Noble Intentions: Season One Page 36

  "Quit driving in circles," she said. "I don't remember this place that well."

  He laughed. "You are something else. How did you know?"

  She shook her head and said nothing.

  "Just take us there," Sinclair said to the driver.

  A few minutes later the car stopped. She heard the driver's door open, then shut, followed by the sound of metal grating on metal.

  "Can I take this off yet?" she asked, tugging at the corner of the blindfold.

  "Not yet," Sinclair replied.

  The driver's door opened and closed. The car dipped and bounced as the driver sat down. The engine started and the car pulled forward, stopped again. She heard voices in the background, indistinguishable. Chains clattered as what sounded like a metal roller door was being lifted. More voices from outside the car.

  "Pull through," a man's voice said.

  The limo started moving. She felt herself lifted out of her seat and forward. They were descending.

  "Now?" she asked.

  "Yes," Sinclair said. "Keep your head forward."

  She took off the blindfold and tossed it at Sinclair. She looked out the windows and saw they were in a cramped tunnel. The car rolled inches from the wall on either side.

  "I said forward."

  "What's your problem? There’s nothing to see here."

  Sinclair sighed. "Are you always this difficult?"

  "You haven't figured that out yet?"

  "No wonder Noble's so drawn to you."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" She narrowed her eyes and drowned a smile.

  "A challenge," he replied. "You are a challenge."

  She smiled.

  Sinclair appeared to smile back, although he quickly covered it up with a fake yawn. He folded his arms across his chest, then placed them back at his side. His legs crossed and uncrossed.

  "What?" she asked.

  He frowned. "Nothing."

  "Doesn't look like nothing," she said.

  "We're almost there." He leaned forward and pointed at her. "Only address him as sir. Don't contradict him. And for God's sake, don't tell him no."

  Before she could form a response, the limo stopped and Sinclair stepped out.

  "Clarissa," he said.

  She opened her door and stepped out of the car. They were in a bunker at least a couple hundred feet under the surface, judging by the angle of the road behind her and the time it took to get down here. The walls were high and painted grey.

  Sinclair started forward and opened a door in the middle of the wall. Clarissa followed him, staying close as he led her through a maze of dimly lit corridors. A hundred questions raced through her mind, but she didn't ask a single one. They approached doors at regular intervals and her heart beat faster in anticipation.

  "Up ahead." Sinclair pointed a narrow finger toward the end of the hallway. The area widened and revealed a steel door with no windows. To the side was some kind of machine. Sinclair stopped at the door, slid over to the machine. He placed his hand on it and leaned forward. "Red tidal fox jump."

  A series of beeps and clicks followed. He reached out and opened the door. "Follow." He led her down another long hallway and stopped in front of yet another solid door. "Wait here." He slipped out of sight.

  Clarissa leaned back against the wall. The place looked solid. Carved from the earth and dressed in concrete. She'd heard her dad talk about places like this. Never imagined she'd be inside one, though.

  Sinclair opened the door. "He's ready to see you."

  "The leader of the alien revolution?"

  Sinclair rolled his eyes.

  Clarissa shrugged. "You know that was funny, Sinclair. Don't be such a fuddy-duddy."

  "Don't say it again. And don't ever use the word fuddy-duddy in my presence."

  "Fine." She followed Sinclair through another hallway. She felt more comfortable with him now, and his concern for her safety seemed genuine.

  Finally, they entered a small room. She stepped through the doorway and smiled at the older man already seated at the table.

  He nodded at her. He had a full head of grey hair, cropped close to his head, and deep blue eyes. His chin was square and gave way to a hardened jaw line. The man looked like he was cut from steel.

  "Clarissa," Sinclair said. "This is—"

  "Sir will do for now," he said. "Given her history, it's best that she doesn't know my name."

  "My history?" she said.

  The man cleared his throat. "I was getting to that, Clarissa."

  She looked down at the floor.

  "Your background, Ms. Abbot," he continued. "You may have heard of me before, and if so, it's best that you don't know who I am."

  She nodded.

  "And I'd appreciate it if you call me Sir," he added.

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Mr. Sinclair has filled you in on the details?"

  "No," Clarissa said. "I have no idea what I'm doing here."

  "I want you to be part of my team," he said. "You'll work under Sinclair. We think you have amazing potential and can work as our set up agent."

  "Set up agent?" she asked.

  "You'll work undercover, for the most part. You'll infiltrate groups we want to take down by getting close to their leaders."

  "How will I accomplish that?"

  "You'll have to be creative," Sinclair said.

  "Yes," the older man said. "But that's not all you'll be doing. We'll train you in different areas and you'll do a great bit of intelligence work."

  "Who will I work for?" she asked.

  The men looked at each other, nodded and turned back to her. They said nothing.

  "You can't tell me? Or you won't tell me?"

  "At this time," the older man said. "We can't tell you."

  "It's for your protection," Sinclair said.

  "I can figure it out," she said. "There aren't that many options to choose from."

  "More than you realize," the man said.

  Clarissa sat back and studied him. His hardened face made it near impossible to get a read on him. She trusted Sinclair and he trusted this man. Plus, the job intrigued her.

