by L. T. Ryan
Jack leaned over the sink, washed his face with cold water. He looked at his reflection, ran his hand over his bald cranium. He dropped his head and shook it. He hardly recognized himself.
The door burst open.
Jack looked up.
A dark haired man with a thick beard stood behind him. The man’s outstretched arm reached behind Jack.
Jack straightened up.
“Don’t move,” the man said in English with an Italian accent.
Jack turned around. A small caliber pistol greeted him. The man was an amateur. Jack smiled.
“You are that man, Jack Noble. Right?”
Jack shrugged. “That man has a head full of thick brown hair. Quite a handsome fellow if I recall correctly. I’m bald. Have been since I was twenty-two. Still handsome, though.”
“Bullshit,” the man said. “You are him. I’ve seen you on TV.”
“Maybe I am,” Jack said. “What are you going to do about it?”
The man said nothing.
Jack narrowed his eyes and placed his hands firmly on the sink.
The man looked toward the door.
“Who’s over there?” Jack asked.
The man said nothing.
Jack turned his head. He looked out of the corner of his eye and saw the man turn his head too. That was all Jack needed. He pushed himself into the man. Jack’s arm knocked the gun loose while his knee slammed into the man’s groin.
The guy fell forward.
Jack leaned over and pulled the man’s leather jacket over his head, blinding him. He picked the guy up by the belt loops on the back of his pants and flung him into the rear stall. The man collapsed on the floor and then got to his knees. Jack rushed him and kicked him in the ribs. He grabbed the gun off the floor and stepped inside the oversized stall and locked the door behind him.
“Never, ever screw with someone accused of killing five Russians on a boat,” Jack said. “What are you? An idiot?”
The man moaned, covered his bloodied face with his hands.
Jack picked the guy up and sat him on the toilet. He pulled the jacket off the man. Rolls of toilet paper were stacked on top of the dispenser. Jack grabbed a roll. He placed it inside the jacket, stuck the barrel of the gun against the roll, wrapped the jacket around the toilet paper and the gun.
The man sat with his mouth open and eyes wide. He tried to talk but could only gurgle. Blood trickled from his mouth and broken nose.
Jack jammed the coat covered toilet paper roll against the man’s head. “At least you won’t make that mistake again.”
He fired two shots. The homemade suppressor did a good enough job keeping things quiet. He checked the man’s pulse. None. Good.
He opened the stall as another man burst into the bathroom.
“Christ, what do you want?”
“What did you do?” the man said. “Antonio.”
The man rushed past Jack and into the stall.
Jack followed. He walked up behind the man and fired one shot into the side of the guy’s head then dropped the gun.
Jack walked through the store, grabbed a soda and didn’t pay for it. The clerk didn’t appear to notice. Less than thirty seconds later Jack was merging onto the highway again.
Great start to this trip, Jack.
10
Charles pulled his Cadillac up to the security gate at the rear entrance of the compound. He pushed a button on the side of the door and the window rolled down automatically.
The man in the guard house straightened up when Charles leaned out of the car.
“Evening, sir,” the guard said. “Nice to see you again.”
Charles nodded.
The gate opened. Charles drove through and parked his car outside the garage. He didn’t know if he’d be staying the night. He stepped out of the car and walked to a black door equipped with an electric lock. He ran a card through a machine mounted next to the door. Only five men had access to this door. The old man called it his “special friends” door.
“Special my ass,” Charles muttered as he stepped inside.
He made his way through the familiar maze of halls and rooms. He stopped outside the old man’s study. Two men guarded the door. Charles nodded. They didn’t. He really didn’t expect them to after what he did to them in France.
“Step aside, boys. Boss is expecting me.”
One guard didn’t move. The other knocked on the door and opened it a crack. “Charles is here, sir.”
“Send him in,” the old man said from the room.
Charles pushed past the guards, winked at the one of the left. The door closed behind him.
“Mr. Charles, so good to see you.” The old man got up and crossed the room. He held out his hands.
Charles reached for the old man’s hand. “Good to see you too, Boss.” He knew he’d have to work the old man a bit. If he acted like an ass in here he might not make it out of the compound alive.
“How was your flight?”
Charles waved him off. “Let’s talk about Europe.”
“I want you to choose your team. You’ll need at least twenty men. You can have another captain accompany you. And of course, Alonso too.”
Charles shook his head. “I don’t want him working for me.”
“Oh,” the old man said as he turned away from Charles. “Why is that?”
“You know,” Charles said. “If he wasn’t married to my cousin he’d be dead right now.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“We should leave this in the past, Mr. Charles.” The old man stood up and walked to a drink cart. He filled two shot glasses. “Things had to be done. You understand this. It’s just business.”
“Yeah,” Charles said. “Business.”
The old man handed Charles a drink and sat down. “We’ve worked through our differences. You should work through yours with Alonso. He only acted the way he did because I held something precious to him. If he didn’t do as I said then he’d never see those precious items again. Wouldn’t you do the same if I held your wife and daughter, Mr. Charles?”
