Noble Intentions: Season Four (3 page)

The guy took a step forward. Curly silver hair with traces of black adorned a chiseled face.

"Ah, Mr.-"

Jack held out his hand and said, "No names."

The guy nodded. "No problem."

"Can we get some light in here?"

"I'd prefer not." He paused a moment. "Took a bullet to the head twenty-five years ago, eyes haven't been the same since. I've got special glasses to help
when outside, but I don't like wearing them inside the house."

Jack's eyes adjusted. He made out the scar on the man's right cheek, between ear and eye. Maybe a remnant from the bullet that affected his tolerance for
light.

"So what happened? Mugged? That why I'm here?"

Laughing, the man stepped forward again. His frame was slender, but muscular. "Twenty five years ago I was a SEAL. Do the math."

"Panama."

Nodding, he said, "At least I wasn't one of the unfortunate twenty-three souls who perished there. Anyway, what about you?"

"Panama? I was in eighth grade. I was ready to go, but they wouldn't take me."

The guy's smile widened. "No, not Panama. Military?"

"You invited me here, figured you knew that already." Jack paused to allow the man to rebut. He didn't. Jack continued. "Eschewed college to join the
Marines. Selected for a special assignment early on for some new program they were testing."

"With the CIA."

Jack shrugged and continued. "Did that for a couple years before the whole thing fell apart. They threw a lot of money at me to get me to retire early. I
took it. Considered making it a permanent situation. Problem was, being a drunk in the Keys didn't pay all that well, so I hopped on board the government
wagon again and worked for another agency. Couple years there, then went into business for myself. Picked up the security gig for that politician by
accident after working with British Intelligence a few months back."

"And I heard you did an excellent job."

"I suppose." Jack glanced around in an attempt to locate the large man who'd escorted him through the building. "Then again, she's dead."

"Not your fault, from what I hear."

"Don't believe everything you're told."

The man fidgeted with an envelope and said nothing.

"What's this all about?" Jack said. "You obviously have the skills and contacts to take care of yourself. You're not some eccentric that's being stalked or
extorted or living in fear of his own shadow. So why me? Why here? Why now?"

The envelope disappeared behind the man's body. "Perhaps you are right. Maybe I don't need your services right now."

For a moment, Jack's gut tensed, and he had the feeling that mortars were incoming. "Was it something I said?"

The guy said nothing.

"What's in the envelope?"

"Down payment, that's all." He brought his hands around, empty. "Seems we won't be needing it."

"The hell is this all about?"

The guy lifted his hand and snapped. "Martellus, please escort our guest out."

The big black man crossed the room. Each step reverberated through the floorboards. Sensing he had a few seconds left in the condo, Jack spoke up.

"Never got your name."

"You don't need it," the older man said.

"Why'd you bring me here?"

The big man's hands wrapped around Jack's shoulders. He didn't budge.

"Easy way or hard way, man. Either way, I get paid the same," the man said.

"Why?" Jack said.

The older man turned away and went into the next room without saying a word. The door shut behind him, sending a slight gust toward the windows and
ruffling the dark drapes.

"Last chance of easy way," the guy said.

Jack broke free of the man's grasp and started toward the door. "I can find my own way out."

"You want your piece?"

Jack stopped, turned, held out his hands.

"Elevator," the guy said.

A minute later, the bronze-plated doors opened up to an empty lobby. The big man didn't get out. He handed Jack his Beretta, then tossed the magazine
halfway across the room. By the time Jack reached it, the elevator had started its ascent to the upper floor.

Not quite sure what to make of the meeting, Jack exited the building and walked north one block. Heat reflected off the concrete surrounding him. The
temperature had risen ten degrees since he stepped foot inside the building. The humidity was close to maxed out. Despite that, the sidewalk was packed,
and the park across the street too. The meeting played over again in his mind. What had the man wanted with him? Maybe he'd built a team of some sort,
security or mercenary. Not much difference these days. The guy had some interest in Jack, but apparently not enough to extend an offer. What had he said to
discourage the guy?

As soon as a break in traffic presented itself, Jack jogged across 5th Avenue. A curb marked the crossover from asphalt to concrete. He imagined a sniper
rifle protruding from a window in the condo, aimed at his back and tracking every move. The cover of the trees on the opposite sidewalk failed to provide
the security he needed. So he hopped the solid fence and cut across Central Park, always moving forward, resisting the urge to look behind.

Paris, France.

A COOL MIST enveloped Bear as he emerged from the sweltering metro station. Glancing up, he couldn't tell where the mist ended and the clouds began. The
breeze chilled the droplets of water that clung to his cheeks and bare arms. They did little to counter the stifling humidity, though. Was the weather
typical for Paris in the middle of July?

Bear shielded his eyes from the pervasive mist and scanned the street and sidewalk. The haze made it difficult to spot any landmarks he might recall from
his last visit to the City of Lights. As he began to gather his bearings, he felt a tug on his shirt. Glancing back, Mandy stared up at him. She cupped
both hands over and around the sides of her eyes.

"I need an umbrella," she said. "Or a jacket with a hood."

He spotted a drug store a block away. Gesturing with his chin, he said, "Come on, kid."

