke could ask any more questions. He could hear Sam in the hall outside the door. She had probably gone for food; that was the simple answer, but she had been gone long enough to make a phone call.

  36

  Samantha came in carrying a pregnant shopping bag. She tossed the bag on the bedspread. Cardboard and paper packages murmured together.

  “You didn’t make any phone calls did you?” Noble asked. He sat down on the end of the bed with a painful grunt and dumped the bag. Inside was a collection of medical supplies, a pair of toothbrushes, protein bars, generic acetaminophen, and bottled water.

  Sam shook her head. “My phone is on the seat of my car still parked on the street in front of club 10.” She took a bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and drank half in one long swallow.

  “Probably stolen by now,” Noble remarked.

  “The phone or the car?”

  “Both,” Noble said.

  One side of her mouth turned up in a tired grin.

  He reached for the aspirin. He shook four into his open palm and then, with a shrug, two more. He popped all six into his mouth and swallowed.

  “You should eat something,” Sam said. She sat down beside him on the bed, sorted through the protein bars, and handed one to him.

  He tore off the wrapper and took a bite. His mouth watered at the taste of chocolate and peanuts. He hadn’t eaten since landing in Manila. He scarfed down two more bars and quaffed a bottle of water. He was so intent on the food, it was several moments before he realized Sam was watching him eat.

  “What?”

  She cleared her throat. “I should take a shower.”

  In the bathroom, she shut the door, and Noble heard the lock click into place. The water turned on. A moment later, he heard the change in the rhythm as she stepped under the stream.

  He tried not to think about her in the shower. It was a tough sell. His brain wanted to stay on the image, but Noble forced his thoughts to other matters. His first order of business was replacing lost fluids. He twisted open another bottle of water and drank. He took his time.

  With his hunger satisfied, the pain was setting in. Oscar had done his best to turn Noble’s ribs into ground chuck. The smallest movements hurt. It would only be worse tomorrow. He sorted through the medical supplies. Sam had done a thorough job. She had bought bandages, medical tape, Neosporin, and ice packs. He applied Neosporin to the cut above his eyebrow and then stood up to remove his shirt and jacket.

  Sam chose that moment to turn off the shower. She emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Her black hair hung in limp tangles around her bare shoulders. The open window bathed her bare limbs in soft blue moonlight. Damp white cotton clung to her slender frame.

  She saw him struggling out of the jacket. “Let me help.”

  “Not necessary,” he said.

  She hurried around the end of the bed and helped him free his arms from the sport coat.

  “It’s fine,” Noble said. “Really.”

  “Don’t be stubborn,” she said.

  The smell of her clean skin invaded his senses. Her fingers worked the buttons on his shirt. It was an effort to remain still. He felt like a college student posing for the freshman art class. It made him nervous and excited all at the same time. She pushed the shirt down over his shoulders.

  Black and purple welts marched in ranks from his
belt line to his chest. Her fingertips traced the narrow channels between his abdominal muscles. Her small chest swelled and relaxed with each breath. Bright spots of color appeared in her cheeks. A silent, intangible tension flooded the room. It felt like someone had turned the thermostat up to roughly the surface temperature of the sun.

  She was closer now. Noble didn’t know which of them had moved, but the distance between them shrank until he could feel her breath on his chest. She turned her face up to his. Her lips parted. “It’s mostly bruising.”

  “Mostly,” Noble said.

  “We should put ice on it.”

  Noble could only nod in agreement.

  She reached past him and sorted through the medical supplies until she found an ice pack. She crushed it to release the cold, then placed it gently against the worst of the bruising. He drew a sharp breath through clenched teeth.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  Noble took the ice pack out of her hand and tossed it on the floor. A trembling breath escaped her chest. Noble pulled her tight. Their lips met, slow and timid, then with more passion. They tangled up in each other’s arms. Noble gave himself over completely to the passion. He let his hands slide down her narrow waist, over her hips until he was touching the bare skin of her slender thighs. He started to push the hem of the towel up.

  Sam drew a sharp breath and forced him away. Conflicting emotions fought for control of her face.

  “What’s wrong?” Noble tried to pull her back into his embrace.

  She pushed back with more force. “We can’t, Jake.” She held onto her towel with both hands. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  The heat of the moment winked out like a candle in a hurricane. In all of his years, Noble had never encountered a more puzzling riddle. One moment she was wrapping herself around him with an urgency that boarded on desperation and the next she didn’t want to be touched. He couldn’t figure it out so he cleared his throat. “I should get into a shower.”

  She nodded, clutching her towel like he might try to take it by force. “That’s a good idea.”

  Noble went into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and closed the door. Dead moths filled the glass belly of the overhead fixture. The weak bulb revealed moldy grout and a cheap plastic shower curtain. Samantha’s clothes were folded on the back of the toilet tank. Black lace peeked out from between shirt and denims. The sight set his pulse galloping. He stripped down and left his own clothes in a pile on the floor.

  37

  Sam felt like she would melt into a puddle on the cheap motel carpet. She grabbed two fistfuls of hair and tugged. She could still feel Jake’s strong hands exploring her body and his hungry mouth on her lips. She sat on the edge of the bed, twisted the cap off a bottle of water, and drank. It did nothing to quench the fire. She realized she had left her clothes in the bathroom only after Jake turned on the shower. She stared at the closed door.

  Why had she stopped him? He probably thought she was crazy. Had she blown it completely?

  She stood up, paced around the room, and then sat down again. The idea of climbing in the shower with Jake flashed through her mind and made her thighs tremble. She told herself it was the situation; she had been held at gunpoint, strapped to a chair, and slapped around by a criminal. Jake had saved her. A certain gratitude was expected, but it was more than that; she wanted to feel his kisses so badly that it was a raw ache in her chest. She wanted to spend one night wrapped up in Jake’s arms, but she had made a promise her sophomore year.

