Noble Intentions: Season Four (7 page)

"And if you can't?"

"Convert them?"

"No hang them." She paused, smiled. "Of course convert them."

Mason had no reaction. "Just have to hope no one finds the police report and comes nosing around looking for them. If that happens, they'll be shipped off
to Iraq or Jordan or Syria or whatever God-forsaken place they come from."

Sasha glanced toward her desk and frowned. She often found herself uncomfortable in such discussions. While most in her line of work associated countries
with the terrorists they fought, she realized that not all inhabitants and citizens shared the views of the extremists. Hell, the UK and USA had homegrown
extremists who would love nothing more than to overthrow their respective governments. Should all citizens of those nations be treated as suspects in turn?

The question made her feel nauseous every single time it crossed her mind. The sad truth of it was that they had to act first in this new world. If they
were reacting, that meant people had died. Mason and the rest of MI5 had it worse, since national security was their primary effort. Sasha bent the rules
to keep tabs on the rest of the world. Mason did it to his countrymen for their own protection.

"So, what do you have to share Sasha?" Mason asked.

She stared for a moment, then smiled. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Odd, isn't it?"

His face darkened. "There's no point in these meetings if you aren't going to share information with me. Yes, I know as a whole our departments do. But
this is for us, two people in very similar positions across the river from one another. And… Dammit, do you want another bombing on our soil? Huh?
I'm talking a mile, maybe two, away from where we are seated? Might be able to watch it from this view you've got here. Don't you get it that the things
you are withholding from me could turn the noise I'm hearing into the plans of those meaning us harm?"

Sasha leaned back in her high-back leather chair and folded her hands in her lap while she studied the man across from her. It wasn't an act, his rant. He
appeared to truly be pissed off at her. She wondered how long it would take for his boss to call her boss and in turn for him to call her to ream her out
for being obstinate despite his orders for her to cooperate.

"Mason, I can assure you, I am being open and honest with you. My group has flagged nothing this week which would bear any impact on the whole of England.
Outside of that information, I am not required to share what we gather regarding other nations. Nor should I, as I don't see quite how you would use the
information."

He remained motionless for several moments. The red faded from his cheeks and ears. Finally, Mason rose and exited the office. At the door, he looked back,
said, "I expect you'll call the moment you do turn something up, eh?"

"Sure."

She remained seated until after the door slammed shut, then spun her chair around and stood. The rain fell heavier now. White-capped waves, driven by the
fierce wind, skated across the river and crashed into the banks. Hopefully, the weather would let up by the time five o'clock arrived. A good portion of
her commute was on foot, and there was no one who lived close to her that she wanted to share a cab or catch a ride with.

As she scanned the blurred horizon, her computer emanated a soft beep so quiet that it almost went unheard. A second beep caught her attention. Sasha
turned, nudged her chair out of the way and leaned over her keyboard. A few strokes later, her monitor's screensaver dissolved into tiny fading squares.
She clicked on the mail icon on her desktop. Nothing in the inbox was flagged important. She checked all her main folders, the ones where mail diverted
based on a set of rules, yet still found nothing.

The alert sounded a third time.

"What the bloody hell?" she muttered.

As she slid the mouse around, it slipped to the bottom of the screen and her hidden task bar surfaced. There, a light flashed in the system tray. She
double clicked the tiny red icon.

"Shit."

She stared at an alert she had programmed into a proprietary software only available to select agents in MI6. The program violated every treaty they'd ever
signed. It monitored worldwide and reported access or hits on a specific individual's files. Most agents used it not only to watch persons of interest, but
also to keep tabs on themselves. If someone intended to slit their throat or slip them a radioactive cocktail, they wanted to know first.

But Sasha wasn't looking at a personal alert. More of a personal
interest
.

Someone had accessed Jack Noble's files.

Twice.

Paris, France.

