Noble Intentions: Season Three (25 page)

Naseer peered over the railing as
he rose. The grounds were still. He took a deep breath, grabbed the railing to
steady his shaking hands. “What did you ask?”

“The women?” Samir said.

Naseer took a few deep breaths,
steadied his shaking hand. “Paris. Then they diverted to Brussels. Our contact
has men that are chasing down a lead. Hopefully we’ll know something by
morning.”

“What of that other thing?”

Naseer glanced over his shoulder,
back to Samir. “The pieces are in motion, but there’s still plenty to work
out.”

“Think we can pull it off?”

“I believe so. As long as we
continue to create distractions, they’ll be diverting their attention away from
the target.”

Samir nodded, said nothing.

“The trick will be getting someone
close enough to pull it off.”

“Owen?”

“Doubtful. He’s already associated
with Walloway. They’d spot him.”

“None of us, then.”

Naseer smiled, shook his head. “Of
course not. We fit the profile and would be monitored before we even realized we
were spotted.”

“Then who?”

“I’ve got someone working on that.”

Jack closed Mason’s front door
behind himself and jogged down the seven steps to the sidewalk. The sky was
clear, the air cool. Fortunate, he thought, since he had no place to stay. The
wind blew from the west, carried the smell of the factory he had passed earlier
that day. He looked down the street, left then right. About half the homes had
their lights out. He turned left and put one foot in front of the other, headed
east.

He passed a few people along the
way. People out walking their dogs. Couples taking a stroll together. A few
late night joggers. Some smiled, others avoided his stare, one crossed to the
other side of the street to avoid him. That didn’t bother Jack. In fact, he
preferred it.

After a short walk he stopped in
front of a pub. There was no sign that said the place was open. Wasn’t one
indicating it was closed either. So he stepped inside. The room was dimly lit
and alive with chatter. Blues played in the background. He had planned on
asking the bartender to call him a cab. Instead he ordered a pint of Hobgoblin.
In the dark room, the ale looked black. The frothy tan head stood out in the
glass. He savored the drink, then ordered another and asked the bartender to
call for that cab.

For the first time all day, he
didn’t think about the bombings or Thornton Walloway or what Mason’s role might
be in the mess. His thoughts didn’t turn to his longtime friend and partner who
he had left behind. Didn’t focus on the woman who slipped away a few days ago
in D.C. He thought about that angelic face he had met at Dottie’s. At times,
the fact that he had a daughter felt real to Jack. But there were moments where
it felt surreal and he had trouble believing the truth. He tried to avoid
feeling betrayed by Erin. She had her reasons for keeping this a secret. He
understood, and in some ways he agreed with her choice.

Jack Noble, family man
was
not a phrase that would be uttered by any who know him.

“What’s your troubles, son?”

Jack lifted his gaze from the
half-settled head of his beer. The guy on the other side of the bar had about
thirty years on him. His gray hair was limited to the sides of his head. He
kept a neatly trimmed patch of scruff on his chin and above his upper lip.

Jack offered the bartender a
half-smile and shook his head.

“Everybody needs someone to talk
to,” the man said.

“Not me,” Jack said.

“Girl troubles?”

“In more ways than one.”

“Baby momma got you down?”

“What?” Jack laughed.

The guy grinned. “I watch MTV in my
spare time. Got grandkids in the U.S., want to stay hip to their lingo.”

At ease, Jack said, “I met my
daughter for the first time today. Found out about her a little bit after I met
her.”

“How old?”

“Six.”

“Congratulations.” He turned and
poured another beer and set it down in front of Jack. “On the house.”

Jack lifted his glass and finished
his second beer, then slid the fresh glass toward himself.

“So why’s this got you down? She
reject you?”

Jack shook his head. “She doesn’t
know. Guess it’s complicated. I’m questioning some things. Why didn’t the
mother tell me? Do I even deserve to know or be a part of the kid’s life? Would
she be better off if I never showed up?”

“So, how’d it work? You tracked
down the mom, showed up, and saw she had a kid?”

Jack took a pull from his mug. He
wiped the foam away from his upper lip. “Something like that.”

“We all do things we shouldn’t
have, son. But the only thing to truly regret is not making amends with those
we love.”

“You speak from experience?”

The bartender nodded, said nothing.

“So what happened?”

