Noble Intentions: Season One

by L. T. Ryan

  Jack stood and walked to the balcony. He stepped outside.

  “Jack?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Got any friends nearby?”

  “No one I can trust.”

  “Is there anyone you can trust now, Pierre?”

  Pierre chuckled. “Afraid not.”

  “Saying I’m alone on this one?”

  “For now, yes. Get to Naples. I think I can help you there.”

  “Think? I’m not driving six hundred miles for ‘think.’ Christ, you know I can’t fly or take the train with my picture all over for the place for the boat incident.”

  “Best I got right now, Jack.”

  Jack sighed. “Damn you, Pierre.”

  “Damn you too, Jack.”

  Jack hung up, walked to the bathroom, closed the door behind him. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. He ran his hands through his hair and scratched at the stubble on his face. He traced the thin lines extending from the corners of his eyes. When had he started to age? Feeling young was what was important. At least that was what he told himself. He reached under the sink and pulled out the complimentary grooming kit. He unzipped it and left it sitting open on the counter. He turned on the shower faucet, took a deep breath and stuck his head under the stream of water to wet his hair.

  He placed a towel over the sink and pulled the scissors from the grooming bag. He went to work on his hair, cutting it short and uneven, letting the clippings fall onto the towel. He bundled up the towel and placed it in the trash. He reached into the bag and pulled out a razor and shaving cream. He wet his head again. He put shaving cream on his face and head, ran the razor under water and proceeded to shave off everything but his eyebrows.

  He washed the remaining shaving cream from his face and dried off. He laughed at his reflection in the mirror, remembering why he didn’t keep his hair close cut after leaving the Marines. The bald look did not suit him.

  Jack stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby. He walked to the front desk and smiled at the woman with the nametag that said Jemma.

  “How may I help you sir?” she asked.

  Jack frowned. “Don’t recognize me?”

  She peered at him through narrowed eyes. Her thin upper lip disappeared as she pressed her lips tight. “Mr. Smith? Is that you?”

  Jack laughed. “I know, looks horrible.”

  “No,” she said. “I think it’s an improvement.”

  Jack shrugged and shook his head. “Everyone’s got an opinion, I guess.”

  She smiled. “Well, mine is the one that counts.”

  “Look,” Jack said. “I need a car. Problem is, with no ID I can’t rent one. Any way you can help me out?”

  “How long do you need to borrow it for?”

  “Couple days. Four at the most.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Rome.”

  She whistled. “That’s a long drive.”

  Jack placed five hundred euros on the desk.

  “And as long as you have it back to me in four days it shouldn’t be a problem.” She grabbed the money and handed Jack her keys. “Blue car, around back. Can’t miss it.”

  Jack lifted an eyebrow but didn’t question her. “Thank you. Hold my room another week?”

  “Yes, Mr. Smith. Will do.”

  Jack exited through the hotel’s rear door. It didn’t take him long to find the car. Small. Blue. Jemma written across the side in sparkly gold letters.

  “For Christ’s sake.”

  Jack opened the car door, sighed and packed his body into the cramped space. He started the car and checked his fuel. The gauge read full. He felt confident he could get far on a single tank of gas in the little car. He pulled out of the lot and followed signs to the highway.

  It had only been a day since Bear and Clarissa left. He hadn’t spoken to either of them since. Clarissa was getting close. Too close. Being close to a woman wasn’t something Jack was used to. In his world, romantic relationships caused problems. He ended relationships the moment he felt them going somewhere.

  The past two weeks spiraled out of control because of a commitment he had made years ago to protect Clarissa. Jack laughed. He knew he was lying to himself. It went beyond the commitment to her dad. His feelings for Clarissa had grown into something more than that of a protector. Maybe he’d retire from the business. Money wouldn’t be an issue. He had enough stored up to last a lifetime. He thought about where they could go. The islands were nice. He always enjoyed his time in the Keys and the Caribbean. Hell, they could go to South America or even better, Australia. He’d never set foot on the Australian continent before. If there was one place Jack Noble could hide, Australia was it.

  Would Clarissa go for it? Jack had no idea, but he decided he would ask next time he talked to her.

  Jack merged onto the highway. The chatter in his mind settled down as he focused on the traffic around him. One wrong move in a tin can like Jemma’s car and he’d be dead. The thought held a sliver of appeal. At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about Charles, the old man, or the Russians.

  4

  “What do you think?” Charles leaned back in his chair, strategically placed in the corner of the room. He could see the front door, the back door and the street through the front window. He had men positioned outside and kept two plus Alonso with him at all times.

  “About what?” Alonso cocked his head to the side.

  “Should I go to war with him?”

  “Jack? Or the old man?”

  Charles shrugged. “We’ll worry about Jack later.”

  “Is there any way to work it out with him?”

  Charles stared at his dark haired associate. “He just tried to have me killed. You tell me?”

  “I’d say if you can work it out, then work it out.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You can accomplish more if you make amends. You want to take on our boss, take on the world? Who’s going to back you up when it’s all done? You say you have half the organization in your pocket. What about the other half? Fifty percent of those men are sure to leave. Of the remaining, who can you really trust? How do you know someone else might not take a stab at offing you? Hell, I could do that, Charles.”

