Noble Intentions: Season Three (8 page)

He pulled out both Brownings. The
pistols were well taken care of, recently oiled. He switched the safeties on.
Cocked each gun’s hammer. He had two shots before any manual intervention would
be required. For a man like Jack, that was plenty.

He leaned over, opened the glove
box, rifled through it looking for something to cover his face. He found a blue
rag of a t-shirt, stained with oil. He held it up to his head. A perfect fit.
He tugged on the emergency brake and pulled the keys from the ignition. Gas
fumes filled the cramped interior. He rolled down the driver’s side window a
couple inches, then opened the door and exited onto the sidewalk. He scanned
the street, north to south. Quiet aside from a few pedestrians. His preparation
ended there.

In most scenarios, time was an
ally. Not today. Not here. Jack decided he couldn’t even take the time to walk
down the sidewalk opposite the shop, then cross the street and loop back. By
that point, the driver might be on the street again. And the driver might know
what Jack looked like. The driver could position himself between Jack and the
Fiat, and that would complicate matters greatly.

Jack knifed through the damp air,
headed across the street diagonally on a line toward Federico’s. He planned to
turn his head the opposite way when he hit the sidewalk, preventing anyone
inside from seeing his face. At best, they’d have body type to go on. And while
Jack was somewhat of a physical specimen, he wasn’t impressive enough to be one
of a kind.

But it didn’t go according to plan.
He didn’t reach the other side of the street. Instead, the car that had been
tailing him screeched to a stop in front of him. The driver’s side window
rolled down. A man with buzzed blond hair and almost white eyebrows aimed a gun
at Jack.

“Get in the car, Jack.”

Jack hesitated, took a step back.
He realized that the vehicle was government issued.

“Don’t try to run. I’ll gun you down.”

Jack’s hands went to the handles of
his pistols.

“Don’t even think about drawing on
me.”

Jack looked down both ends of the
street. To his left, the tailor’s shop, and half a dozen vehicles climbing
toward him. To his right, the driver of the Bentley.

“Hurry, Jack, before you get shot.”

The Bentley’s driver stared in
Jack’s direction. He reached into his coat pocket. Was he going for a handgun?
Or a cell phone? Was it better to face that man, or the blond guy inside the
cheaper government sedan?

The Bentley’s driver pulled a
pistol.

“Now!” the driver of the government
sedan said.

Jack stepped to his right, grabbed
the rear door handle, dove into the vehicle as it peeled away.

“What are you doing, Jack?”

Clarissa hunched behind the wheel
of her small car, full of disbelief at what she had just witnessed. It was bad
enough that Jack appeared to be ready to attempt a hit inside a store in a busy
area. But to get inside a vehicle owned by British Intelligence? What the hell
was he thinking?

As she eased down the street, she
realized that Jack had only had two options after the car pulled up. Get in or
get shot by either the driver or the man who stood on the sidewalk between the
shop and the corner. She recognized him, having seen him before at Naseer’s
place. The guy gave her the creeps. She’d do her best to look away when she
passed. A guy like him would not likely believe in coincidences. He’d put two
and two together, tell his boss. His boss would get on the phone to Naseer,
then all hell would break loose. The last thing Clarissa needed was Naseer
questioning her about her whereabouts and intentions. She’d be pulled from the
assignment the moment she sent a status update. If she lived that long.

As Clarissa approached the
intersection before the tailor’s shop, she had a decision to make. Turn and
drive up two blocks, then merge back onto the road, and risk losing Jack. Or
continue on and pray that the man didn’t see her. She was already losing ground
to the sedan, so turning at the intersection looked to be the less attractive
option. She pressed the gas pedal. The little car shook and picked up speed.

The guy now stood closer to the
entrance to the tailor’s. His head moved inches. His eyes did the heavy work,
scanning the street, the buildings. He looked relaxed, but aware. He’d been
spooked by Jack, but in the end, the government car might have aided Jack.
Perhaps the guy figured it was a regular shakedown. She knew he was trained to
spot anomalies and to take action immediately. And that was something Clarissa
could use to her advantage.

