Noble Intentions: Season Four (38 page)

The guy had told Paolo that his sister was there. She'd come around some. She got up. Ate. Showered. Didn't speak, but made eye contact now.

Whether she knew she was in the armpit of the compound Paolo worked out of was up for debate. Regardless, he knew she'd blame him for this. And he swore
he'd do whatever it took to fix her.

He sloshed through the putrid water. Boots that were supposed to keep his feet dry didn't. The thought that he'd get a deadly infection crossed his mind.
So be it. He had to push forward.

Paolo had committed the schematics to memory. To most, it made little sense to spend six figures on copies of the blueprints and then burn them. But he had
no choice. If someone showed up at the fleabag motel he stayed at and found them, he'd be executed on site. No chance at offering an explanation. No
credence given to him offering a bribe in exchange for his life.

He made the final turn of the first leg of his journey. The false door was now in sight. Before opening it, he switched off his flashlight and glanced
back. The water still bounced off the walls. A remnant of his journey thus far. He heard a multitude of drips, something that had gone unnoticed until now.

All of it sounded like someone approaching. His mind raced. He gripped the MP5 and aimed it in the direction he had traveled from. His eyes adjusted, and
for five minutes he stood in the dark, waiting for a shadow to appear.

But none did.

So he switched on his light. And he turned. And he made the final few steps toward the hidden door.

It gave with ease. Paolo stepped up onto dry ground. Then he shut the door behind him and sat down. In his bag were a second pair of socks. He removed his
boots then peeled off the soaked socks. For a few minutes, he remained that way, his light aimed at the ceiling, letting his cold feet dry out.

And he listened to the sounds of nothingness.

Finally, he slipped on the dry pair of socks and stuck his feet back in the boots. They were damp, but at least his feet were no longer soaked.

This section of the tunnel continued on for close to one hundred feet. As expected, it curved so that the end wasn't in sight of the beginning.

It was at the end that he found the security panel. He removed the cover with the compact power drill he had brought, and then punched in the code. A few
seconds passed and nothing happened. Paolo's heart rate increased. Had he pushed the wrong numbers? If so, what would happen? Would an alarm go off in
Charles's office, signaling his presence? Then he recalled that Charles didn't know of the tunnel's existence. Even if an alarm went off, it would take the
man a while to figure out what it was.

Paolo's fingers hovered over the pad, ready for a second attempt at the code.

Then there was a hiss and a click and the door in front of him cracked open a sliver.

He exhaled and brought the back of his hand to his face to wipe away the sweat that had formed on his brow. He released the MP5, allowing it to hang in
front of his chest, and used his other hand to push the heavy door open.

His light washed over the dark room and down the tunnel in front of him. He took a few steps in. The door swung shut. Feet shuffled. And before Paolo could
even grip the MP5, he was down on the ground with four hands wrenching his arms back.

"DON'T YOU FUCKING move," Beck shouted as he secured his handcuffs to Paolo's right wrist.

Clarissa followed his lead and wrapped hers around Paolo's left. Then they connected the two empty cuffs together and locked them.

The door behind them opened. Four agents entered one at a time. Beck instructed them to take the guy into custody.

"What the hell is this?" Paolo asked as they peeled him off the ground.

"Secret Service," Beck said. "We're placing you under arrest."

"What? I've never been near the White House or the president."

Clarissa said, "Remember that counterfeiting ring you run?"

Paolo glanced at her, then looked away.

"Yeah," she said. "That's right. Who knew you couldn't get away with printing your own money?"

"Piss on you." Paolo spat at the ground near her feet.

Beck struck the man in the midsection. Paolo bowed over, mouth open, trying to suck air into lungs that weren't ready to accept it.

"Go on," Beck said. "Do it again."

Paolo composed himself a few moments later. "I don't know anything about a counterfeiting ring."

"That's not what your buddy says," Clarissa said.

"What? Who?"

