Noble Intentions: Season Four (39 page)

"He was a legend in the agency when I was there. I only met him once or twice. Didn't get to know him personally, but you know as well as I do that you
don't need someone's history once you've spilled blood with them. He was cold and calculating and he never made a mistake. From what I recall, he had left
either in 2000 or 2001. Whichever, it was before the attacks. His new position made him instrumental in the formation of Homeland Security, and later,
SIS."

Jack searched his memory for an instance where Frank or other member of SIS had mentioned Monaco. There was none that he could recall.

"What day did this meeting occur?" Brett asked.

"It was on a Thursday," Jack said. "Had been arranged a day prior. I ran into you a few days later."

"I got my orders to kill you that Friday."

"The day after I met him." The coincidence was not lost on Jack. "He was scouting me."

"He wanted to use you, like they are me."

"I must have said something he didn't like. So instead of hiring me, they issued the order to kill me."

Brett paced to the other end of the attic. "So why not do it there? Why go through all this to make it happen?"

It was a good question. It could have ended then and there. Unless there was more to it. They wanted something from Jack. And it wasn't possible for him to
give it to them in death. The way he saw it, a gun pointed to his head in their presence would have been far more effective. Then he thought of a possible
explanation.

"He's involved," Jack said. "But too far involved to be able to pull the trigger."

Brett walked back to the empty rack. He glanced down at the files strewn about on the floor. "Given his past history of achievements and positions in
clandestine agencies, I'd say he's more than involved, Jack. I'm betting he had a major hand in orchestrating the entire thing."

"So it's plausible. Now we have to stay alive long enough to prove it."

"I think I can help there."

"How?"

"Ballard."

Jack recalled Brett mentioning the man while they were in South Africa.

"Joe Ballard," Brett said. "Little weasel nose rat bastard acting as my handler."

"Where do we find him?"

"D.C. Maybe at Langley."

The men dropped through the attic opening then exited through the rear of the house.

"Can't stop thinking about those shovels," Jack said.

"What do you want to do? Search the property for a hole?"

Jack looked out over the expansive backyard. "Let's scan the perimeter."

They searched the yard and a few feet beyond the tree line, but couldn't find any disturbed ground. Something had been dug up, or buried, and those shovels
had been used. But what? And when? For all they knew, landscapers could have been out last summer and left them behind.

"Let's go," Brett said. "We've got more to worry about than a phantom hole."

Two minutes later they were traveling northwest, en route to I-95.

Unknown Location.

IT HAD BEEN three days since Kat last saw her captor. He'd come in and placed a cooler in front of her, then left. She worked the ropes around her
wrists and ankles until she was in a position to remove the lid. When she did, it was empty except for three bottles of water. At some point they'd put a
white t-shirt on her that hung to her mid-thigh.

It'd taken the better portion of two days to work the ropes off her wrists. Thirst led her to down the entire first bottle at once. She realized her
mistake as the liquid came flooding up her esophagus. She couldn't hold it down. Any of it.

At least she was free. And to celebrate, she had curled up in a ball in the corner and fell asleep. It was the best sleep she'd had in two weeks.

Still concerned that someone remained beyond the door, she took her time before even approaching it. If they knew she'd freed herself from the ropes, they
might use something else to restrict her movements.

Not this time. If someone entered the room, it'd be a fight to the death. No longer did Kat care if that meant it was her life that would end.

The fact that the man who'd been visiting her cell had been American cast several doubts about the other man she knew from the United States. But how could
any of this have to do with Bear? No, it had everything to do with Bear, but he had nothing to do with it. She knew it wasn't him that cast her in the
dirty pit and tied her to the chair.

But things hadn't escalated until he and Mandy arrived.

What had happened to the girl? Pinned in the vehicle after the wreck. Had she survived? Was she injured in the crash?

These bastards had caused the wreck. If not for Kat's quick thinking, the girl would be with her now. She wondered which fate was worse.

