Noble Intentions: Season One

by L. T. Ryan

  "Where are we?" she asked.

  "Almost to New York," he said.

  She clutched at her seat belt. Her breathing quickened. "I don't want to go back to New York."

  Bear reached over and placed his hand on her head. "It's OK, sweetie. We'll be out of the city." For now.

  She took a deep breath, like he'd taught her, and seemed to control her emotions. "OK, Bear. I trust you."

  He laughed. "I hope so." He waited, but she said nothing. "How about a movie tonight?"

  She shrugged. "Guess so."

  He didn't know what to expect from the girl. She'd been through so much the last few weeks. It'd be a good idea to contact his sister, a licensed therapist, for some advice. Of course, that would mean contacting his sister. They hadn't talked in four years, and he wasn't sure how receptive she'd be to the situation. Katie wasn't the biggest fan of his work. He brushed the idea aside, and focused on the highway and the traffic up ahead.

  On cue, his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. Brandon.

  "What you got for me?" Bear asked.

  "Some good news," Brandon paused a beat. "And some bad news, Bear."

  "Give me the good news."

  "I've got confirmation on your guys, Russ's team."

  "OK, good. Hold the details. I can't take them right now."

  "OK."

  "What else?" Bear asked.

  "I don't have double confirmation, but I think I've got enough to tell you that Clarissa's safe."

  "Why can't I reach her?"

  "I feel confident in saying you’ll be able to soon."

  "Where is she?"

  "Really can't say anything else. It'll be up to her what to reveal."

  "A damn mystery, great."

  Mandy slapped his leg and gave him a stern look.

  Bear laughed.

  "What?" Brandon asked.

  "Nothing," Bear said. Reluctantly, he added, "What's the bad news?" He squeezed the steering wheel with his left hand, waiting for the answer he already knew.

  "It's Jack," Brandon said.

  Bear lowered his voice. "Dead?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mandy jerk he heard sideways.

  "No, not yet anyway."

  Bear waited, but Brandon went silent. "What is it then?"

  Brandon sighed. "The Russians found him guilty of murdering those politicians—"

  "Two politicians and a General," Bear said.

  "And two bodyguards and a deckhand. That’s beside the point, Bear. They found him guilty. He took the rap for the Frenchman, too."

  "What's the sentence?" Bear asked. He already knew, though.

  "Death."

  Bear said nothing.

  "Serving his sentence in a place called Black Dolphin," Brandon said. "Ever heard of it?"

  "Yeah, bad place." Bear rolled down his window and spit, trying to get rid of the bad taste in his mouth. "We got anyone that can help?"

  "I'm trying, my man, trying."

  "I'll reach out to Pierre," Bear said. "Anything changes on Clarissa, you let me know. Send me the information on that other guy, too."

  "Will do on both counts, man."

  Bear hung up.

  "Are we going to see Ms. Clarissa soon?" Mandy asked.

  "Yeah," Bear said. He didn't know for sure, but why tell her that?

  Bear spent the next two hours deep in thought, too many thoughts to make sense of. He struggled to find a way to help Jack, but came up with no solution. He only knew he had to do something. He pulled off of I-287 and took Skyline Drive north, toward Ringwood, where they owned a house near the Wanaque Reservoir.

  Mandy awoke as the car slowed down. "Where are we?"

  "Almost there," Bear said.

  He guided the car along the winding road and pulled into a residential neighborhood. Two minutes later he parked the car on a paved driveway, behind the house.

  "Stay here," he said.

  Mandy pushed back in the seat and stared out the window.

  Bear got out and walked through the light rain along the side of the house, across to the front, and to the other side. He went to the door and peeked in through the windows. Finally, he pulled out a key and opened the door. He stepped inside and his phone rang. He answered without checking the caller ID.

  "Hi Bear," Clarissa said.

  "Jesus, girl," Bear said. "Scared the crap out of me."

  "I'm sorry."

  "What happened?"

  "Um, I can't really say," she said.

  "What the hell do you mean? After what you put me through?"

  "I said sorry, my God."