"The one you paid a visit to a few weeks back. Remember that? You took a trip to Anderson, met with him. He gave up your entire plan to get back at your
boss for forcing you out of your biggest money maker."

Paolo glanced between the two agents. He started to speak, then went silent. After a pause, he said, "I'm not saying anything else without my attorney
present."

"Do what you want," Beck said. "But know that I'm much more likely to cut you a deal without some bloodsucker in the room. Especially a corrupt one like
Romano."

Paolo said nothing.

"Doesn't have to go down here," Clarissa said. "Just tell us you're willing to talk and we'll get you someplace safe and go over the details."

"Who are you looking to take down?" Paolo asked.

"Who do you think?"

Paolo shrugged, said nothing.

"Charles DeCosta," Beck said. "I can't promise you immunity. Not yet, at least. But if you can serve him up, I'm sure we can deal."

Paolo said nothing. He'd dropped eye contact and now stared at the ground.

"Or not," Beck said. "You're facing forty in a federal pen. From the evidence we've got, the witness testimony, you'll go down for this."

"Wait." Paolo paused for a long minute. Clarissa felt the hair on her neck raise, like an attack was imminent. Finally, Paolo continued. "Let's talk.
Alone. No lawyer."

"Get him to the van," Beck instructed the other agents.

Unknown Location.

BEAR GLANCED UP as the light washed over his feet. Someone had lifted the iron flap that covered his cell window. For two weeks, he'd been confined in
the nine by nine space. That window had opened twice daily, on a schedule. This was the second time today, but the schedule was off.

A head blotted out the light. Bear made the outline, definitely a man's head. But he couldn't see the features. Could have been anyone.

Then the flap closed.

He leaned his head back against the cold wall and stared up at the ceiling. Two weeks of his life lost. Two weeks for Mandy to drift further away from him.
He'd decided if he ever saw that nurse again, he'd kill her first, then ask questions. She could have given him the information. Instead, she notified the
authorities.

But he had a strong inclination that this was not how prisons were in France. Reminded him of something from the Middle East. The makeshift prisons and
interrogation rooms the CIA had set up. He and Jack had never been part of the crew that was allowed to enter. But they'd been taken down there a time or
two for prisoner extraction.

He shook the thoughts away. That was a segment of his life he had little desire to recount.

"Mandy," he muttered. "I hope you're safe. As soon as I'm outta here, I'm coming to find you."

His eyes drifted toward the floor. His head followed until it came to rest with his chin on his chest. There were roughly three hours until dinner. Might
as well catch a nap. Nothing else to do.

His eyes closed and he repeated a soft mantra that had helped him sleep over the years. He hadn't completed three lines when the door to his cell opened.

A tall wiry man approached. The first full bodied human Bear had seen in two weeks. As his eyes adjusted to the light that flooded in, the man's features
came into view.

"Pierre?"

He extended his hand. Bear saw two keys dangling from Pierre's fingers. The Frenchman reached down and unlocked the shackles that bound the big man. Bear
rubbed his wrists for a few moments.

"How?" he asked.

"They let me go almost immediately. I've been working at securing your freedom since." He looked up, away from Bear. "It wasn't easy, and I had to make
some concessions, but you are now free to go."

Pierre extended his hand and helped Bear to his feet.

"That's it?" Bear said. "Just get up and go?"

Pierre shrugged. "There's some paperwork you have to fill out. Can't hold the government accountable. Can't speak of this. That sort of thing. You know how
it goes."

Bear nodded, said nothing as they walked out of the cell. Two armed guards waited at the end of the tunnel. What struck him was that there were no other
cells lining the hallway.

"I was a VIP, huh?"

"The entire place is laid out like this. That way if there is a breach here, we can contain it up there." He pointed at Bear's cell, then at the solid door
at the end of the short hallway.

"What about -"

Pierre cut him off and in a soft voice said, "Don't ask in here. Wait until we've left this place."