So she made herself look like
everyone else on the road. She brought her left hand up to her head, cell phone
cradled in her palm, pressed to her cheek. Her right hand waved wildly in front
of her, animating her fake conversation. At the last second, she whipped her
head to the right like she saw something super cute in a store window. The
effort served to further conceal herself from view. After she passed, Clarissa
checked her side mirror. The guy stared off in the opposite direction. If he’d
noticed her, he hid his reaction well. Likely, he’d seen a woman in a car and
filed her away as a non-threat.

She reached the next intersection
and slowed to a stop. A line of three cars approached from the left. Five from
the right. She glanced up toward her rear view mirror. The guy approached her
direction. Her eyes lowered an inch. The government sedan distanced itself
further. If she didn’t make it across the intersection soon, she’d lose them.

“Come on, come on, come on.” She
tapped the heel of her free foot and bounced her knees.

Knuckles rapped against her
passenger side window.

Clarissa gasped, jumped, looked
over.

The guy peered back at her over the
top of the sunglasses now perched atop his nose. He motioned with his hand for
her to roll down the window.

She reached with her right hand and
pressed a button. The window glided down.

“You’re Naseer’s lady, right?”

Clarissa said nothing.

“What’re you doing in this part of
town?”

“I don’t answer to you.”

He smiled, placed his forearms
across the window ledge. “What say you come have a drink with me?”

She said nothing.

“No? Perhaps I should dial up
Naseer and tell him you’re out and about clear across town from him.”

“And while you’re at it, why don’t
you mention to him that you just hit on me.”

The guy’s smile faded. He lifted
his head a few inches, worked his lips side to side. He muttered something
under his breath that ended in
bitch
.

“What’s that?” Clarissa said.

He shook his head, said nothing.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get
your grubby hands out of my vehicle, bitch.” She pressed the gas and pulled
away before he had a chance to fully disengage from the car. His arm or elbow
or hand collided with the door frame with a thud and maybe a crack. She glanced
up at her rear view mirror and saw him bent over, cradling his right arm.

Her elation faded when she realized
that she’d lost sight of the government vehicle.

And Jack.

“I’ve been watching you since you
arrived,” the guy told Jack. “We couldn’t believe your name flagged. Thought it
had to be a mistake, or maybe some other Jack Noble traveling from the U.S. to
London. I mean, why would Jack Noble travel under his own name? Really, why
would you?”

Jack massaged his temples with his
thumbs. He took a deep breath, sucking in the stale air that carried the faint
odor of pine needles. His fear had been realized.

“Why should I tell you?”

“I’m Security Service. MI5, mate. I
already know a lot about you. Former Marine with CIA ties. At one time you
worked for an agency that shares an acronym with our MI6. You left long ago,
but still contracted with them for non-sanctioned hits, both foreign and
domestic. You were working with them as recently as a week ago. A Russian
General was assassinated in a theater just north of Moscow. You were there. Ask
me how I know that?”

Jack said nothing, focused on the
road ahead.

“Look, mate, I’ll find out what
you’re doing here one way or another. You can tell me here. Or you can tell me
in a cell, if that’s what you prefer.”

Jack turned away, looked out the
side window, sighed.

“Or if you really don’t like
yourself, I can find people that you do like and start questioning them. How
‘bouts I start with my old boss? Reckon she’ll be more cooperative.”

Jack whipped his head around,
studied the guy for a moment. Would he really go after Dottie? He decided to
buy some time and try to figure out what the guy really wanted. “Got ID?”

The guy produced a badge and ID
card. Both had the name Mason Sutton printed on them. He worked for British
Intelligence, Security Service, MI5. The address on the badge said Thames
House. Jack knew that was across the river from Vauxhall Cross, MI6
headquarters. Jack had spent time there in the past when working for Dottie on
sanctioned hits. He recalled what the badges looked like then. If Mason had
faked his credentials, he’d done a pretty good job. His badge looked the same
as the ones Jack saw in his head. He figured the design hadn’t changed much in
the past ten years. Didn’t have a reason to. British Intelligence didn’t
succumb to a version two-point-oh.