  "Where are you?"

  "I'll be back in New York soon," she said.

  "You know the house on the reservoir?"

  "Yeah, I've been there."

  "I need you to come here, watch the girl. I got business in the city. Can you do that?"

  "Sure," she said. "Don't want to go back to my apartment just yet, anyway."

  Bear sighed. Plan's coming together.

  "Crap, I gotta go, Bear."

  "Wait, before you go I need to tell you something—," the line went dead. "About Jack."

  Bear tossed the phone on the couch. "Shit." He stepped through the door and waved Mandy out of the car.

  The little girl slipped through the open door, ran through the rain, up the stairs and across the porch. She found the couch and TV remote, smiled as she flipped through the stations and found her favorite program, Phineas and Ferb.

  So simple, so easy. All cares erased by the comfort of familiar faces and voices.

  "Ms. Clarissa is gonna be here tomorrow, sweetie."

  "Cool," the little girl said, barely turning her head to respond.

  "Cool," Bear repeated. Very cool, indeed.

  10

  Jack sat alone on the bench seat positioned at the rear of the old bus. Diesel fumes filled the air. Nausea kicked in occasionally. That or his nerves got the better of him. He looked around the mostly empty bus. Just him, five other prisoners, four guards, and the driver. The driver looked back in the wide rear view mirror every few minutes. He had a broad face with red puffy cheeks that pushed his lower eyelids higher than they would naturally sit. Russian Santa Claus bringing a gift of fresh bait to the Black Dolphin. The guards didn't move unless someone said something. Only one person said something, though, and that beating he took was enough to keep the rest of the prisoners quiet.

  The man had sat across from Jack, said something in Russian, then laughed. Two guards wasted no time, rushed him from the aisle. When they finished, blood poured from the man's mouth. Now he sat sideways in his seat, head back, with a trickle of blood streaming down his chin.

  Jack turned in his seat and stared out the window at the bleak brown landscape that gave way to gray skies at the horizon. His mind wandered and started to recall everything that happened to land him in this situation. He quickly brushed the thoughts away. No point in going down that road. He figured he'd have plenty of time for that inside a prison cell. Prison. Shit. He had no idea what to expect when the bus stopped. Pierre had tried to tell him about the place nicknamed Black Dolphin, supposedly one of Russia's oldest and most hardcore prisons.

  Only one way out of Black Dolphin.

  One of the guards stood and started walking toward the back of the bus. Jack sat up straight, eyes forward.

  The guard stopped and looked down at Jack. The man had brown hair and light brown eyes. His face wasn't hardened like the other three. No, this man still had youth on his side. "May I sit?" he asked in English.

  Jack nodded and slid toward the window.

  "You are the man, Noble, yeah?"

  Jack nodded and said nothing, eyes still forward.

  The guard checked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. "I'm glad you did what you did."

  Jack didn't move.

  "Those men were bad news."

  Jack looked at the guard. "You shouldn't be saying these things."

  The guard shrugged. "No one here sp
eaks English. I think."

  Jack smiled. The guard had balls. Jack could respect him for that.

  "If you had gone to a real court, you would have won."

  A real court. Like he had a chance. Jack shrugged.

  "You can appeal," the guard said. He looked up. "We're almost there. My name is Alik. I'll be inside and will do what I can to see that you are treated fairly, Mr. Noble."

  Jack nodded at Alik. "Good, I won't have to kill you then."

  "I like your confidence," Alik said as he stood. "Don't lose it. You're going to need it in there." He pointed toward the front of the bus.

  Jack craned his neck and saw a circling double layer of barbed wire fences. Beyond the fence stood the prison, long and gray and two stories high. An arch roofed adorned the center of the building and was flanked by dormers. The bus stopped at the gate. The gate opened and eight guards stepped through. They walked along the side of the bus, shouting across at each in Russian, a cadence to their calls. The men circled and crossed paths in the back. Two entered the bus, walked to the back. Two more stepped on and stood at the front, aiming rifles at the prisoners.

  The guards behind Jack whispered to one another in Russian and then laughed. One put his hand on Jack's shoulder.

