Noble Intentions: Season Two (Episodes 6-10) Page 3

  “There. Let’s go.”

  They stood on either side of Jack and led him toward the idling car. Coppa took the front passenger seat. Shipley sat in back with Jack.

  Jack stared out the window, wondering where they were heading. The street lamps along the airport’s roads gave way to the headlights of cars stretched out in columns along I-678. It was almost six a.m. and the eastern sky showed the first signs of sunrise.

  “You guys trust me now?”

  “No,” Shipley said. “Try something and we’ll shoot.”

  Jack smiled. “Where’re we going?”

  Coppa and Shipley said nothing.

  “Last I checked the SIS was based out of D.C. That where we’re headed to?”

  Shipley turned his head and nodded once.

  Jack took that as an affirmative response to his question. They were looking at a five to six hour drive to reach D.C. depending on the traffic around New York City and Philadelphia, which they would reach during the peak of morning rush hour traffic. He kept his focus on the road until they merged onto I-95 southbound. Satisfied they were heading to D.C., Jack closed his eyes and fell asleep.

  * * *

  The car slowed to a stop. Nothing unusual, probably traffic. Then one of the car doors opened and slammed shut. Jack sat up and looked at his watch. Barely seven am. He looked around. They were in a parking lot. In front of the car and off in the distance were two basketball courts. Behind them were four tennis courts. To his left was a baseball field. He turned in his seat and saw a brick building

  “Where the hell are we?”

  Shipley opened his door and stepped out. The only remaining person in the car was the driver.

  Jack reached forward and grabbed the man by his shoulder. The driver leaned forward and shrugged out of Jack’s grasp.

  “You can get out of the car now,” the driver said.

  Jack took another quick glance around. The sun was high enough in the sky that the park posed only a limited risk of agents lurking in the shadows. He placed his hand on the door handle and pushed the door open. Got out of the car and walked around back to where Coppa and Shipley were standing. He glanced across the parking lot. On the other side of the road was a line of houses. He figured they were somewhere residential outside the city.

  “Where are we?”

  “Walk with us,” Coppa said.

  Shipley touched Jack’s elbow.

  Jack pulled away and started walking. Jack and his two escorts passed the building and the ground under them transitioned from parking lot to a paved walkway that cut through the park. A few people walked in pairs and walked their dogs along the network of pavement throughout the park. They passed through a grouping of trees and then headed toward a football field with a track circling it. On one side of the field was a single four row aluminum frame bleacher. On the top row, a lone man sat facing the field. His back was turned to the approaching men. He wore a dark overcoat and held a cup of coffee in his right hand. There appeared to be a second cup of coffee on the bench to his left.

  Coppla and Shipley stopped. Shipley pointed at the man sitting atop the bleachers.

  Jack kept walking. He approached the bleachers from the side, entering the man’s peripheral vision slowly and cautiously. Out here, in this environment with no weapon of his own, he was a sitting duck. Best to take his time and avoid surprising the man.

  The man turned his head and Jack instantly recognized him as Frank. His short, dark hair was neatly groomed. Same as it was eight years ago when they were partners. His face had aged some and there were slight lines etched into his forehead. But his face remained strong and cut with muscular jaws.

  “Glad to see you, Jack.”

  “Frank. Wish I could say the same.” Jack climbed the bleachers and sat to Frank’s left. “Where are we?”

  “Newark. West Side Park.”

  “This where you’re based now?”

  “No.” Frank took a sip of coffee and motioned to the steaming cup in between him and Jack. “I figured if you didn’t like what I had to say, then it was best you didn’t know where our new office is.”

  “What is it you have to say?”

  Frank nodded toward two middle aged women wearing oversized red and blue coats and spandex pants. The woman were walking moderately fast along the brown track circling the field. After they passed, Frank spoke.