The man shrugged. “It’s not worth
talking about.”

“Everybody needs someone to talk
to,” Jack said.

The man smiled then looked to his
left. “Your cab’s here, son.”

Jack glanced toward the front of
the pub and saw the taxi. He reached into his pocket, dropped a twenty pound
note on the bar top. He left the establishment without another word spoken
between him and the old man.

Jack slid into the backseat of the
cab. “Take me to a hotel that doesn’t require ID.”

The driver studied Jack in the rear
view mirror.

“I’m not a criminal,” Jack said.

“Then why no ID?” the cabbie said.

“Just trying to throw my crazy
ex-wife off my trail.”

“Ah.” The cabbie gave Jack a
knowing nod and a wink and then put the taxi into gear.

They drove for twenty silent
minutes.

The cabbie slowed down in front of
a rundown building. “It’s a bit dodgy over here, but you look like the kind of
fellow who can take care of himself.”

Jack handed the man a twenty and
exited the cab. He assessed his surroundings. He was in the rough part of town.
No one appeared to be an immediate threat, although some unwanted glances were
cast his way. He made eye contact with everyone in view. Criminals preferred to
prey on the unsuspecting and unprepared.

He crossed the sidewalk and entered
the lobby and approached the middle aged woman behind the counter. He held one
finger in the air and said, “One night. Just me. Cash.”

She pulled the half burned
cigarette out of her mouth and said, “One night is eighty pounds, if you’re
paying cash.”

Jack looked around the place. The
wallpaper peeled away from the wall in long strands. The floor looked like it
hadn’t been cleaned in months. Smelled that way, too. Roach traps were visible,
as were mouse traps. Droppings along the baseboards confirmed the hotel had a
rodent problem.

“You’re kidding, right?” he said.

“Want to pay less, drop a credit
card on the counter.”

Jack reached into his pocket and
pulled out a wad of cash. His had limited options. And since he was in a
not-so-great area, sleeping outside held less appeal than it had a half hour
ago. The woman handed him keys in exchange for money. Directions to the room
were not provided. The room number was 814.

Top floor accommodations
,
Jack thought,
maybe even the penthouse
.

He started toward the hallway,
stopped, turned. “Can I get a wakeup call?”

She pulled the cigarette from her
mouth again and dropped it. “This ain’t the flippin Ritz, boy.”

“Of course it’s not. What was I
thinking?”

Jack turned and found the elevator
lobby. Calling it a lobby was being generous. He saw a single elevator. The
door was stuck open. Two-by-fours and yellow tape covered the gaping hole.
Curious, he poked his head into the opening. The dark shaft revealed no
secrets. He couldn’t help but wonder what might be at the bottom. The shaft had
to be at least a century old. It was as if he stood before an exhumed casket,
full of a hundred years of hopes and dreams and horrors.

He found the stairs and quickly
ascended them to the eighth floor. The temperature rose the higher he climbed.
At the top, he pushed through the stairwell door. The hall was dark, with only
one in every five or so lights on. The bulbs must have been 15 watt. They cast
small pools of light on the hallway floor, but illuminated little else.

He pulled out his cell phone and
brought up a blank web page. The white light given off allowed him to use his
phone like a flashlight. This was one of the ways that technology was useful to
Jack. He found his room halfway down the hall. He paused outside the door for a
moment. No sound came from the room. He tried the handle before inserting the
key. The door was unlocked. As he cracked the door, a smell like rotten bananas
wrapped in sweaty socks hit him. He kicked the door open with his foot and took
a step to the side. After a moment he reached inside and felt along the wall
until he found the light switch.

“Christ almighty,” he said as the
room brightened. The bed was unmade, the sheets strewn about the floor. The
dresser drawers hung open. The smell seemed to get worse the longer he stood
there. He walked inside, his gun drawn. The sound of flies buzzing intensified
with every step he took. He expected to find a body on the other side of the
bed. It didn’t smell of death, but the corpse could be fresh. He craned his
neck as he neared the bed, peeked over the edge. The flies whipped around in a
frenzy. He stopped when he saw the source of the smell.

Someone had left four trays of
rotten food on the floor.

Jack backed out of the room, left
the door open, headed for the stairs.

When he reached the bottom of the
stairwell, he kicked the door open. The lobby’s overhead light flickered. He
made a line toward the check-in counter.