Bear remained silent for the rest of his time in the facility. He signed off on all the paperwork. Didn't matter to him. Outside of France, the provisions
carried little weight. Before leaving, his personal items were returned to him, minus the weapon he was carrying. He changed his clothes, and then he and
Pierre exited the facility.

They waited until they were ten minutes away before speaking.

"So what the hell happened?" Bear asked.

"This whole thing is a mess," Pierre said. "We were both being targeted by an outside agency. And you know why?" He glanced at Bear and continued without
allowing him to respond. "Because of our connection with Jack."

"Jack?"

"They'd been monitoring me is all. That's what they say. Well, my agency was monitoring the other agency that was watching me. What I thought was because
of a perceived slight due to me not rejoining was actually a large-scale operation. They wanted to see if I still had any connection with Noble."

"Do you?"

"Not in some time. But when you showed up, they assumed we were all working together and the hit was given a go. They were going to take both of us out."

"Why Jack?"

Pierre shook his head. "SIS. Only thing that makes sense to me. There have been quite a few former and current members that have ended up deceased in
recent months."

"I was never a part of that. Neither were you."

"That is correct, but both of us worked with him during or after that phase of his life."

"So why have I spent two weeks in prison?"

"They followed us from Nice."

"Who?"

"My agency. Their assumption at the time was that you were working with this other team. They closed in on us at the hospital. It wasn't the staff that
notified the police. They were purposefully trying to flush us out. We moved faster than they anticipated."

"What happened to you after?" Bear asked.

"I was questioned, then let go. And for the past two weeks I've been going at it with them to get you out." He slowed the car down and turned right. "And
it wasn't easy. But I got it done."

Bear made a note of the road they were on. "You said you made concessions."

Pierre nodded and said nothing.

"What was it?"

Pierre pointed. "Look at that. It's the hospital."

They pulled into the lot and parked close to the main entrance. When they entered the first person Bear saw inside was the same woman behind the counter.
She did a double take at the sight of the men and reached for the phone.

"That won't be necessary," Pierre said as he produced a badge and ID.

That was the concession, Bear realized. He had taken a position with his agency.

Pierre walked around the desk and placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. "I believe you had some information to pass on to my large friend."

The woman glanced up. She forced a timid smile, then started typing.

"I like the new monitor," Bear said.

"It's much better than the last," she said. "I suppose I should thank you."

"Just get me the information I need."

The woman jotted on a pad of paper, then tore a sheet off. She handed it to Bear. He read it over. Satisfied, he nodded at the woman and he and Pierre
exited the hospital.

Back in the car, Bear said, "Was your agency behind it? Moving her, I mean."

He nodded.

"Then why'd we come back here?"

"Because I don't trust any of those bastards."

Little River, South Carolina.

JACK LEAFED THROUGH the documents. As his instincts had told him, they were classified and had to do with clandestine operations. But not a single one
was newer than 2006.

"Doesn't make sense," he said. "Why would these be here?"

"Someone in intelligence lived here," Brett said. "This Merrick guy, I suppose. We can put out some feelers on him."

A photo fell to the floor. Brett scooped it up.

"I recognize that man," he said.

"Let me see." Jack reached for the picture.

Brett turned it so they both could see and shined his light.

"His name's Butch Monaco," Brett said.

Jack studied the image. The hair was silver and black and short. A scar ran from one earlobe to the corner of the Monaco's mouth.

"Shit," he said. "Put a curly wig on him and that's who I met with in New York."

"You met with Monaco?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Posing as the millionaire. That meeting is the reason why we're standing in this attic right now."

"So, you mean to tell me, Monaco is Merrick?" Brett shined his light on the picture, then at Jack.

"I'd say at the very least the two men are intertwined with one another."

Jack and Brett went through the folders again, looking for additional pictures, names, or anything else to tie Merrick and Monaco together. After thirty
minutes of searching, they hadn't uncovered anything.

"What do you know about Monaco?" Jack asked.