  "What about my regular life?" she asked.

  "You can go on living it," the man said. "Only you won't have to worry about dancing anymore. You'll make more than enough money doing this."

  "And my friends, family," she said. "Will I be able to tell them what I'm doing?"

  The man placed his forearm on the table and leaned over. "You know the answer to that. But I'll reiterate it here." He paused making sure he had her attention. "No."

  "They'll never know where I am when I'm away?" she asked.

  "Correct," Sinclair said.

  "What do you say?" the older man asked. "Will you join us?"

  Clarissa clasped her hands together behind her head, looked up at the concrete ceiling. Don't say no. "I'll need to think about it."

  The man sighed, nodded. "I understand. It's a lot to think about." He looked over at Sinclair.

  "We've deposited a—" Sinclair rubbed at his jaw while he searched for the right words, "signing bonus of sorts into an account for you." He placed a folded piece of paper in her hand. "You can check the account balance out when you get home. You can let me know you accept or simply spend money from the account."

  Clarissa tucked the paper inside her bra.

  Sinclair stepped out of the room leaving her and the older man alone. She studied him but still couldn't get a read on him.

  He broke the silence. "I knew your dad. Knew him well."

  Clarissa smiled.

  "Served together many years ago," he said. "After I left the Marines, came here, he continued to help me out."

  "Is that why—"

  "You're here?" he said. "No. This is all Sinclair. He's vouching for you."

  Clarissa said nothing.

  "Well, I hope you'll consider joining us. We need you." He stood up and walked past her, stopping to squeeze her shoulder before leaving the room.r />
  Sinclair stepped back in. "Let's go. I have a flight to New York for you. It leaves in forty-five minutes."

  12

  "What do you mean you can't help me, Michel?"

  "Sorry, Pierre, there’s nothing we can do."

  Pierre clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. "This man put his life on the line for us. He lied during a tribunal to save my ass. Now you're telling me we can't do anything for him?"

  "What do you want us to do?" Michel said. "Get a team and infiltrate Russia's most secure prison? That will go over real well."

  "Screw you, Michel," Pierre said. "Keep working on this."

  He slammed his phone against the porcelain sink. Stared at himself in the mirror.

  "You coward," he yelled at his reflection.

  He brought his arms up and punched the mirror with both fists. It shattered. His fingers bled. He ran them under cold water and bandaged them. Shards of glass covered the floor. He stepped over them and made his way through his apartment to the kitchen. He opened a cabinet and grabbed the first bottle of alcohol he could find without checking the label. He'd only been home a few hours, but guilt ate at him. It continued to grow with every passing moment. Perhaps alcohol would help to slow it down.

  He stepped onto his balcony, leaned over the railing and lit a cigarette. Kids played in the courtyard below. Sunlight faded. So did his guilt as the alcohol worked its way through his body. It dulled his senses. Dulled his pain.

  I'll get you out of there, Jack. Somehow.

  He chain smoked three cigarettes and polished off half the bottle in the same time span. The sun set and the courtyard emptied, save for a couple making out in the corner. Pierre stepped back into his apartment, looked around. He had to get out. He changed clothes and hit the street.

  The cool air felt refreshing on his flush face. He breathed in the smells of the city. Home. He'd been around the world, but no place felt like Paris. He wandered aimlessly for half an hour. Rounded a corner and saw Le Cafe across the street. He smiled. Perhaps he hadn't been wandering as aimlessly as he thought.

  The patio was packed, every table full. He watched the patrons as they ate and carried on in lively conversation. He looked for Kat, but none of the wait staff were visible on the patio. He leaned back against a building and smoked.

  Kat stepped through the door onto the patio carrying a tray of food. Her hair was pulled back tonight. Stunning was the only word that came to mind as Pierre watched her slip between the tables.

  He crushed his cigarette and turned away and located the closest bar.

  Time to refuel.

  Forty-five minutes later he stumbled out of the bar and crossed the street. The patio of Le Cafe was nearly empty now. He fumbled with the gate latch. Gave up and hopped the fence and took a seat in the corner, his back to the road.

  Kat stepped through the door.

  Pierre straightened up and waited for her to spot him. He smiled.

  She backed up against the door.

  "Please," he said. "At least allow me to explain."

  She shook her head.

  Pierre stood, walked to her and took her hands in his. "Kat, I'm sorry. If I'd have known those men were following me—"

  "Who are you?" she asked.

  Pierre dropped his head. "I can't tell you."

  "What can you tell me?"

  "I can tell you that for two years I've watched you. Wanted you. Always convinced myself otherwise because of what I do. But now..."

  "Now what?"

  He sighed. "I'm tired of that life, Kat. I want to start anew."

  "With me?"

  "Maybe?"

  "You don't even know me."

  "I don't even know myself anymore."

  "What?"

  Pierre turned and looked up at the sky.

  She placed her hand on his shoulder. "I'm off in twenty minutes. Let's go have that drink, Pierre."

  "I could use a drink."

  Pierre and Kat stood in the courtyard of her apartment building. Alcohol coursed through him and he could see the same in her. Kat's eyes were wide and glazed over. Her cheeks flush. She stood in front of him, arms at her side, mouth partly open. She blinked slowly. He reached out and took her hands. She stepped forward. He leaned in. They kissed.