“Hey,” he said.

The woman didn’t look up.

“What the hell’s your deal giving
me that room?”

Her head slowly lifted. Her gaze
met his. She studied him for a minute, then said, “What about it?”

“What do you mean what about it?
It’s filthy. The whole floor is. Whole damn place, for that matter.”

She rose and placed her hands on
the counter and leaned forward. Her eyes narrowed as she looked him up and
down. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

Jack shook his head. All he wanted
was four or five solid hours of sleep. “Just give me a new room. A clean one.”

She took a step back and slid open
a drawer. “Here you go, 204. Cleaned it myself this morning.”

“Great.”

Jack grabbed the key and headed for
the stairs. He stopped at the entrance to the stairwell. Again, he contemplated
sleeping outside. In the end, he took the stairs to the second floor and found
his room. It smelled, but not as bad as the previous room. The bed had been
made. The dresser only had a fine layer of dust on it. He wondered about the
space between the furniture and the wall. Checking would only serve to anger
him further, and that would be counterproductive. What he needed now was sleep.

He patted the bed. A plume of dust
rose into the air. He glanced around for something to place over the sheets.
The towels in the bathroom appeared to be the cleanest items in the room, so he
grabbed four and placed them on the bed and then laid down on them. He crossed
his right ankle over his left and his arms across his chest and faded off to
sleep with the image of Mia in his mind’s eye.

Clarissa crept through the house
toward the front door. Spiers slept on the couch near the far wall. She stopped
in front of the window and pulled back the curtains. A silver haze of fog
hovered over the ground. Muted sunlight penetrated, the dew covered grass
shimmered. She opened the door and stepped out into the damp air. Though she
couldn’t see the village, she could see far enough ahead to get there. All she
had to do was place one foot in front of the other and keep moving forward.

Story of my life.

She hoped the store would be open.
Though it was only six a.m., in a place like this, people started their day
early. And if the fridge inside the house was any indication of how those
people lived, they’d need food from the store early and often.

Spiers had left the keys to the car
on the counter, but she opted not to use it. A walk through the crisp morning
air would do her some good. Things had been happening at a breakneck pace. She
needed some time to chill and collect her thoughts.

Her sleep had been disrupted
throughout the night by a single question. What if her mission had been ruined?
By this point, Naseer would have the method of her murder chosen if he knew
that she hadn’t stayed in Paris. Months of planning destroyed by a single
choice. Of course, not her planning. And not her choice. Things were coming to
a head with Naseer and his men, and if they carried out a major attack, one
that she could have prevented but failed to because of this decision, she’d
have trouble living with herself.

By the time she reached the
village, the fog had lifted. She looked back toward the house. The path she had
taken remained veiled in liquid smoke.

The store was open. Clarissa
entered and smiled at the elderly man behind the counter. A woman that Clarissa
assumed was his wife tended the coffee pot. She looked over her shoulder and
smiled at Clarissa.

“It’ll be ready in five minutes,”
the woman said in French.

Clarissa smiled, nodded. She
located the refrigerated section. There she grabbed two pints of milk and a
dozen-and-a-half eggs. She set the items on the counter and waited for the
coffee to brew.

Outside, a silver sedan stopped in
front of the store. She couldn’t tell if it was a Mercedes or a Lexus. For all
she knew, it could have been an Audi. The windows were tinted black. The
passenger door opened, then pulled closed and the car took off.

The old man stared at the spot
where the vehicle had stood a moment before. Clarissa wondered if the man felt
disheartened by the car leaving, the customer who didn’t enter his store, and
the sale that didn’t happen.

The steady stream of coffee pouring
into the pot slowed to a trickle. She grabbed an insulated paper cup and filled
it three-quarters of the way. She topped it off with thick cream and sugar,
then covered the cup with a lid.

The old man tallied her items. He
tried to make small talk, but Clarissa only smiled and looked away. She grabbed
the paper bag he had placed her items in, and then she left the store.

Outside, the sun shone brighter and
burned away the remaining fog. She could see as far as the driveway. The house
remained hidden.

And through that last patch of fog,
Clarissa saw two balls of red light. They flashed and then disappeared.

Brake lights.

She quickened her pace.

A minute later a shot was fired.

She dropped the paper bag containing
the milk and eggs, and tossed her coffee to the side, and she started to run
toward the house.