  Jack fought the urge to flinch. He wished he had a free hand. Jack watched as the other prisoners were escorted off the bus, one at a time by a single guard. The bus was empty except for him and the two guards behind him. He turned his head.

  "Shall we leave, gentlemen?" he asked.

  The guard closest brought his fist down across Jack's nose.

  Jack’s head snapped to the side and his eyes watered. He shrugged his nose up and down. It wasn’t broken. He touched his upper lip with his tongue. No blood. He smiled.

  Four more guards entered the bus. One stepped forward, pointed an assault rifle in Jack's direction and barked orders in Russian.

  The guards behind Jack jerked him from his seat. Each grabbed inside his arms and pushed him forward.

  Jack heard the deep, loud barks of what he assumed were very large dogs outside the bus.

  The guard with the assault rifle backed up to the driver's seat. The other three guards slipped in between bench seats and trained their pistols on Jack's head.

  He looked at his reflection in the wide rear view mirror and smiled at the sight of red laser beams dancing on his forehead. He nodded at each guard as he passed. None returned the greeting. When he reached the front, the guard at the head of the bus stuck the barrel of his assault rifle in the side of Jack's neck.

  "Down the stairs," he said in English. "Nice and easy."

  Jack looked down, through the open door. Two guards stood six feet from the doorway, both equipped with the assault rifles. Behind them, six additional guards waited, each holding a chain that connected to extremely large German Shepherds that had to weigh 150 pounds, if not more.

  "They'll kill you on command," the guard said from behind him.

  Jack took the stairs one at a time. Slow and steady. He kept his chained hands in front of him, held out as far as he could. He stepped off the bus. The two guards stepped back and waved him forward. He took three steps. They motioned for him to stop.

  The remaining guards exited the bus and surrounded him. The guards with the dogs stepped to the side.

  Jack felt two barrels in his back, pushing him forward.

  "Move," a heavily accented voice said from behind him.

  The convoy of guards shrunk to four after they entered the prison. Two in front, two in back. Faces pressed against thick glass as Jack walked through the open area of the prison. Most jeered at him. Some stared blankly at him. He stopped looking around and kept his focus forward.

  "Stop."

  Jack stopped.

  The guard to his front right stepped forward, turned right and opened a door. Two guards hooked their arms around Jack's elbows and led him into a small bare room with a single locker in the far corner. The four guards piled in, positioning themselves in each corner.

  One held out a key. "Come here."

  Jack stepped forward.

  "Your arms."

  Jack failed to comply.

  The guard punched Jack in the stomach.

  Jack stepped back but didn't buckle over, which seemed to anger the guard even more.

  The guard reached down and yanked Jack's wrists up. He unlocked the cuffs. "Strip."

  Jack failed to comply.

  The guard nodded at the man in the back of the room and Jack felt his hands on him.

  One move, that would be all it would take, and Jack could end the man's life. That would probably mean the end of his life, too, so he shelved the idea for later.

  The guard stripped Jack of his clothes. They poked and prodded him. He stood still. Stayed silent.

  The guard in the far corner opened a locker and pulled out a black jumpsuit and a black and white striped hat. He threw the clothes at Jack.

  Jack caught the bundle. He held up the cap. "Seriously? What is this, a friggin’ cartoon?"

  "Humiliation is what it is," a guard said. "Put them on."

  Jack dressed.

  They moved him back to the hall. "From now on," the guard said, "this is how you will be transported." He nodded.

  Two guards grabbed Jack's arms and pulled them to the side and up behind his back. The third grabbed the back of Jack's head and tried to push him forward, nose to the floor.

  Jack resisted, pushed back despite the burning in his arms as the other guards twisted his wrists. Pain burned through his shoulders.

  "Bend over and look at the floor," a guard shouted.

  "Fuck you," Jack said through gritted teeth.

  A guard came around to the front and pushed his partner out of the way.

  Jack rolled his neck.

  "Here you walk like we tell you to walk," the guard said. "Arms back, head down, looking at the floor."