BEAR WATCHED MANDY sleep while the coffee brewed in the hotel's cheap coffeemaker. For what the place charged, damn near three hundred euros a night,
they could afford to put a Keurig in each room and stock it with those little plastic cups of coffee grounds. No point in complaining. They wouldn't be
there long enough for management to do something about it.

He thought back to the day before. Kat's empty apartment. Nothing left but the kitchen table and the woman's cat. The feline took to Mandy, so they brought
her home. Now she cuddled with Mandy in bed, black-and-white head poking out from the covers, one ear back, the other at attention.

One of the neighbors had come out when Bear and Mandy were leaving. The woman couldn't provide much information. She and Kat had never been friendly. They
managed a bit of small talk when the building put on a cookout, but nothing else.

The final drips fell into the pot, signaling the brew was ready. Bear rose, poured a mug, and took a seat at the table again.

Coming to Paris was a mistake.

He couldn't shake the thought. It played over and over since the moment he pushed the door open and saw the abandoned room. And what potential danger had
he put Mandy in by taking this sabbatical? He should have used the time to find her a good school in the countryside. One where she'd be safe and could
make friends her own age. It didn't matter that she shot the idea down every time he brought it up. He knew what was best for her, and lately, he'd begun
thinking it wasn't living with him.

And as soon as those ideas surfaced, counterarguments made themselves heard. The internal tug-of-war never idled. Sure, it took a day off here and there.
Usually when it benefited him. Which made the argument for placing her in someone else's care and leaving a million dollars in an account for her future
that much stronger.

He drained the last sip from his mug, set it next to the coffeemaker, then went to the bathroom and showered. After he'd washed, shaved his neck and
cheeks, and dressed, he reentered the room and poured another cup of coffee. The cat met him by the brewer and wove around his legs in a figure-eight
pattern.

"What time is it?" Mandy asked groggily.

Bear glanced back. The girl sat up and stretched her arms over her head while yawning.

"Almost nine-thirty."

She looked toward the window. The sunlight knifed across her face. She winced and shielded her eyes.

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You looked peaceful. And you know we never can tell how much sleep we're going to get the next night. Figured I'd let you catch up, or get ahead,
whatever."

He'd taken to saying
whatever
now too. Although, rarely with the same meaning as Mandy.

"Hungry?" he asked.

She nodded, then stuck her feet over the edge of the bed. "Can I get a shower first?"

He jutted his chin toward the bathroom. "All yours, kid."

Twenty minutes later, Mandy had showered and dressed, and Bear had finished his second cup of coffee. They left the room empty-handed. The rain had let up,
rending an umbrella moot. And he kept all important documents on him, not left behind.

Bear placed the do-not-disturb sign on the knob, and a small piece of tape at the bottom of the door, connected to the frame. If someone entered while they
were gone, the tape would break off from one side. Not foolproof, but good enough.

Both scavenged at the complimentary breakfast bar, grabbing croissants and pastries. Bear grabbed two to-go cups. One he filled with coffee, the other
orange juice. Mandy exclaimed when he handed her the hot cup.

"Sorry, kid. Take this one."

She scowled at him, but the look, like the pain, quickly faded.

Inattention would get them killed if he didn't get it together.

Outside, Mandy took a bite of croissant, then said, "Where're we going?"

Bear glanced down and shook his head. "Swallow your food first."

She rolled her eyes, swallowed. "OK?"

"OK."

"Where are we going?" she asked again.

"Hospital."

"All right." The words dragged out like she had a southern drawl, but without the accent.

"Going to visit a friend."

"Pierre?" she asked.

Bear stared ahead, said nothing.

"Shoot," Mandy said. "I'm sorry. No names. Ever."

Sometimes training takes a while.

A cab approached. Bear stepped into the road, taking up a third of the narrow street and blocking the driver's path. He and Mandy slid into the backseat,
and Bear gave the driver the name of the hospital.

