by L. T. Ryan
“Like Ted E. Bear.” She smiled, holding up her tattered teddy bear.
The big man chuckled. “No, not teddy. More like Grizz Lee Bear.” He lifted his arms, threw his head back and made a loud roaring sound.
Mandy laughed uncontrollably and before long the two men joined her.
The laughter was interrupted by the sound of Jack’s cell phone ringing. “It’s the old man,” he said while holding up the phone.
Bear nodded. “C’mon Mandy, let’s go see what’s on TV.”
The little girl hopped up and followed Bear into the other room.
“I’m here,” Jack said into the phone.
“Mr. Jack, I will keep this brief.”
“Let me talk to Clarissa.”
“There is no time for that, Mr. Jack.”
“You want the documents, you’ll let me talk to her.” Jack wasn’t sure if it was the lack of sleep, but he had never talked to the old man like this before.
There was silence on the other end. Jack heard muffled voices and thought he could make out the old man telling Charles to bring the girl over.
“Jack,” a soft voice said through the phone.
“Jesus, Clarissa, I’m sorry. You ok?”
“A bit banged up, slight concussion. But other than that I’m all right.”
“I’m gonna clean this up,” he said. “I need you to stay strong for a bit longer. He won’t do anything to you until he has what he wants. Hang in there, OK?”
“OK.”
“Now say goodbye. I need to wrap this up.”
“Goodbye, Jack.”
The old man returned to the line. “Mr. Jack. Paris. Thursday. Bring the documents. Go alone. Understood?”
“Yeah, I got it,” Jack replied. “Where do you want—”
The old man cut him off. “We’ll be in touch Thursday morning. Goodbye.”
The line went dead.
“Son of a bitch,” Jack said.
Bear was leaning against the refrigerator. He stood a good six inches taller than the appliance. “What did he say?”
“I have to go to Paris… alone. I have to be there by Thursday,” Jack said. He thought for a second and then started to ask, “Bear, can you—”
“You don’t have to ask. I won’t let her out of my sight.”
Jack smiled at him. Thanks weren’t necessary. “We should get out of this house. Best to consider it a compromised location from now on.”
14
Jack sat alone at an empty gate in the international terminal of Hartsfield-Jackson airport in Atlanta, waiting for his flight to Paris. A man had been watching him for the past twenty five minutes. The man had even followed him to the bathroom. He didn’t go in with Jack, though. When Jack exited, the man followed him back to the gate, always staying fifty feet or so away. The man was a Fed. Maybe even a spook. The blue suit and conservative red tie with vertical blue stripes was a giveaway. Some might say he could just be a businessman. But a businessman wouldn’t wear those shoes with a twelve hundred dollar suit. Jack didn’t look at him long enough to be able to place him, but he knew him.
Jack feigned interest in a magazine, checking on his chaperone from time to time. He looked up and realized the man was gone. He looked around. The man was out of sight.
“Hello, Jack.”
Jack turned to face the man standing behind him. “Jesus, Frank. I thought I was going to have to kill you! You look different. Not in a good way, either.”
Frank laughed. “You don’t stand a chance against me, Jack.”
“Hey, how’s that top secret non-existent agency you work for doing?”
“Don’t have a clue what you are talking about, Jack. But if I did, I’d say great.” Frank winked.
The small talk continued for a few more minutes. Jack was well aware who Frank was and who the man worked for. It wasn’t that long ago that Jack worked for the same agency. He hadn’t dealt with his old partner in two years or so, but routinely took contracts for the agency. They called Jack in when they needed dirty work done, the kinds of jobs that they couldn’t just explain away to their backers in the government.
“Cut to the chase, Frank. What do you need me to do?”
“We became aware that you’re traveling to Paris this morning. We have some laundry that needs to be washed over there. Kind of thing that is right up your alley.”
Jack looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was paying attention to them. “Rate?”
“One hundred.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “That is quite generous. But my reasons for traveling, you know, I’m going to be pretty tight for time. And once my business is resolved, I might be too weighed down to complete another job.”
“Two hundred,” Frank said.
“Deal,” Jack said. He held out his hand. “Details?”
Frank pulled out a manila folder and handed it to Jack. “It’s all in there. I don’t need to tell you that we never had this conversation, right, Jack?”
Both men rose to their feet. Jack extended his hand. “What conversation?” He watched as Frank walked away and then peeked down at the manila folder and shook his head in amusement. All the technology available today and one of the most secret organizations in the country, hell, in the world, just gave him an assignment in a manila folder.
“Now boarding First Class passengers for Air France flight 8985, non-stop to Charles de Gaulle airport, Paris,” the flight attendant said over the intercom.
Jack tucked the manila folder into his carry on and walked toward the gate. The flight attendant took his ticket and welcomed him on board. He strolled down the jetway and settled into his first class seat, ordered a drink and sat back. He felt relaxed for the first time in weeks.