  Charles sat back in his seat. His large thumbs massaged his temples. He shifted his eyes toward Alonso. “You might be right.”

  “I am right. You know it.” He picked up Charles’s phone and placed it in front of him. “Call him.”

  “Leave the room.” Charles picked up the phone and nodded toward the door. “Oh, and you better be kidding about offing me.”

  Alonso smiled, got up from the table and closed the door behind him.

  Charles thought for a moment. What did he want to accomplish with this call? He didn’t plan to suck up to the old man. Hell with that. He had to be strong. If they were going to co-exist it needed to be in a capacity of equals. He’d had enough of shoveling shit for Feng. He’d proven himself a loyal soldier and a great leader. If the old man knew how many of his own men were ready to defect, the bastard would probably disappear. Or go on a killing spree. Charles figured it would be the latter.

  He poured a drink and slammed it in a single gulp. He pushed the tiny buttons on the phone with his large hands. The phone rang.

  “Mr. Charles, how are you?” the old man answered.

  “Let’s get right to it, Boss.” He figured it was better to use his usual greeting rather than the old man’s first name. “Why’d you do it?”

  “You gave me every reason to do it.”

  “Maybe so. But to send Jack. What the hell was that?”

  “I had a feeling Mr. Jack would not complete the job.”

  “A feeling? You risked my life because of a feeling?”

  “No, Mr. Charles. At the time I contracted Mr. Jack, I wanted you dead. You know better than to mess with me, yet you did.”

  Charles didn’t say anything.

  “After I thought it over, I hoped tha
t you would fight back. I figured if one of you were out of the picture, things might be better for me.”

  “Is that right?”

  “But I’ve had a change of heart. I believe we can maintain our relationship. Don’t you?”

  Charles laughed. “Crazy S.O.B.”

  “How do you like Europe?”

  “Food’s good,” Charles responded.

  “How’d you like to stay there, Mr. Charles?”

  “I’m not following.”

  “It has come to my attention that there is a void to fill with the recent demise of one Mr. Foster.”

  “Go on,” Charles said.

  “He was moving quite a bit of product through Paris. Now his organization has split into five factions, all of which compete with other Parisian organizations.”

  Charles moved to the front of the room and stared out at the quiet street.

  “I believe that you have a loyal following within our organization, Mr. Charles.”

  Our?

  “And I believe that relocating part of that following to Europe could lead to quite a bit of expansions for us.”

  “What is this ‘our’ and ‘us’ talk?”

  “When you first came to me, you were incompetent. No argument there, right Mr. Charles?”

  Charles said nothing.

  “Hell, I had to give you directions when you first started driving for me. But I saw something in you. And over time you grew into the kind of leader I thought you would. But I never anticipated how powerful you would become.”

  Charles still said nothing.

  “I understand the dynamics here. A lot of my men are loyal to you, Mr. Charles.”

  “Don’t do anything to those men,” Charles said.

  The old man laughed. “Why would I? Well, at first I was going to. But then I realized something. You know what I realized?”

  “You were losing control?” Charles said.

  “Just the opposite,” the old man said. “You see, we are in a unique position here. We can expand. I have you, and that means I don’t have to worry about how things will be run if I’m not around.”

  “What took you so long?”

  “Let’s get one thing clear though,” the old man said. “Do not for a minute think that you would still be alive if I wanted you dead. Jack was not the only one there who could have killed you that night.”

  Who else did he send? Charles sat down and rubbed his forehead. “So put this to me in simple terms. What are you saying?”

  “I want you to relocate to Paris at once. I have purchased a place for you there. You will head up our European operations until I am ready to retire, at which point you will move back to New York and take over the organization.”

  Charles sat back, said nothing.

  “Mr. Charles,” the old man said. “Do you accept this offer?”

  “What about Jack?”

  “Why are you so difficult?”

  “He let me live. He had me, Feng. He could have killed me and he didn’t.”

  “So you want him dead now?”

  “I want his respect,” Charles said. “Or I want him dead.”

  “Let’s forget about Mr. Jack. As I understand it, he is in a lot of trouble and we might not have to worry about him again.”

  Charles grinned.

  “As to him not killing you and you wanting him dead,” the old man said. “A life had to be taken, Mr. Charles. And a life has been taken.”

  “Who?”

  “Not to worry. Get to Paris.”

  “Ok, Boss.”

  “Please, call me Feng from now on.”

  Charles grinned.

  The old man hung up the phone and sat back in his chair. “So difficult, I don’t understand him. When did he become like this?”

  “No idea, Boss,” Miguel said.

  The old man looked at his new second in command. Barely thirty, Miguel had not a speckle of silver in his dark hair, nor a line on his face. His dark eyes gave nothing away, and his good looks charmed the ladies that willingly came through the compound. The old man had taken notice of Miguel a few years earlier and had watched his progress since. He worked well with all of the other captains in the organization and seemed a natural fit to back up operations here. Maybe he’d even be a candidate for west coast operations if they decided to expand into new territory.