  Like so many college freshman, Sam had gone a little crazy. It was her first time away from home, and the freedom went to her head. She started to party, and her grades slipped. She nearly got kicked out of school. Bati convinced her to attend a campus Bible study. It was where the two of them really connected for the first time. Sam started going regularly. She turned around her flagging grades and promised herself that the next guy she slept with would be her husband.

  She balled her fists in frustration. That promise felt meaningless given the circumstances. Facing the very real possibility of death, one night of pleasure seemed insignificant.

  She finished off the bottle of water, went to the window, and leaned on the sill. An occasional car hummed past on the street below. She tried to focus her mind on something else. Anything else. The more she tried, the more Jake Noble, with his strong hands and eager mouth, intruded upon her thoughts until Sam was sure she’d go mad.

  The answer came to her all at once. She would let Jake decide. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe she’d hate herself in the morning, but she would put the burden on him and accept whatever happened.

  Sam let the towel fall to the floor and climbed, naked, into bed. Her heart hammered so hard she could feel the blood in her ears. Would he climb under the covers and make love to her? Would he sleep on the floor? If he ignored her and slept on the floor, what did that mean? If he made love to her, what did that mean?

  She closed her eyes and waited. She felt confused and scared and not at all sure she was making the right decision.

  38

  Bati had to escape and to do that she needed to know everything about them and how they operated. She started by attaching names to faces. The big redheaded Australian called Henries seemed to be the leader. He gave the orders. Shortly after their well-dressed Chinese boss drove away, Henries told the German with the long rifle to find a perch—whatever that meant—and that was the last Bati had seen of the man named Otto.

  The others spread out around the rock quarry. Occasionally one would pass by the open door but never the same man twice in a row and never with the same frequency. Bati tried counting the seconds between their passing and came up with different numbers each time.

  Even if she could get past the soldiers, she couldn’t sneak past Fau and Paeng. They were sitting on sacks of crushed gravel in the open door. Paeng was half asleep. His chin kept settling onto his chest. He would snap awake, only to nod off again. Blood from his severed finger had soaked through the bandage and dotted the floor. Bati could have walked past Paeng, but Fau was awake and ranting. He wasn’t happy about the situation. Every few minutes his tirade climbed a few octaves and he would wave his gun around, leveling impotent threats at empty air. He was in the middle of one of these rants when Henries appeared in the doorframe like a ghost materializing out of the darkness.

  Fau stopped midsentence. He looked like a teenager caught watching porn. The two men eyed each other with open hostility. Fau’s handgun looked puny next to the sleek black rifle strapped across Henries’s chest. Bati held her breath, hoping they would kill each other.

  No such luck.

  Fau dropped his gaze. The muscles in his jaw clenched. He stared sullenly at the ground. Henries waited a beat before turning his back on the kidnapper and strolling back outside. His boots crunched through the gravel, and he disappeared from sight. As soon as the Australian was out of earshot, Fau launched back into his tirade. Paeng peeled open one eye long enough to add a weak grunt then nodded off again.

  While Fau ranted, Bati considered her options. She was barefoot, and her hands were zip-tied behind her back. Her only weapon was the syringe hidden under her thigh. It felt less than useless against men with guns.

  She wondered if there might be another way out of the building, a back door or a window she could climb through. She peered into the dim recesses, but she couldn’t see very far. It was built in the shape of an L, and Bati could only see to the corner. She scooted in that direction, hoping for a better view.

  “Hey,” Fau said. “What are you doing?”

  “I have to pee,” Bati told him. It wasn’t a lie. She’d been holding it for hours.

  “So pee,” he said.

  “Not here,” she said. “Can’t I go back there?”

  He glanced at his partner, but Paeng’s eyes were shut. Large red drops fell from his bandaged hand. Fau sighed and stood up.

  Bati palmed the syringe and scrambled to her feet. “I can do it,” she said.


  He grabbed her by the elbow. His nails dug into her skin. Bati winced. “You’re hurting me,” she said.

  “Shut up.”

  Fau marched her around the corner. Dust-covered machinery connected by a series of pipes and electrical wires crowded the long end of the building. It smelled like an attic that hadn’t been aired out in years. A red metal toolbox sat atop one of the conveyor belts. A name was stenciled on the side in simplified Chinese.

  Between the Chinese boss and the toolbox, Bati realized they must have taken her to the mainland. Panic set in. It felt like a metal band closing around her chest. China was huge. They could be anywhere. Not anywhere, she reminded herself. They had to be somewhere near the coast, probably a major shipping port. That still left a lot of possibilities. They could be in Macau, Kowloon, Shenzhen, or any number of port towns in the South China Sea.

  Fau gave her a push.

  Bati stumbled forward, fought for balance, and then turned to face him before he could see the syringe clutched in her hand. It forced her to expose the front of her pink panties.

  He looked her over and then said, “Go ahead.”

  “I can’t go with you watching.”

  He shrugged. “Then hold it.”

  Bati whimpered. If she tried to hold it any longer she would end up peeing down her own leg. Fau made no sign of moving, so she used her zip-tied hands to tug down her underwear and then squatted. Fau watched with a smirk. Bati clamped her eyes shut. It took an effort on her part, but she finally let go. Her stream pattered on the concrete floor. She felt immediate relief mixed with anger and humiliation. Her face burned with shame while warm urine puddled around her heels.

  She finished and opened her eyes. Fau had watched the whole time. Bati straightened up and did her best to drag her panties back up with her hands zip-tied behind her back. It didn’t work.

  Fau deposited his handgun on top of a rusting machine and grabbed her by the hair.

  Bati let out a terrified shriek. “Please don’t hurt me.”