  “Alik was going to come work for me. He’s been providing intel for some time and I thought… Hell, you know the score I’m sure. Anyways, there’s a cell, probably more than a cell, that we’ve identified. Near here, Jack.” He waved his hand in the air for emphasis.

  Jack said nothing. His eyes focused on the two women who were now a quarter of the way around the track.

  Frank continued. “From the intelligence we’ve gathered and had shared with us, the group is Russian. Possibly with ties to your friend, Ivanov.” He glanced sideways and made eye contact with Jack. “We’re not sure what they are planning, but we’ve gotten word that a set of highly classified documents were intercepted and fell into a certain old man’s hands.”

  Jack shrugged. Said nothing.

  “And now that old man is selling those classified documents to another cell in the terrorist organization. We now believe that we are dealing with more than a small group of terrorists. We have reason to believe that this is big, Jack. And I mean big as in huge. Alik would’ve been our in. He still might be, but I’m guessing it is going to be a month, maybe two, before he’d be fit for this kind of work. And with the recent intelligence confirming that this group is getting those documents, well, we just don’t have the time to waste.”

  “Get to it. Ask me.”

  Frank stood and stretched his back. The ladies were passing in front of the bleachers again. The one closest waved at Frank. He waved back.

  Jack looked away.

  The women passed. Frank sat down and looked at Jack.

  “I need you to come work for me, Jack.”

  Jack didn’t answer. He looked across the field, beyond the park at the row homes across the street. The sun peeked over the long shared roof line. He felt the temperature rise a few degrees as the first rays of sunlight hit his face.

  “You’re in an envious position, Jack. The intelligence community believes you are dead. The SIS can give you everything you need. Multiple identities. We can get the funds you have stashed in private accounts transferred to new accounts in any number of names. You can start over. Get out of the private contractor stuff you started doing after you left us.” Frank paused. “Like stealing those documents. For Christ’s sake, Jack. If the right people got wind of that you could be tried for treason.”

  “There are people high up in the government that do far worse than what I did. Besides, I didn’t know what they contained. I had a name, a date and a location. Simple as that. I took a job and completed it. Don’t insinuate anything about me, Frank. You and the rest of the SIS certainly aren’t a bunch of choir boys.”

  Frank held his hand in the air. “Sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to go down that path.”

  Jack took a deep breath. Rolled his head side to side.

  “I need your help, Jack. Forget everything else. Help me out now and I’ll help you after this job is finished.”

  “How long are we talking about? Until Alik can join?”

  Frank shook his head. “Once you’re in, you’re in until it’s done. Plain and simple. It might require you to go undercover. I can’t wait for Alik.”

  Jack placed his hands on the cold aluminum bench. He leaned his head back. Did he really have a choice? Frank had told him without telling him that he had Jack by the balls. Tried for treason. Wouldn’t that be a kick in the nuts after everything he’d sacrificed.

  “I’ll do it. One job, that’s it. I’m not joining the SIS again.”

  Frank stood and extended his hand. Jack grabbed it.

  “I need to go to the city before I get started.”

  “Jack, we rea
lly should get to D.C. now.”

  “Tomorrow. Hell, tonight. Just let me have today.”

  Frank walked down the three empty rows to the bottom of the bleacher.

  “Meet here tomorrow. Noon.”

  Jack watched Frank walk toward Coppa and Shipley. The three men disappeared behind the trees. Jack hopped to the ground and crossed the football field. He nodded at the two middle aged women as he passed them. He turned right at the street. A short walk later found himself at the corner of 13th Street and 18th Avenue. There was a bus stop on the other side of the intersection. He took a seat at the bus stop and waited. A NJ Transit city bus pulled up. The doors opened. Jack climbed on board.

  “What’s the best way to get to Manhattan?”

  “You start with me, pal.”

  Jack nodded and took a seat behind the driver.