Kat wiped the tears from her cheek.

"Time to go," she whispered.

She tipped the chair over. It was a heavy wooden thing. She began kicking at one of the legs, working it free. In time, it became loose enough that she was
able to twist it off. She wrapped the rope around one wrist. Never know when it might come in handy, she figured.

She crept to the door. The dirt was cool against her bare feet, loose in some areas. She stopped and piled it to her right. If someone rushed her from the
hall, she'd try to direct them to the loose dirt. They might lose traction there. A fight against an off-balanced man was preferred to one that could
square up to her.

Kat stopped in front of the door. She leaned forward, pressed her ear to it. If someone was there, she couldn't hear them. The knob was cold to the touch.
She turned it, expecting it to give a half-inch then stop. To her surprise, it spun freely. The door was unlocked. She pulled it open and stuck her head
through the opening.

A short landing led to stairs that ran up. Light pooled near the top step, but the source was out of sight. They could be up there. Her gut knotted.
Intuition? Fear? A combination, perhaps? Kat glanced back at the room where she'd spent the last two weeks. Death would find her in there. She had to take
the chance that the light led to freedom.

Armed with the wooden chair leg and the rope wrapped around her wrist, Kat ascended the stairs. The silent first step fueled her adrenaline and she
quickened her pace. But the next two creaked under her weight. She froze, eyes wide, staring at the bright opening not fifteen feet away.

Shadows passed. Should she turn back? Lock herself in the room again?

No.

She hadn't left only to return. From this point on, anyone who got in her way should expect a fight. If she lost, so be it. She would do her damnedest to
take down any and all assailants who crossed her path.

After thirty long seconds, the shadows didn't reappear. No one approached.

Forward.

The voice in her head was not her own. It wasn't Pierre, either. It was gruff, and American, and it pushed and prodded her forward up the steps. She moved
with a purpose that led to reckless abandon. If someone met her at the top, she'd knock them over.

At the top step, Kat paused, both arms planted against the walls, holding her in place. Her knees felt weak. Her drive to push forward strong. She filled
her lungs with mold and dust-ridden air. Exhaled slowly. Closed her eyes and repeated it two more times.

Leaning forward, she opened her eyes. Looked left. Nothing. Swung her head in the other direction. A hallway stretched out in front of her.

It led to a door. Four panes of glass made up the top third of it. Sunlight poured through and warmed the spot where she stood. She saw trees beyond that.
They swayed in a stiff breeze. The sun hovered close. It had been the trees that cast the shadows, probably the result of a strong gust.

She went to the door, opened it. Stuck her head out. Glanced in all directions. Nothing and nobody. A vehicle rumbled in the distance. How far away? She
couldn't tell. But the direction was obvious.

Kat reached deep and found the energy to run. Her bare feet pounded the dirt, then through the fields, where thorns and briers tore at her flesh. She
didn't care. Each scrape, each needle penetrating her, only served to push her forward. The road was in sight. It was empty, but she'd heard a vehicle
passing, which meant another would come along.

She sunk into the overgrowth. It wasn't that the brush grew higher. The ground dipped. Tiny knives tore at her shirt, and dug into the flesh of her hands
and arms and torso and neck. They punctured her cheeks. She brought her hands to her face to protect it. Did little good.

When the earth leveled out again, the road was a mere twenty meters away. The brush dissipated. Kat slowed to a walk. She reached the edge of the road.
There was no gravel shoulder. It transitioned from grass to asphalt.

She fell to her knees. Her body bowed forward. She placed her arms on the road and her head on her arms. Her limbs trembled. Her muscles cramped. How she
managed to run as far as she had was a mystery.

Heat rose up from the blacktop. The sensation comforted her. Kat felt her mind slipping. The colors faded to gray.

Get up. This isn't the time to give up.

The voice again. Pushing her forward.

She took a deep breath that tasted of cigarette butts. The tar from the road, she supposed.