“What do you know about that thing? With the Russians?” Charles asked, changing the subject.
“The boat? I believe our friend Mr. Jack was involved with that.”
Charles nodded. “Makes sense now.”
“How’s that?”
“Nothing.”
“Speaking of the Russians,” the old man said, “I’d like to show you something.”
Feng got up and unlocked a drawer, pulled out a folder. He sat the folder on the table and opened it. He motioned to Charles to join him.
“What’s this?” Charles asked.
“The documents.”
“Jack’s?”
The old man nodded.
“Dumb freaking luck,” Charles said. “He axed the guy. Think that’s why he did it?”
“Doubtful. The documents were encrypted.”
“You think—”
“I am not wasting my time speculating, Mr. Charles. You should not either.”
“So what are you going to do with this information?”
“Sell it. I’m not interested in their plans. But you know certain groups are.”
“To who? The Russians? Radicals?”
“Maybe the government,” the old man said. “Really depends on who gives me the best price.”
“You approach the feds with this and you’re toast,” Charles said.
The old man sighed. “You still underestimate me.”
Charles laughed. “Guess so.”
“Forget you saw these unless I say otherwise.”
“Done.”
The old man put the documents away and pulled out another folder. He handed it to Charles.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
Charles did. “Deed and keys?”
“To your new residence in Paris.”
Charles nodded.
“Pick your men and get over there, Mr. Charles. We’ve got work to do.”
11
Pierre sat at his desk located in the dimly lit concrete-walled room that had no windows. He referred to the space as his home away from home. He stared at a computer screen, monitoring security streams and reviewing information relayed by field agents around the globe. Nothing exciting today. True, the press would have a field day with some of this information if they got their hands on it. But to Pierre it was boring, routine stuff.
He pulled up the local investigation on Foster’s murder, scanned through the information. Two things stood out. Random act. No suspects. Pierre smiled. Wouldn’t be long till they moved it to unsolved murders and the case would be filed away along with thousands of other murders never solved in Paris, the City of Light.
Pierre’s smile faded. He thought about his mother, once a vibrant woman who’d give the shirt off her back to help a stranger. She’d been strangled under a bridge in the middle of the night. The police worked her case for the requisite forty-eight hours and then filed her away. The only one who remembered was Pierre. To anyone else, she was now what was commonly referred to as a cold case.
He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a cigarette. Lit it and exhaled loudly. The brass didn’t allow smoking in the building and under normal circumstances he’d agree with them. Then they stuck him in this concrete hell of an office. Screw them.
His cell phone lit up. He picked it up off the desk and answered.
“Pierre?”
“Yeah,” he said. “What do you want?”
“We have something that just popped up on our radar.”
Pierre jiggled his mouse and waited for his computer monitor to turn back on. “Continue.”
“Your, uh, acquaintance,” the man said. “Mr. Noble. You know him, yes?”
“Yeah. What’s this about?”
“Two things.” The man paused. “We believe he had an incident outside of Rome. At a gas stop. Looks like two guys tried to jump him, but they weren’t successful.”
“OK.” Pierre started reading football news.
“Well, we don’t care about that. But, one of our satellites was hijacked.”
Pierre chuckled and then composed himself. “You think Jack did this?”
“No,” the man said. “Someone tracking him.”
“I don’t follow.”
“We broke into security footage and saw Mr. Noble leaving the gas station in a small car. The satellite was tracking a GPS unit that matched—”
“You can do that?” Pierre asked.
“Yes,” the man replied. “It’s not public knowledge.”
Pierre didn’t say anything.
“So anyway, we backtracked the times on the satellite tracking and matched time and location to the car Jack drove off in.”
Pierre felt his stomach drop.
“We think it’s the —”
“Russians,” Pierre said.
“Yes, sir.”
Pierre took a deep breath and ran his free hand through his hair.
“We can only assume it’s related to that thing off the coast last weekend.”
Pierre nodded. “Yeah.” Pierre paused a beat. “What’s his location now?”
“He’s been moving, but has stopped in Naples.”
“Who else knows this? Do the Russians still have control over our satellite?”
“No, sir. We cut them off and continued tracking on our own.”
Pierre figured that didn’t matter. The Russians likely had multiple satellites tracking Jack.
“How long till you can get a team to him?” Pierre asked.
“Inside six hours.”
“Probably not good enough, but get on it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“One more thing,” Pierre said. “Tell them that they are not to approach Mr. Noble until you have my confirmation.”
“This team can handle themselves, sir.”
Pierre laughed. “And Jack Noble can handle them. Trust me on this.”
Pierre hung up his phone and flung it across the room. It hit the concrete wall and bounced across the floor. He cursed under his breath.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d taken advantage of Jack when he asked him to do the job. The poor man had just seen Clarissa nearly die from a gunshot wound and Pierre sent him on a mission doomed from the start. Why? Because he couldn’t have done it himself. None of his men could.