  6

  Jack stood outside Clarissa’s apartment building. He leaned back against the brick exterior and watched the traffic and pedestrians pass by without acknowledging him. He hoped she’d just appear. It had been over six months since he had last been here. That was the day he had found Mandy on a city sidewalk. That was the day his working relationship with the old man had effectively ended. At once the guilt and shame returned. Clarissa went through a lot in the weeks following that day. Jack took the blame for it all.

  Half an hour passed. He decided that he wouldn’t wait any longer. He glanced at his watch. Four p.m. He pushed through the front door and took the stairs to her floor. Found her apartment. Knocked on the door. A minute passed with no answer. Maybe she had a new job and was still at work. He knocked again. He turned to head back to the stairs. Stopped when he heard the sound of a lock being turned.

  The door opened and Jack felt his heart sink and his stomach knot at the sight of a shirtless man. He stood about six feet tall, had brown hair and was in good shape. Jack knew that it was a possibility Clarissa had moved on. Everyone who knew him believed Jack to be dead. Clarissa would have believed it as well.

  “Help you?”

  Jack cleared his throat. “I-I, uh.”

  The man leaned in toward the door. “You alright, pal?”

  “I’m here to see Clarissa. She around?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed a bit and he hiked his shoulders a couple inches in the air. Shook his head. “No one here with that name.”

  Jack held his hand up, level with his eyes. “About this tall, dark red hair?”

  “Sorry, pal. Lived here six months now. No Clarissa in this apartment. Not on this floor. In fact, I’ve met everyone in this building and there’s no one that meets that description. I would have tried to get to know her a little better, if you know what I mean.” The man smiled and lifted an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, got it. Six months you’ve been here?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Found this place right after I moved to New York from Chicago.”

  Jack raised a hand. “Thanks. I won’t take up anymore of your time.”

  “Alright. Take it easy, pal.”

  Jack turned and walked toward the stairs. The door closed with a thud.

  Where was she? She had left six months ago. Must have been right after she received news that he had died.

  He decided to check the man’s story with the building’s super. He hurried down the stairs and stopped in front of the door labeled with the number one. A plaque next to the door read “Mr. Whitten.”

  Jack knocked on the door. A few moments later a heavy set man with curly black hair opened the door.

  “What can I do for you? Looking for an apartment?”

  “No,” Jack said. “Clarissa Abbot. What happened to her?”

  The man shrugged. “Who?”

  “Tall, red hair, gorgeous.”

  The man smiled and his eyes widened and his eyebrows lifted into his forehead.

  “Oh, yeah. I remember her. What a piece she was.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “Damnedest thing, you know. She just disappeared. No notice or anything. She had rent control on that place, you know. She had it at a steal. Figured she would have sublet it out or something like that. Instead she just disappeared. I remember doing my daily check down the hall, uh, when was that? I guess six months ago now. So, yeah, anyways I did my daily hall check and the door was open. Not a crack or anything like that. I’m talking wide open, you know. So I walk in and the place was empty. Cleared out. Everything gone.”

  Something about the last statement put Jack at ease. If Charles or the old man had put out a hit on her or abducted her, they wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of clearing out her apartment. Perhaps she had just left. Got away. Made a break and found a fresh start.

  “Got a message you want to leave in case she just shows up again?”

  “She’s not going to show up again. Thanks for your time.”

  Jack turned and walked away. Pushed through the door and out into the cool New York air. The sun dipped low in the western sky and the buildings covered the street with shadows. The temperature dropped at least fifteen degrees in the sunless void. He pulled his jacket close together in the front and zipped it. He walked two blocks. Found a drug store and went inside to purchase a pay-as-you-go cell phone. Then, after he exited the store, he dialed one of the only two numbers he knew by heart.

  No matter where Bear was, or what phone he had with him, there was one number that Jack could dial that would always go through to the big man. He punched in ten digits and placed the phone to his ear. It rang twice and then clicked over to a recorded message.