  "Come up," she said.

  Pierre pulled her close. Her hair fell across his face. He inhaled her scent.

  She stepped back and tugged at him. "Please?"

  Pierre pulled back. "I want to. You've no idea how much I want to."

  "But?"

  "Kat, tonight isn't a good night. It's just not right."

  She stepped forward. Wrapped her arms around his neck. "I can make it a good night." Her fingers ran through his hair, nails lightly scraping against his scalp.

  "I don't doubt that," he said. "But there is something I need to take care of before I can do this."

  She stepped back and smiled. "I can take care of anything you want."

  "Go upstairs, Kat." Pierre turned around. "I'll call you tomorrow."

  "Promise?"

  "Yes."

  Pierre started walking toward the archway that ran under the front of the complex. He didn't look back. He hadn't heard Kat go inside and knew if he looked back he'd never leave. That just wasn't acceptable tonight. He pushed through the heavy iron gate that stretched floor to ceiling. It slammed shut behind him. The sound echoed through the quiet neighborhood. He turned and saw Kat still standing in front of her building. He reached for the gate and pulled the handle. Locked. It was for the better.

  She blew him a kiss.

  He waved.

  She turned and disappeared into the darkness.

  Pierre took a deep breath and started toward home. Footsteps fell behind him, matching stride for stride with his. He looked over his shoulder and saw two men, both dressed in dark suits. He turned at the next intersection, looked over his shoulder again. They turned, too.

  They were following him.

  He heard a car approach from behind. He looked back once again and saw the car driving slowly, next to the men. He reached inside his coat, only his holster wasn't there.

  Dammit! You drunk fool.

  In his haste and drunkenness he'd forgotten his weapon.

  The steps behind him quickened. He increased his pace and turned on the next street. His mind raced, mapping out the streets ahead of him. Suddenly the car pulled up next to him and slammed on its brakes. Pierre stopped, turned, faced the car.

  The door opened and a large man stepped out. He said nothing. The two men in dark suits caught up and stood on either side of Pierre. Finally, the big man spoke.

  "Pierre, right?" He didn't wait for a response. "My name's Charles. You and I have a friend in common."

  "Who would that be?" Pierre asked.

  "Jack Noble."

  Pierre felt his stomach knot. He glanced at the car and saw two more men inside.

  "Yeah, no point in trying to run or fight," Charles said. "Get in the back seat."

  Pierre pressed his lips tightly, stepped forward and slid into the back of the car.

  Charles squeezed in next to him, pulled a flask from his coat, offered it to Pierre.

  "No thanks," Pierre said.

  "Suit yourself." Charles opened the flask and took a long pull.

  "What do you want from me?"

  "I'm new in town," Charles said. "I need all the friends I can get."

  "I don't have friends," Pierre said.

  "That's unfortunate."

  "Isn't it?"

  "Tell me everything you know about Mitchell Foster," Charles said.

  "I'm afraid I can't speak on that," Pierre said.

  Charles eyed him. "Why's that?"

  Pierre shrugged.

  "You have something to do with his—demise?"

  Pierre shrugged again, looked straight ahead through the front windshield.

  "I'm taking over Foster's operations," Charles said. "We met with two of his guys, but they wer
en't much use to us. Along the way we found out some pretty interesting stuff about Foster. You know anything about that?"

  "Yeah," Pierre said. "We'd gotten wind of it before, but never could get the evidence."

  "I've got the evidence now," Charles said.

  "Are you telling me you plan to keep that part of his business running?"

  "No," Charles said. "I'm trying to make an offer to you."

  "I'm not a cop," Pierre said. "I can't make any deals with you."

  Charles nodded. "You're like Jack then?"

  Pierre held out his hands. "I'm classified." He pulled out a cigarette. "How do you know Jack?"

  "He's done some work for us."

  "Me too," Pierre said.

  The car stopped. Pierre looked past Charles and saw his apartment building. These guys were good.

  Charles opened the door and stepped out. He handed Pierre a card with his information on it. "You ever need a job, or even if you just want to freelance a bit, I can use a guy like you. Got it?"

  "OK," Pierre said. He looked at the card. "I'll be in touch."

  13

  Bear and Mandy sat at the table eating dinner. A rap at the door interrupted their conversation about Captain America, the movie they just watched.

  "Stay here," he said.

  He stepped through living room, grabbed his gun and opened the door.

  "Hi," Clarissa said.

  He tucked the gun behind him and pulled Clarissa through the door and hugged her.

  She hugged him back. "It's so good to see you."

  "You got no idea," he said. "Come in."

  "Where's Mandy?" she asked.

  Bear nodded toward the back of the house. Clarissa pushed past him and he followed her to the kitchen.

  "Hey, squirt," Clarissa said.

  Mandy dropped her fork, jumped up from the table, ran to Clarissa and wrapped her arms around her.

  Clarissa scooped the girl up and held her close to her chest. "Oh, I've missed you." She tucked strands of hair behind Mandy's ears and kissed her cheeks.