At this point, Jack’s options were
limited. Give Mason what he wanted or fall between the bureaucratic cracks and
become indefinitely incarcerated.

“What do you want to know?”

“Like I said, why’d you travel
under your real name?”

“Quit jerking me around.”

Mason smiled, leaned in, placed a
hand on Jack’s forearm. Said, “Humor me.”

“I’m retired,” Jack told him. “My
name’s good. I’m free and clear in the U.S. and all friendly nations. I’m not
wanted in connection with any crimes. I’m not wanted for questioning in regards
to any crimes. I can travel without restrictions. Why would my name flag in
your system? Maybe you’re looking for another Jack Noble. Ever think of that?”

Mason let go of Jack’s arm, began
laughing. “Oh, Jackie boy, you are something else. You know that, right?”

Jack didn’t reply.

“You are who we think you are,
mate. Yeah, you’re right, you’re not wanted for anything. Now. But you better
be certain that when your name pops up, governments are going to worry about
what you’re doing in their country. Hell, Carnival Cruise Lines would worry if
you showed up on their itinerary. A guy like you doesn’t travel for pleasure.
And don’t you bother feeding me a bullshit story. I’m not a stupid customs
agent pushing through the day until it’s time to punch the clock.”

“I told you, I’m retired.”

“Yeah, so you said.” Mason steered
with his knees while he lit a cigarette. He took a deep drag, exhaled in Jack’s
direction. “Men like you don’t retire, Jack. Not until someone puts a bullet in
your fucking brain.”

“Is that what you’re here to do?”

Mason shrugged, puffed out his
cheeks and forced air through loosely sealed lips, creating a flapping sound.
“Give me a reason, and yeah, I’ll terminate you.”

“Have I given you a reason?”

“Not yet.”

“Then what do you want from me? You
didn’t stop me in the middle of the street and drive me out of town to ask me
why I got on a plane using my real name. And I don’t know of any popular shops
that a cross dresser like yourself might visit. So, what is it?”

Mason smiled, nodded, said, “Right,
I’ll get to the point, mate. What’d you want with Thornton Walloway?”

“Who?”

“It is not in your best interest
to—how did you say it—jerk me around, Jack. As of this moment, I’m your friend.
Got that? Friend. You don’t want me as an enemy.” Mason paused. His eyes
flitted between Jack’s. He continued. “You’ve been outside his office building
all day long. As soon as his car hit the street, you took off after it. His
Bentley stops, you drive half a block then pull over. He gets out, goes inside
a clothing store, then you get out of your little car and cross the street
looking like you were hell bent on introducing him to his forsaken fate. I’ve
got your number, Jack. I could build a case for conspiracy to commit murder
right there. So what say you let me in on what’s going on?”

“Seven months ago I messed up. Did
something I knew I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t given the whole story and could
plead ignorance, but the fact is I knew what was going on. I figured that what
I’d procured would never end up in hands of someone with the ability to
execute. And I did it for the money, plain and simple. I’d been thinking about
getting out of the business, setting off into the sea, retiring. That job would
have allowed me to do so. But then I had a life altering experience, minutes
before I was supposed to make the drop. Everything changed.”

“What was it?”

Jack studied the man for a moment
before deciding against telling him about the Mandy and Clarissa situations. No
reason to give the guy extra ammunition. “Let’s just say it was something I’d
never dealt with before.”

“OK.”

“So anyway, this chain of events
leads me to France, Italy for a brief time, then to Russia. I had a pit stop in
a lovely place called Black Dolphin, narrowly avoided a shallow grave, and
found myself relaxing in Greece for a few months. I got roped into helping out
the SIS, you were right about that. But I had to do it. It was, for all intents
and purposes, my mess to clean up. And I did. I ended it. Lost a few friends in
the process.”

Mason narrowed his eyes, rubbed his
chin, said, “You took out that old coot, Ivanov, didn’t you?”

Jack hiked his shoulders in the air
an inch, looked away. He did both on purpose. Two simple gestures that both
affirmed Mason’s thoughts, and said
I didn’t do a damn thing
.