by L. T. Ryan
He nodded his thanks, put out his cigarette and took a sip of coffee.
"Hello, Mitchell."
He looked up and saw Lorraine, dressed in a white dress fitted firmly around her waist, flowing at her knees. He stood up, brushed her curly brown hair behind her ears and kissed her. He put a hand on her shoulder, pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit.
"Where is Sophie?" he asked.
"She is with my mom," Lorraine told him.
He nodded. "Bring her by tonight?"
"Sure, I can do that."
"Just make sure it is after eight."
"Is she going to be here before then?"
Foster sighed. "Please don't start with me. She's moved out. Soon we'll be divorced and you and I can start our life together."
Lorraine looked away and snapped to get the waitress's attention. "Coffee and whatever he is having for lunch."
They sat quietly waiting for the food to arrive.
10
Clarissa perched herself on the windowsill and stared out over the city. Seemed it was all she could do. The old man had moved her to another floor. She had two guards outside her room and one guard inside. She found that odd. Why would they put an armed guard in the room with her? The old man had to know she was capable of disarming a man and that she wouldn't think twice about taking a life to save her own. The only reason she could come up with to comply was Jack. She had a feeling that if she did anything, it would get Jack into a whole lot of trouble.
She returned her attention to the city below and thought about her father. The last time she saw him she was sixteen years old. It was her birthday. To say he threw her a party would be an overstatement. It was a gathering of family and some of her friends. Jack was there. She had met him throughout the years, but on this day her father made a point to introduce them. Later he pulled Clarissa aside.
"Honey, listen to me," he had said. "If anything ever happens to me, you go to Jack. He's the best man I've ever had in the field with me. He saved my life. Jack Noble is the only man I trust to protect my little girl. You got that?"
She had nodded at him, mostly in an effort to play along. What would happen to her father? He was the best at what he did. And protection? Why would she need protection? From the time she was five years old her father had raised her to be as tough as him. She could shoot as well as any guy. She could handle most guys in a fight. In fact, she had taken down two guys who tried to attack her on the street one night.
Her father's last words to her on her sixteenth birthday, the last night she ever saw him alive, were, "If there is ever a day I am not around, you go to him." He pointed at Jack. She left with her friends after that. When she came back the next day she found a note he had left on the table saying he had to travel overseas. They spoke over the phone sporadically after that. Three years later Jack showed up at her door, tears in his eyes. He didn't have to say anything, she knew the moment she saw him.
Jack held up his end of the bargain, despite Clarissa's initial resistance. Anytime he was home, he was with her. He reminded her of her father. Over time she grew to think of him as a big brother. When he left the service and moved to New York, she tagged along. He helped her get set up in an apartment and with an office job. The job didn't last long. It was too boring for her. He argued with her when she started dancing, but he couldn't do much to stop it. She didn't tell him about her freelance work, but she suspected he knew.
Then, about five years ago things changed. She was attacked on stage and ended up in the hospital. It wasn't anything serious, but Jack was there for her. How he had known, she wasn't sure. But he showed up and took care of her, stayed with her every night until she had healed enough to take care of herself. A few weeks later she saw the man's picture on the news. He had been brutally murdered. She asked Jack about it, but he just shrugged it off.
It was at that moment she knew Jack Noble was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.
Clarissa stepped down from the windowsill and glared at the guard sitting at the other end of the room. He winked. She rolled her eyes.
His cell phone rang. "Yeah," he said. "Sure, I'll bring her down."
She leaned against the wall with her arms and legs crossed.
"Get dressed," he said. "Old man wants to see you."
"Hello," the old man said to Clarissa as she sat down at the table. "I took the liberty of ordering for you. I hope you like Chinese."
She didn't say anything.
"Right," he said. "Tomorrow the exchange will go down. We'll be contacting Mr. Jack shortly to make sure he hasn't forgotten about the deal." He smiled. "I do thank you for being so patient throughout this ordeal. I hope you realize this is nothing personal."
She nodded and took a drink.
"I admire your toughness, Clarissa. I do wonder if you would consider taking a position in my organization."
A smile crossed Clarissa's lips and a laugh escaped her mouth.
The old man cocked his head. "Something funny?"
"You think I would work for a spineless piece of shit like you?"
The guard to her right grabbed the back of her hair and pulled her head back. "You watch your mouth," he said to her.
The old man held out his hands. "Calm down. There are people around."
Clarissa looked around. There were a few couples in the hotel restaurant. The couple closest to them stared at her. The man removed his wedding ring and gave her a look as if asking if she needed help. She smiled and shook her head at him, to which he eased back in his chair, not taking his eyes off of Clarissa’s table.
"I appreciate your offer," Clarissa said. "But I decline."
"Very well," the old man said. "No hard feelings. Anyway, as I was saying, exchange takes place tomorrow. You will be free to leave as soon as Mr. Jack produces the documents. But I must prepare you for the other possibility too. If Mr. Jack does not show up or he fails to produce the documents, you will remain in my custody."
Clarissa fought the urge to jump up and run.