  Jack said nothing.

  "Now bend over."

  Jack still said nothing.

  The man smiled and slammed the butt of his assault rifle into Jack's midsection, causing him to double over. He felt a hand on his head. The guards pushed and pulled him through the white halls of the prison, shouting at him in Russian along the way. In between their shouts, the halls were dead silent. Not the way he imagined it. In his visions, this place looked like something out of an old movie, with men leaning against rusted bars banging cups and screaming obscenities.

  They stopped. One guard opened a solid metal door. Behind the door stood another door, this one lined with bars. A cell within a cell.

  "Your new residence, Mr. Noble," the guard said.

  The pressure in his arms slackened. An arm wrapped around his neck and pulled him up straight. He stared into the room. It appeared to be solid concrete with bars lining the front and back walls.

  "Looks homey," Jack said.

  "Hope you enjoyed your time outside, Mr. Noble," the guard said. "You'll never see it again."

  They pushed Jack inside the room and closed the doors behind him.

  He stumbled to the floor. Pushed himself up and hopped to his feet. Turned to face the bunk bed and saw his new roommate.

  The man sat up and Jack took notice of his dark, sullen eyes which were set deep in his bald, misshapen head. He put his feet on the floor and reached his thick arms out and up, using them to grab the bunk above him and pull himself from his mattress. He stood tall and looked down at Jack.

  Jack looked up and estimated the man at close to seven feet tall.

  The man rolled his broad shoulders and smiled, revealing a mouth half full of rotten teeth, half full of emptiness.

  "I'm Jack."

  "I'll kill you," the man said in English, his accent thicker than the guards.

  "Nice place you have here."

  "It's my place."

  "What happened to your last roommate?"

  "He asked too many questions."

  11

  "We're al
most there," Sinclair said.

  Clarissa nodded. She stared out the tinted window at the Chesapeake Bay. The rhythmic sound of the car passing over the bridge's joints lulled her into a state of suspended reality. The car descended into a tunnel and dull yellow lighting filled the back of the stretch limo.

  "Hate tunnels," Sinclair said.

  "Really?" Clarissa said. "Didn't think you feared anything."

  Sinclair laughed. "I fear lots, child. It's pushing through those fears that makes me who I am."

  She nodded again. He'd been cordial the past couple of days, but she was ready to get home. That's why she agreed to the meeting.

  "He's very excited to meet you," Sinclair said.

  "What's he like?"

  "Older. Smart as a whip and in excellent shape. Strong leader. Stern but fair."

  The limo emerged from the tunnel and filtered sunlight penetrated the car. She rubbed her eyes and pulled her sunglasses over her face. "Langley Air Force Base?"

  "Correct," he replied flatly.

  "Did your homework on me?"

  "Yes, but that's not why we chose Langley."

  Clarissa shrugged.

  "Besides, you've likely never been where we're going." He reached into his bag.

  "Don't sedate me again."

  Sinclair looked up and smiled. "Don't worry." He pulled something out of the bag and held it up. "Just a blindfold."

  "Why?"

  "You know the base like the back of your hand. Correct?"

  She said nothing.

  "Until you agree to join us, I can't show you the way. Understand?"

  She sighed. "Just give me the blindfold."

  Sinclair tossed the blindfold across the space between them. "You don't have to wear it yet."

  Clarissa didn't respond. She turned her head and watched the trees, houses and buildings pass by in a blur alongside I-64.

  Ten minutes later they pulled up a security gate outside Langley Air Force Base. Sinclair cleared his throat and gestured with his hand.

  Clarissa sighed, pulled the blindfold over her head and stuck her middle finger in the air. What a pain in the ass. But, he had a point. Clarissa had spent enough time on this base as a kid that she did know the layout fairly well. Perhaps something was not what it appeared to be. She heard the sound of knuckles tapping on glass. She held her breath. The sound of the window between the front seat and the rear of the limo lowering played a few feet in front of her. Sinclair said something to the driver, but his voice was too low for her to make out the words. Five minutes passed, then another five. Her patience wore thin.