Then she felt something different. A trembling vibration of some sort. It didn't come from within. It started low and built. Kat lifted her head, looked to
her left, then right. She heard it now. The tremble had grown into the sound of a roar.

The car appeared from around the bend. Two headlights penetrating the daylight. It seemed to stand still. Not advancing, nor retreating. As the seconds
passed, it slowly moved closer.

Kat rose and remained on the side of the road. Half her foot in the grass, the other half on asphalt.

The vehicle came to a stop next to her.

Kat's reflection in the windows caught her off guard. Her shirt was stained brown and red. Her face was gaunt, lined with cuts, scratches, and blood.

The driver's window rolled down.

"Bist du okay?"

She stared at the man, processing what he had said. He repeated it. The phrase clicked.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded, told him in German that she needed to get away from this place.

The man, presumably detecting her French accent, switched to French as he stepped out of the car.

"Yes, get in," he said, glancing in all directions, perhaps on the lookout for someone following Kat. He pulled a blanket from behind the backseat and
wrapped it around her.

Kat thanked him and made to enter the car. There were two women in back. They slid over to allow her room to sit.

"Can we take you to a hospital?" the driver asked.

Kat shook her head. "Just take me wherever you are going."

"That's across country," he said.

"Which country are we in?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Germany, of course."

She glanced out her window at the field that stretched before her. The small house with the cellar she'd been confined in was out of sight. The men weren't
coming after her. But what if she returned to France? Would they find her?

"Miss?" he said. "Have you decided?"

She nodded and replied in German, "Take me to your destination."

Germany.

THE HOSPITAL COULD only tell Bear that the girl had been placed in foster care. She had no major injuries. Cuts and bruises. And she didn't know who she
was. Pierre had to restrain the big man to prevent him from getting arrested again.

Bear had questioned why Pierre didn't already have this information. To that, Pierre had no answer. Only that he would get someone he trusted to work on
locating the girl.

As they left the hospital, a call came in on Pierre's cell phone. Bear felt his heart skip a beat, then deliver a pounding surge of blood that had caused
him to see a burst of light in the outer reaches of his vision. A subtle version of the headaches he had been facing had followed.

The conversation was quick, and after Pierre had hung up, he stared anxiously at his phone. It had buzzed. The Frenchman fumbled through a few menus, and
then opened a map.

"We have a lead on Kat," Pierre said. "It's about three hours from here."

Bear felt himself being pulled in two directions. What if during that time Mandy's location was revealed?

"I know what you are thinking," Pierre said. "But we know she is somewhere safe. There is a great chance that is not the case for Kat."

Bear nodded slowly. He said nothing while thinking through the scenarios Mandy faced. She likely was in an orphanage or a foster home. According to the
hospital, she didn't know who she was, but she functioned fine. Knowing the girl's temperament, he considered her a flight risk. But it wouldn't matter as
long as he didn't know where she was.

Perhaps sensing Bear's line of thinking, Pierre said, "I can have a team pick her up the moment we have her location. She'll be protected by the people I
trust."

"Okay. Let's get Kat."

Pierre had little regard for the speed limit. The government issued credentials could get him out of most any situation, and he once again took advantage
of it. The three-hour drive only took them two hours and fifteen minutes.

A long gravel driveway led to the small ivy-covered house. The front windows were shattered. Shingles had blown off the roof and never been replaced. The
surrounding lawn was thick and overgrown. Bear studied the brush cover. Lots of places to hide. Few places to escape cleanly through. Back down the
driveway was the only sensible option.

He drew his pistol.

Pierre glanced down at the weapon. He shook his head. The trunk popped open. The Frenchman retreated to the rear of the vehicle and produced two MP7s. He
held one out for Bear.

"Compliments of the French government," Pierre said.

Bear took the weapon, inspected it, switched it from single shot to three-round burst.

"I'll take left," Pierre said. "Meet me in back."