The old man produced a knife from under the table. He held it up and traced it along his fingers. "Every day that passes, you will lose a body part. A finger, then a hand. A toe, then a foot. These will be delivered to Mr. Jack until he upholds his end of the bargain."
"Why are you saying this?" she shouted. "You know he'll show." Tears streamed down her cheek.
The man at the table rushed over. "Are you OK, Miss?"
She nodded at him. "Go back, you shouldn't have..."
One of the guards stuck a gun to the side of the man's head. The man's wife gasped.
"Listen to the girl," the guard said. "Go back to your table and finish your fucking soup."
The man backed up, hands in the air till he got to his table. He took his wife by the hand and ushered her out the door. The rest of the people in the restaurant followed their lead.
The old man continued when they were all alone. "I'm sure he will, my dear. I just wanted to prepare you for what might come."
Clarissa folded her arms and looked away. He was playing a game with her and she would play along.
11
Jack arrived at the abandoned apartment before eight a.m. He didn't know Foster's routine well enough to establish whether or not Foster was the kind of guy who would have a bodyguard watch a regular location hours before Foster arrived.
Jack searched the apartment, slowly and deliberately. He checked the closets, behind drapes, under beds and tables. If a bug had been hidden he would find it. After twenty minutes he cleared the apartment, satisfied that Pierre and his associate weren't going to turn on him.
He returned to the kitchen and living area and finished his cup of coffee. As requested, an M40A3 rifle rested on the floor below the window he planned on making the shot from. A case sat open next to the rifle and inside the case were two nine millimeter handguns. Jack knelt in front of the case, took each gun out, inspected them carefully. They were ready for action.
&
nbsp; Just in case.
There were plenty of scenarios where just in case would come into play. Jack grimaced as the worst possible scenarios played out in his mind. The absolute worst thing that could happen was the shot missed and someone spotted where it came from. Foster's bodyguards would find their way inside. He didn't know the men per se, but he knew their type. They were mercenaries. And considering the amount of money Foster had to spend, they would be some of the best in the business.
Across the street, chefs and wait staff started piling into the patio area of the restaurant. They pulled four tables together and sat down to smoke cigarettes and drink coffee and eat pastries before their work began. Jack studied the group and determined that Corinne was not among them.
In a few hours he would place a call to the restaurant and ask for her to verify that she had taken his instructions and stayed away.
Jack looked up and down the street.
Where the hell is Pierre?
He had asked him to be at the apartment by nine a.m. It was ten after and Pierre was a no-show.
Jack fidgeted with a subsonic bullet. The cartridge danced along the knuckles of his right hand.
He was pretty sure the old man had someone following him or at least reporting when he left the hotel. Could the old man have intercepted Pierre? That would be an unlikely move, even for someone as powerful as the old man. Pierre was a highly placed French government agent. Taking him out would be like taking out one of the top CIA operatives. It would be like the old man inviting himself to his own funeral.
Still, Jack couldn't shake the thought from his mind. What if Pierre was being tortured for information by the old man right now? Jack knew very well that Pierre was trained to not give in to torture. But would the French man risk his life for Jack? All Jack had to do was look at himself for the answer to that. He knew damn well there were only two people he'd die for, Clarissa and Bear. Well, make that three. He'd now give up his life to save Mandy.
There had to be a simpler explanation. Maybe Pierre had been arrested. No, a man like Pierre wouldn't stay in jail long, if he got put behind bars at all. One call and his employers would free him.
A mission? It's possible his employer needed him to take care of something. But wouldn't he find a way to notify Jack if that were the case?
Jack paced the room, checking the street from each window he passed. He slammed a fist against the wall. He was losing focus. His attention needed to be on the restaurant, not on the streets looking for Pierre.
Finally, Pierre appeared. He walked on the other side of the street, passed the restaurant and traveled an additional two blocks. Then he crossed the street and made his way to the apartment building.
Jack kept an eye on the people enjoying themselves before work on the patio. None of them seemed to notice or care that a man who had passed by them minutes earlier was now on the other side of the street.
Pierre disappeared from sight as he entered the building. Less than a minute later he stood in the apartment apologizing profusely to Jack.
"You're thirty minutes late," Jack scolded.
"I'm very sorry, Jack. Please accept my apology. I had something to take care of last night and I only finished up an hour ago."
Jack looked him up and down from his position near the rifle and two handguns. "What was it?"
Pierre scratched at the stubble on his face. "To tell you that would be a breach of my oath to the French government." He held out his hands apologetically.
Jack thought for a moment. "I understand." He turned back to the window. "What's in the bag?"
Pierre walked up next to him and opened the bag. "Tint," he said, "for the windows. Less chance of us being seen."
"You don't think that someone might notice the windows are suddenly dark?"
"Why would they care?" Pierre said. "It's not as if they know this apartment is vacant. And even if they do they'd assume the landlord did it to attract a new tenant."
Jack shrugged. It would be better for someone to notice the tint than it would for him or Pierre to be seen.
"I'll take care of it," Pierre told him.