No one spoke during the fifteen-minute trip. Better that way, of course. Mandy would too often let things slip she shouldn't reveal. He always tried not to
chastise her in public for it. Bear supposed he was the same way at one time. Maybe. He hadn't been much of a talker at that age. Friends weren't easy to
come by when you stood a head taller and scared the daylights out of the other kids, even if unintentionally. Wasn't until he dominated on the football
field that he found a group to become part of.

Of course, that hadn't lasted long.

Then, down at Parris Island during Recruit Training, people liked him
because
they feared him. Even the drill instructor gave him less shit than
the other maggots. The only one who didn't back down from him was Jack. And that became the basis of a lifelong friendship.

Even if they didn't speak these days.

The breakup was for Mandy's sake. At least, Bear told himself that. He knew that Jack feared he would be the cause of Bear's downfall one day. And frankly,
Bear wouldn't argue the point.

The driver pulled up to the curb in front of the hospital's main entrance. Two men hung out by the double doors, smoking. An elderly woman walked past and
took one hand off her walker to wave the smoke away from her face. Bear exited, followed by Mandy on the same side of the vehicle. Together, they walked
around the woman and past the men and through the automatic doors and continued toward the information desk.

Bear walked up to the middle-aged woman manning the counter. A forced smile was plastered across her face. He spoke to her in French.

"Can you tell me which room Pierre Allard is in?"

She continued to smile. Her eyes, minimized by way of her thick glasses, shifted toward the computer screen. As she typed, her face drew tight. "Did you
say Allard last name, Pierre first name?"

"Yeah. His room?"

"I'm sorry. It appears he checked out two weeks ago."

"Give me his address."

She leaned back as though he had tried to take a swing at her. When Bear placed an arm on the counter and started to lean over it, the woman, who couldn't
have weighed more than a buck-ten, moved forward to block the screen.

"Sir, we cannot divulge such information."

Without taking his focus off the woman, Bear said, "Mandy, go wait outside."

"What? No way."

"Do it, Mandy."

Her footsteps faded as she backed away, turned and headed toward the main entrance. She might have cursed under her breath. Bear made a mental note that he
had to watch is own language around her. Not that she hadn't heard any of it before. And she'd hear plenty of it later.

"Sir, I'm going to be forced to call security."

Bear pushed away from the counter. "Reasonable minds can come to reasonable resolutions."

"Excuse me?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred euros in bills, then placed the wad of cash on the counter. "Just give me an address. Pierre Allard's
address. Take the money, get yourself a nice outfit, maybe a facial, or some glasses from this century. I don't care what you do with it, frankly, I just
want his address. I know you can see why he was admitted. I was there. I had to leave the country, but now I'm back, and I want to make sure he's all right
and help him out if I can."

"Sir…" She looked around. Her cheeks had grown red. Sweat coated her forehead. A few people seated in blue chairs glanced over. "I…"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out another stack of bills. One by one he laid them on the counter. Ten. Twenty. Fifty more euros. The woman's eyes
continued to dart around, presumably on the lookout for security, or her supervisor, or just taking in all the attention they had drawn.

"Sir, this is embarrassing. Please stop."

"The address, please, then I'm gone."

She reached for a notebook and pulled a black pen out of an empty coffee mug that read "#1 Grandma."

"I could get fired for this," she said, tearing the paper out of the notebook.

"You let me know if you do. I'll make sure you get your job back."

Bear backed away and glanced toward the entrance. The doors stood open due to Mandy hovering directly in the path of the sensor. He glanced at the address
on the paper, then tucked it in his pocket.

New York City.

CHARLES STOOD IN front of the Washington Square fountain with his right arm crossed over his chest, left hand covering his mouth. The wind blew an
enveloping mist toward him. Most days he'd have thrown a fit over getting wet. But today he had on chinos and a golf shirt. Overdressed, as far as the heat
was concerned. Under his clothing, sweat raced down the middle of his back, and coated his inner thighs.