Jack thought about Mandy, reassured by the fact that she was with Bear. They had flown to Atlanta together and then the trio split up. Bear and Mandy were flying to San Diego to lay low for a few days. Jack was travelling to Paris to complete the deal with the old man and get Clarissa.
He thought about Clarissa and the oath he had made to her father as the man died in his arms. He had promised that nothing bad would ever happen to her. He sipped his whiskey and winced as he came to grips with his failure to uphold his oath to Roger Abbot, his former CO during his time in the Marines.
I’m gonna rescue her, Rog. I promise you that.
He followed his first drink with two more. The alcohol did its job. He started to feel numb. He would arrive in Paris Monday afternoon. That would leave him plenty of time to take care of the job for the Feds while he scouted possible locations for the document exchange with the old man.
He figured that he better get acquainted with his new assignment and opened up the manila folder. He raised an eyebrow and his mouth hung open when he saw the photograph. “How about that, no wonder they need me.” He closed the folder and glanced around to make sure no one was watching him. He caught the eye of the pretty flight attendant walking down the aisle. “Stewardess, refill please.”
Episode 2
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1
Jack Noble stepped off the plane into Charles de Gaulle airport at two-thirty Monday afternoon. He had three days until his meeting with Charles and the old man. Three days until he would hand over the documents in exchange for Clarissa. In the meantime he had an assignment to carry out for a government agency so clandestine few people had ever heard of it. He still couldn't get over the fact that someone high enough in the food chain that is the United States government wanted the target taken out.
The bitch of it all was that he knew he'd be stopped at customs. It happened every single time. He took the documents that the old man wanted into the restroom, took photos of each and saved them deep
in his phone’s file folders, as well as in the cloud using a little known application reserved for certain government associates. This method worked well for his assignment information, but he had a feeling the old man would be upset at not receiving the originals.
Fine with me. He can search through airplane toilet waste for blue stained shreds if he wants.
Jack had to get through customs before he could worry about the old man. Sure, he'd head toward the sign that said, Nothing to Declare, but he knew he'd be stopped.
Jack made his way through the terminal, doing his best to remain inconspicuous. Not an easy feat when you are six foot two and everything about you screams government agent, a look he couldn’t shake. He would have fit in perfectly with the CIA or NSA, both of which had recruited him as his term with the Marines came to an end. But he was done being a government stool pigeon. He had heard about the opportunities available to freelancers and they had sounded far more attractive. It was Riley "Bear" Logan who first turned him on to the idea.
Bear was his associate and closest friend since the age of nineteen, when they met in Marine Recruit Training. They’d been stationed together and performed missions together. Through it all, Bear always had his back.
Jack's thoughts turned to present day and he wondered if Bear and Mandy had made it to California OK. They would have landed a couple hours before he did. He figured he would make contact as soon as he settled in.
"Monsieur, s'il vous plait."
Jack looked over and saw the customs officer, flanked by two military agents. He was motioning for Jack to step over to his table.
Jack nodded and changed course. Dropped his bag on the table and pulled out his wallet.
"Passport, s'il vous plait."
"Right here," Jack said.
The agent looked the passport up and down. The man was frail looking, very pale, with a thin mustache and large mole just to the left of his nose.
Jack figured he could take the agent out with one shot to the throat, crush his windpipe. Then he’d lift the table and use it to slam into the two military agents. He wouldn't, of course, just a little mental exercise to keep the mind sharp.
"Monsieur Howard Blair?" the agent asked as he dug through Jack's duffel bag.
"That's me," Jack replied.
"What business do you have in France this week?"
"My cousin called two nights ago. Aunt Josephine is very sick. They expect her to pass any day now. As a kid I spent a lot of time with her. Know her better than my own mother. Used up some of my vacation time at work and bought a ticket."
"My condolences, Monsieur Blair." He zipped the bag closed and slid it across the table to Jack, apparently happy with the contents. He then picked up the cell phone, spun it around a few times, pressed a couple buttons, placed it on the table and slid it across. "Enjoy your stay in France."
Jack threw his duffel bag over his shoulder, stuffed his phone in his pocket, looked up to say thank you, but the officer had already turned his attention to someone else.
"Monsieur, s'il vous plait."
Jack stepped to the curb and looked over the mile long line of taxis waiting to pick up tourists, business-people and locals, all of whom assimilated into a muddled line. Jack imagined that from above it looked like a flesh colored caterpillar writhing on the ground.
There were at least two dozen people ahead of him. He watched as a young woman tried to wrangle her three small children into the back of a taxi. A poke in his back interrupted his musings.
"Jack, right?"
"No, name's Blair. Howard Blair. You must have me mistaken." Jack heard the distinctive sound of a gun being cocked. He turned his head to glance over his shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief. "Pierre… Jesus Christ, I could have killed you seven ways to Sunday you sonovabitch."
This drew a considerable numbers of stares from the crowd around them.
"Come with me Jack, no need to wait in line for a taxi."
Jack looked around, making sure no one had followed him or Pierre. The area was clear as best he could tell. "All right, I'm staying at the Hotel de Crillon."