"I'm going for coffee." Jack slipped out of the apartment, down the stairs and made a hard right onto the sidewalk.
Pierre pointed at the tan man with a shaved head walking alone, toward them, on the other side of the street.
"That's him," he said.
"Why's he alone?" Jack asked.
Pierre shrugged. "Nothing we have on him says he travels alone. Ever."
Jack slid down to the window at the end of the room, pressed against the corner where the walls met, and scouted the street behind Foster. Maybe his guards are trailing?
"Anything?" Pierre asked.
"No. No one is with him."
"Very out of character. Something must be going on."
Jack took his place next to Pierre again and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He studied Foster's face through the high powered lenses. He looked no different than the day before. In fact, he had a slight smile, and not the bored look that crossed his face the day before.
"Shall we take him out now?" Pierre asked.
Jack reached down and placed the rifle across his legs.
"Give it a moment," he said. "We don't know if his bodyguards are below us, in the restaurant, or in another building."
"OK," Pierre said. "We'll wait."
Pierre moved from window to window, pressing his face against each. "No one. I don't see anyone on the street."
Foster had taken his seat on the patio. The sky was overcast, and judging by the swaying of the trees, a comfortable breeze blew across the street. The awning was pulled tight against the building. Jack could get a shot off right now and be done with this job.
"I'm going to take the shot," he said.
Pierre sat up straight. "OK. Set up and I'll monitor."
Jack lifted the window, slowly. He reached into the bag next to where the M40A3 rifle had been resting and retrieved the tripod. Once erected, he placed the rifle on top, steadied himself and aimed at Foster's head.
"Head or heart?" Pierre asked.
"Head," Jack replied. "Why risk it."
It didn't matter though. Get near enough to either and this weapon would blow a hole through the body large enough to ensure death. Yes, it made a mess. But in a case like this, a mess was acceptable.
Jack leaned in and prepared to make the shot. "Steady," he whispered a few times. He hunched his shoulders, cracked his neck, exhaled loudly. "Here we go."
"Wait," Pierre said.
"What?" Jack asked.
"There, to the right."
Jack looked at his associate and followed the French man's outstretched arm.
"Holy Christ," Jack said. "Damn cops."
Three policemen entered the patio through the wrought iron gate and took a seat at the bistro table in front of Foster's table.
"We could always kill them too," Jack said. He looked over at Pierre with a smile.
The Frenchman was not amused. "Here in my country we don't accept collateral damage." His voice escalated as he turned toward Jack. "Especially not when the targets are members of the military or police force."
Jack held his hands up.
"Bad joke, Pierre. I apologize."
The men sat in silence for the next hour. Jack tried to apologize a few times, but Pierre refused to hear it. The sun beat down from overhead and the green and white awning now covered the patio. The policemen left ten minutes ago, but with the awning down, all Jack and Pierre could do was wait for Foster to leave. That would be a risky shot though. Foster might fall forward onto the sidewalk, perhaps onto the street. There would be a crowd. Someone from the crowd would surely see Jack and Pierre leaving the building.
A few minutes later Jack sat up. Foster stood at the edge of the awning, smoking a cigarette.
"What about now?" Jack asked.
Pierre sat up and looked out the window. "Do we know who else is under the awning?"
"This could work then."
"Better than at the gate," Jack said.
He took position behind the rifle again, aimed and prepared himself to pull the trigger. Seconds felt like minutes as Jack steadied his hands and slowed his breathing. The tiniest movement could send the bullet off course. Not knowing the position of people under the awning could spell disaster. He could take out two or three people if the shot lined up right.
"Shit," Jack said.
A woman dressed in a short white dress stood directly in the path of his shot. She was tall, her head nearly blocking Foster's.
"Collateral damage?" he asked.
"No," Pierre replied. "He'll be back. We'll make the shot tonight."
Jack got up and walked to the other side of the room. He put two holes in the wall, one for each fist.
"They're gone," Pierre said.
"Left?"
"Yeah."
Foster returned to the restaurant earlier than expected. Jack wouldn't have even noticed had he not lifted his eyes from the book in his lap at precisely the right time.
"He's back," Jack said.
Pierre opened his eyes, yawned. "He's out of character today, isn't he? It's only four p.m."
Foster’s bodyguards flanked him. One of the wait staff nodded at the man as he entered and slipped under the awning.
Half an hour later one of Foster's bodyguards poked out from underneath the awning and greeted a man at the gate. Jack picked up the binoculars to get a look at the tall man with grey unkempt hair. He wore blue jeans and a blazer. He turned to look over his shoulder, and Jack got a solid look at his face. He looked familiar, but Jack couldn't place him. When it came to Foster, this guy could be anybody, a drug dealer, trafficker, actor, literally anybody.
The man disappeared under the canopy along with the bodyguard.
Another half hour passed and the sun had ducked behind the buildings across the street, casting a shadow over the urban canyon. A member of the wait staff appeared and unhooked the support lines for the canopy. A few minutes later it sat flat against the side of the building.