He picked up his cell and searched through his contacts until he found Jack’s number. He pressed a button and put the phone to his ear.
“Come on, Jack. Pick up.”
12
Jack squeezed himself in the car and started the engine. His phone vibrated on the dash. He looked at the display. It read “Pierre.” He sent the call to voicemail and then turned off the phone. He’d call him back from the hotel later. Maybe tomorrow. For now he wanted to stay off the phone in case anyone was tracking him through it. He had thought about ditching the phone in the street, but figured switching it off was good enough.
He drove back to the cheap motel he found just outside the city. It looked out over the sea from the back window. Other than that he considered it a dump. He had to walk up two flights of stairs to get to his room. Not a bad thing though, not after his recent experiences in elevators. Jack chuckled at the thought of the jackwagon from New York.
He stopped and parked in an unmetered parking spot on the street two blocks from the motel. Even at that distance he didn’t feel safe. He would have ditched the car, but he felt compelled to get it back to Jemma in one piece. Of course, he could just wire her the money. He looked back at the car and shook his head.
He walked the two blocks to the motel while carrying a bag of groceries. He scanned the area. Saw things that most people would ignore. Two bums talking, heads down looking at something in one of the bum’s hand. One looked up at him, eyes flicked wildly, then returned to the prize in his palm. A woman passed by with a stroller. Jack eyed her the entire way. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye as he passed. Jack altered his course and stepped behind a building. Waited a minute and then peered around the corner. She was gone. He took a deep breath and double timed it the rest of the way to the motel.
Inside the room Jack sat the grocery bag on the table and laid out his phone and the two Beretta 9 mm pistols on the bed. He sat at the table and turned on his laptop. He waited for the machine to find a wireless signal. It didn’t. He sighed, sat on the bed and turned on his phone. An icon indicated he had new messages. He dialed in and listened.
“Jack, its Pierre.”
He skipped the message.
“Call me,” Bear said in the next message.
He ended the voicemail call and dialed Bear’s number.
“Jack,” Bear answered. “How you holding up?”
“Sitting in a fleabag motel outside Naples, Italy. Couldn’t be better.”
Bear laughed.
“You find the girl?” Jack asked.
“Yeah,” Bear said. “She’s here with me. Sleeping.”
“Where you headed?”
“Someplace warm.”
“Hope I can join you soon,” Jack said.
“You got a lead out of there yet?”
“No,” Jack said. “I need to get a hold of my contact.”
“Anything from our friends here?”
“Nah,” Jack said. “Tell you the truth, I haven’t bothered. I wasn’t helping them when I got into this mess. I’m sure they’re pissed. You know someone is going to point the finger at certain groups over this.”
“True.”
“Let me know when you get down there, Bear. And watch your back.”
“Trust me, I am.”
Jack hung up. He took a few bites of the bread and cheese he bought in town. Picked up his phone again and called Pierre back.
Pierre answered.
“It’s Jack.”
“Jesus, Jack. You
are in some deep shit.”
“Tell me something new,” Jack said.
“I’m not kidding. The Russians are on to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“The car you took. It has a GPS unit, yeah? They’ve been tracking you.”
“I’ve had the GPS since before I got this car.”
“Then they found the source car and got the unit’s ID somehow.”
Jack thought about Gianna. He shook his head. “The girl?”
“Dead,” Pierre said.
Another innocent life taken because of him.
“Jack?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Thinking.”
Pierre didn’t say anything.
“Give me your contact’s info.”
“Jack, I-I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
Jack squeezed the phone. “What the frig, Pierre?”
“They could be watching you right now, Jack. I can’t risk my man’s life.”
Jack said nothing.
“Listen, stay put. We’re trying to get a team down there.”
Jack said nothing.
“Jack?”
“What?”
“Just stay put.”
Jack leaned against the wall next to the window. He squinted against the light and scanned the street back to the car. Two men in dark suits stood on either side of the little vehicle.
“Don’t have a choice now,” Jack said.
“Jack, I’ll do what I can to—”
Jack tossed the phone on the bed, placed his hands behind his head and took a deep breath. Only two men, so far. That put the odds in his favor. He returned to the window and checked the street. Same two bums still sitting on a stoop getting excited over God knows what. Other than that nothing. Except, there, across the street and to the right. Two more men. Both wearing dark suits.
Son of a bitch.
Jack grabbed the only chair in the room, an old wooden chair with no padding, and placed it next to the window. He sat down, leaned against the window sill, keeping as much of his head covered as he could. He watched the four men, alternating between the two at the car and the two across the street.
13
“Da,” Dimitri said into the cell phone. “The GPS unit is a perfect match. He’s around here somewhere.” He listened, nodded at Kostya. “Excellent, sir. We’ll stay here until they arrive.”