  “Do you have the documents prepared?”

  “Yes,” Miguel said. “Pretty difficult. We had to decipher the code.”

  “How did you manage that?”

  “Hayward,” Miguel said. “Turns out he has a background in code rigging.”

  The old man shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “Well, anyway, here it is.”

  “What’s it say?” the old man asked. “Have you looked?”

  “Why don’t you take a look yourself?”

  Feng opened the folder and scanned through the documents. He lifted his eyebrows and smiled.

  He looked up from the papers. “This name here,” he pointed at the documents, “why does that sound so familiar?”

  Miguel straightened up and leaned forward. “Korzhakov?”

  “Yes, Korzhakov. I recognize that name.”

  “Our friend, Jack Noble.”

  “Oh yes, the thing on the boat.” Feng straightened and read over the documents again. “Tell me, Miguel, why would a high ranking Russian official be communicating with a radical group intent on overthrowing the U.S. government?”

  Miguel lifted an eyebrow and read through the documents. “How did we get these?”

  “The same friend you mentioned a moment ago. He secured them for us while they were in transport.”

  “On your orders?”

  “Yes, that is correct, Mr. Miguel.”

  “How did you know about them?”

  Feng stood up and walked around the table, behind Miguel. He placed his hands on Miguel’s shoulders. “Why so many questions, my young companion?”

  Miguel shrugged. “Just curious.”

  “First thing you need to realize is that you are not privy to all my information.”

  Miguel nodded and said nothing.

  “I have my hands in many pots and I have many sources. That is all you need to know. Now back to my question. Why?”

  “I guess because they are planning something together.”

  “Very good, Mr. Miguel,” the old man said. “They are planning something together. Or were planning, I should say. What do you think of this?”

  “Risky,” Miguel said. “Very risky.”

  The old man sat down and smiled at his associate. “You look worried.”

  “I’m not that into government overthrows,” Miguel said.

  Feng laughed. “Overthrows? Mr. Miguel, me neither. And quite frankly I think it’s a fool’s plan. These fanatics, they have a lot of followers and might be able to do some damage locally. But they are no competition for the U.S. military.”

  Miguel shrugged. “So why do you care about these documents?”

  “Money,” Feng said. “I’ll sell them to the highest bidder.”

  5

  The closest flight Bear could get took him to Salt Lake City. He rented a car and drove north toward Billings. He’d been driving nine hours straight. He pushed the little car to 120 miles per hour. The signs on Highway 12 flew by in a blur. He slowed as he neared the turn for Scott’s place. The small car bounced along the driveway as gravel kicked up against the undercarriage. He pulled into the clearing, turned off the car and got out.

  He stood at the base of the porch stairs and listened. Complete silence. He gripped his pistol tight. He inspected the stairs and the porch. And there he saw it.

  Blood.

  He reached down to see if the puddle of blood was fresh. It barely smeared. He stood up, held his gun out and went to the door. He peered through the windows and saw an empty house. The door sat cracked open about two inches. He pushed. The door opened further. Bear slipped through the opening and walked i
nto the house.

  “Oh, Jesus Christ,” he said.

  Scott lay on the floor, eyes wide open.

  Cathy lay on the couch, her shirt soaked in blood, her chest heaving slightly. He went to her side and felt her pulse, it was weak but steady.

  He glanced around the room, saw four children on the floor behind the dining room table. Bear rushed over to them. Their hands and feet were bound, their mouths gagged. Three were asleep, but Bernie was awake. Her wide eyes watered over when she saw Bear. He nodded at her, brought a finger to his mouth, and turned away. He’d get to her after he found Mandy.

  He crept through the house, stopped at the base of the stairs. He heard crying from upstairs. Bear rushed up the steps, three and four at a time. He broke down the door the crying came from.

  “Stop!” The little girl held a shotgun in her tiny hands. “I’ll shoot.”

  “Mandy,” Bear said. “It’s me, Bear.”

  Mandy looked up, set the shotgun down, wiped the tears from her eyes. “Oh, Bear.” She leapt into Bear’s outstretched arms and sobbed and shook uncontrollably. He stroked her hair. She calmed down after a few minutes. “The men, they pulled up in a car and just started shooting.”

  “Shhh,” Bear tried to quiet her.

  “And they killed Bernie and the other kids, and then Ms. Cathy, and then Mr. Scott. They killed them all.” She started sobbing.

  “The kids are OK, Mandy,” Bear said. “Cathy is hurt, but she’s alive.”

  “Mr. Scott?”

  Bear shook his head.

  Mandy clenched her mouth and eyes tight and cried some more. Finally, she composed herself and said, “One of the men was named Russ.”

  “Russ?”

  “Yeah, I heard them call him Russ.”

  “Did you see him?”

  She shook her head. “Not very well.”

  Bear took a deep breath. He knew a Russ that worked for the old man. He knew him well, in fact. Bear would have to pay a visit to Russ in the near future.

  “I want to get out of here, Bear.”

  “Ok, Mandy. Let’s go.” He carried the girl downstairs, held her head tight against him so she wouldn’t see Scott’s body.