  “The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected. Please check the number—”

  Jack closed the phone, reopened it and dialed again. In his haste he might have pushed a wrong button. Again he placed the phone to his ear. Again the same message played. He cursed under his breath and looked around for a pay phone. He dropped the idea almost as fast as the thought came to him. Bear wouldn’t be listed in the white pages or four-one-one. Why was the number disconnected? Something must have happened to Bear. Jack’s stomach knotted. Again. Part apprehension. Part guilt.

  He started walking toward the apartment they had used as their central base of operations. He pulled the collar of his coat up and kept his head down. If something had happened to Bear, then the apartment, maybe all of their apartments, might be under surveillance. He stopped a few blocks away and pulled the cell phone from his coat pocket. He searched his memory and dialed ten digits on the keypad again. A man answered after the second ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Brandon.”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Brandon, is that you?”

  “I don’t know, man. Who is this?”

  “Jack.”

  “Jack who?”

  “Noble.”

  “No way, man. Jack Noble is dead. I don’t know who the frig you are but this ain’t funny.”

  “Brandon, it’s really me.”

  Brandon said nothing. A few seconds passed and then a few more. Jack looked at the small screen on the phone and saw a flashing message indicating that the call had ended. He punched the redial button and held the phone to his ear.

  No answer.

  He wiped the phone down and tossed it into a trashcan. Then he turned and left the area. Brandon was the kind of guy in the kind of organization that could have a team at any location within ten minutes if they felt the threat was severe enough. Brandon’s reaction left Jack feeling less than at ease. Did he just make a huge mistake? Did Brandon know the truth? Or did he figure someone was trying to get to him using Jack’s identity? Whatever the reason, Jack didn’t want to find out. He decided to get out of the city.

  Jack made his way to the 14th Street PATH station. Bought a ticket and got on a train to Newark. The trip took twenty minutes, and they stopped twice along the way. He exited the train at the Newark Penn Station and rented a room at the Penn Station Hilton in between Raymond Blvd and Market Street. He’d stay there
for the night and leave for West Side Park late the next morning.

  7

  Clarissa leaned over the waist high wooden railing. She stared up at a wall of mountains. Snow covered ski trails cut through dark tree croppings like glacial rivers. A large full moon hovered just beyond the mountain’s crest. The cold, crisp air stung her cheeks and nose. The smell of wood smoke persisted both day and night throughout the alpine themed ski village known as Vail, Colorado.

  When Sinclair offered her the opportunity to take a vacation she had said yes before he finished speaking. She hadn’t had a day off in six months. The only condition was that he accompany her. Not in a romantic way, though. Sinclair didn’t appear to have those types of feelings for her. He had become a father figure and only sought to protect her. She didn’t resist.

  The past six months had gone by in a whirlwind. It had been for the best. If she had stayed behind in New York she would have spent her days and nights thinking of one thing and only one thing. Jack. But four-and-a-half months of intense training, physical and mental, kept her occupied eighteen hours a day. An hour a day had been reserved for showers and eating. The five hours that remained were for sleeping. She had been left with no time to think of anything at all. Jack had become a fleeting thought.

  Sinclair oversaw her training, although he was not always around. He still had his duties to the team. The men and women who handled her training had been strict and competent. They expanded her already broad knowledge of martial arts. Taught her both Spanish and Russian. And schooled her in the ways of being a special agent.

  Immediately upon completion of training she had her first assignment. Infiltrating a strip club in Miami. The place was one of the nation’s largest cocaine distribution points. Her background as an exotic dancer made her the perfect under-cover agent. It only took her six weeks to take the operation down. Sinclair had been impressed and that, she figured, was why she had been offered the week-long vacation.

  She stared at the top of the mountain range. The moonlight reflected off of the fresh snow. Her thoughts turned to Jack. All she wanted was to spend a month with him. Just the two of them. Her eyes watered at the thought of never seeing or smelling or touching him again. Never hearing his voice again. Never kissing his lips again. She wiped away the tears and brought the wine glass to her lips. The merlot had turned cold and bitter. She drank it anyways.