Pierre let out a long whistle. "Very nice my friend. Business must be good."
Jack laughed. "You have no idea, Pierre. No idea at all."
Pierre reached for Jack's bags, but Jack pulled back.
"Not a chance Pierre."
"Suit yourself. I was just being hospitable."
"I know your kind of hospitality and I'll gladly pass."
Pierre laughed and waved for Jack to follow him. "My car is in that lot there."
They walked in silence to the car. Jack glanced over his shoulder occasionally, making sure no one followed behind them.
"So this job, it's big, yeah?"
Jack nodded. "I'll tell you more at the hotel."
2
"He's too much of a problem now. Why can't you see that?" Charles paced back and forth in the hotel room, his eyes focused on the old man.
"Mr. Charles," the old man said. "Just because you and Mr. Jack have a history together does not mean that I should just kill the best operator that I don't employ full-time."
Charles stopped, threw his arms in the air and clenched his large fists behind his head.
"When I have a job that requires a certain level of... separation... Mr. Jack is the man I go to." The old man stood up and jabbed a bony finger into Charles's chest. "You wouldn't even have this position if he had accepted the job."
Charles looked down at his boss, flared his nostrils and furrowed his brow, trying his best to intimidate the old man. But he knew any attempt to scare the old man was a lost cause. His boss feared no man.
The old man turned his back on Charles. "I have plans for Mr. Jack. You just have to accept that. No less than six assignments are planned for him, any one of which he might not survive. But I am quite confident that he is the only one who can handle them."
Charles nodded. "Boss, all I'm saying is..."
"All you are saying to me is rubbish," the old man yelled. "I have told you repeatedly to let this go, yet you continue to hound me with these suggestions that we take out Mr. Jack. If I hear this again, I will have you relieved of your position."
Charles took a step back. He knew exactly what his boss meant by those words. This was the first time that the old man had ever threatened him and it disturbed him. Is he serious? Charles decided not to push his luck too far. He took a few more steps back and sat down.
"I'm sorry, Boss," he said. "Sometimes I get a bit worked up. It's just the way he acted in the car, attacked me. I have a hard time not retaliating against that."
"One day you will understand, or you should hope to understand if you want to take over my empire, that there are times to retaliate and times when it is wiser to bite your tongue." The old man pulled a chair close to Charles and sat down. "If this were anyone else I would send a team to bring him back. I'd deliver him to you personally and let you have your way with him."
"Yeah, I know," Charles said.
"No, you don't know. If you did, we would not be having this conversation."
The old man had a temper but he had never acted this way with Charles before. Never talked down to him like this. Why would he choose Jack over him? Was there something that he didn't know? Nonsense, he knew everything that was going on. Nothing got to the old man unless it went through Charles. The old man didn't even carry his own cell phone for Christ's sake.
"I just gotta know," Charles said. "Why do you stand up for him? Choose his side over mine?"
The old man stood up and came toward Charles. He put his hands on the large man's shoulders, bent over and put his mouth next to Charles's left ear. "Listen to me. No one person is above the organization. No one. Not you, not Mr. Jack, not the guards that stand outside this hotel room."
Charles thought about what his boss just said to him. The frail old man was in a bad spot. One hit would be all it would take. One hit and he'd be out. He brought his hands together, cracke
d his knuckles one at a time. "Not even you?"
The old man straightened up and laughed. He started to turn away but instead pivoted on his heel and swung his open hand across Charles's face.
"How dare you speak to me like that, Mr. Charles."
Charles's head snapped to the side, not so much from force as from the shock that the old bastard had actually hit him. He righted his head and leaned forward, eyes narrow and lips curled. "I don't care who you are, you don't slap me."
His boss laughed at him. "What are you going to do?"
Charles reached out, grabbed fistfuls of his boss's shirt with both hands and pulled him forward. He pulled the old man's face close to his. "I can make it look like an accident. You know that no one would question me. I'd take over and soon after Jack would join you in hell."
The old man kissed Charles on the cheek and smiled.
What is with this old bastard?
"Oh, Mr. Charles," the old man said. "Now I know for sure. I know that you are ready to take over. You, like me, fear no man."
Charles let go of his boss's shirt and sat back in the chair. He rubbed his temples and traced the stitches on his large forehead, thought about what the old man just said to him. He opened his mouth to speak, but the old man beat him to it.
"Four more assignments and then Mr. Jack is yours. Fair?"
"The girl?" Charles asked nodding toward the room next door.
"I'm inclined to leave that to your discretion but you must keep in mind that she means a lot to Mr. Jack. She must be available on Thursday for the exchange. After that, and as long as she is not in his custody, you can do what you want."
Charles nodded.
"Keep it clean, Mr. Charles. It must not come back to me."
Charles stood up, pushing the old man back with his chest as he rose to his feet. He pointed a finger at the old man, opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it. He brushed the old man aside and left the room.
3
"Would you like pancakes for breakfast, sweetheart?" Bear asked the little girl.