She stepped to his side and the two of them made their way down the crowded sidewalk. Outside the store entrance, he handed her twenty euros and remained
there while she went inside. The drizzle and mist didn't bother him. He'd endured far worse during his years in the Marines. Hell, he'd purposefully sat
through worse just to bag a ten-point buck.

Crowds passed in waves, most emerging from the metro, intertwining with those already in place. They all had the same reaction to the weather upon emerging
from the covered stairs. They scrunched their faces and winced at the hovering mist as though they entered a field of pissed off honeybees. Bear recognized
none of the people that passed. And none of them recognized him.

And that was how Bear liked it.

Mandy exited the store with a multi-colored umbrella large enough for the two of them. Quite a feat, Bear thought. While she was still a petite thing, Bear
was massive. She extended the umbrella and handed it to him.

Bear declined. "Change?"

She deposited a couple coins into the palm of his hand.

"That it?" he asked.

"I got us each a soda, too." She pulled a bottle from her bag and gave it to Bear. "Will you tell me where we're going now?"

Bear started forward on a path that led away from one metro station, and invariably toward another, which they ignored.

"Bear," she said, fumbling with the umbrella before sliding it open. "Wait up."

He slowed his pace until the sound of her labored breathing caught up to him. He'd grown concerned over her wheezing, which had worsened in recent months.
The entire time Mandy had been at his side, he hadn't brought her to a doctor for a check-up. Not something that occurred to him. And now that it had, he
had no idea where to take her. She had spent time at Number 10, the British Prime Minister's residence. Had they checked her? If so, they hadn't addressed
any concerns with Bear. After a few moments, her breathing returned to normal, and his concern faded, yielding to another set of thoughts.

It wasn't that Bear didn't want to tell Mandy why they were in Paris. He didn't know how. Months ago, a woman had caught his attention, even though they
had only spent moments together. Sometimes it took no more than that. To make matters worse, she was with Pierre, a man that, while they had their ups and
downs, was as close to Jack and Bear as anyone. Of course, the Frenchman had been laid up in intensive care, the victim of gunshot wounds, the last time
Bear had seen him. The doctors had given Pierre a fifty-percent chance to live. Could've died, for all Bear knew.

So he hesitated again when Mandy asked why they were in Paris. The girl hadn't had the easiest year of her life. Abandoned. Abducted. Orphaned. That was
only the beginning. She might have been better off had Jack left her alone on the sidewalk back in New York City. They all might've been. Some agency or
organization would have picked the girl up and found a foster home for her. He shuddered at the thought. He knew the life of insanity they shared was
better than anything an orphanage or foster family could ever provide for her.

Stability.

Bear's only goal. He was the constant in her life. A shaky one, but a constant nonetheless. And here he was, ready to shake things up for her again. He ran
a hand through his hair, squeezing the water out as he went.

"Are we doing something illegal?" she asked.

"Maybe," he said, shrugging.

"Bear!"

"Mandy."

She sighed and pushed ahead of him. "Whatever."

"I'll tell you more soon. Now get back here so you don't get lost."

She glanced back with narrowed eyes. She'd grown a lot in the last year or so, and soon he wouldn't be able to tell her what to do the way he just had.

"Soon, Mandy. I promise."

And he would tell her more. Once he figured out how to broach the subject. It wasn't as if he'd called Kat to announce their visit. It had been weeks since
he'd last seen her. There had been no contact between the two of them since then. She could have moved out, or moved on. She might not even remember or
recognize him. Possibly didn't want to because of what happened shortly afterward. Perhaps their shared sin, as benign as it had been, caused Pierre's
injuries. Hell, what if the version of events he remembered failed to match reality?

The shops and restaurants they passed took on a familiar look. Bear's head moved as though on a swivel now. Every person he saw could be Kat. None were.
His tunnel vision was so narrow that they could have been tailed and he wouldn't have known. The thought sent ice down his spine. At once, he pulled Mandy
inside cafe and they waited inside for five minutes while he studied the passing foot traffic.

"Let's get something to eat." He fished another twenty euros from his pocket and handed it to Mandy, adding, "Some kind of sandwich. And a coffee."

While the girl went to the counter and ordered in broken French, Bear continued to watch for anyone lingering near the cafe. Would the urge to look over
his shoulder ever fade? Bear had been promised that his records were expunged across friendly countries, at least anything criminal. Crossing borders
should no longer raise red flags. But that promise was only as good as the mouth that delivered it. Almost no one Bear knew could be trusted, and
therefore, neither could the supposed command.

Mandy crossed the room with the trained eyes of a Spec Ops soldier. Even at barely twelve years of age, Bear had managed to teach the girl to identify the
greatest threat in the room, as well as the weakest target. He watched on as she spotted both, as well as points of ingress and egress, and potential
weapons. She placed the food and drinks on the table and sat down. Bear nodded.

Mandy said, "The man with the gray hair, wearing a white pullover is the biggest threat in the room."

"Why him and not the younger guy with the beard?"

"Because he has a cane under the table."

"So is he the weakest?"

She shook her head and quickly shot a look at a woman with twin babies. "She is."

"Why?"

"She'll defend her babies before herself."

"That makes her weakest?"

"She has to fight for three, spreading her too thin."

"Weapons?"

She reached for a salt shaker and dumped some on an empty spot on her plate. "These are heavy, made from glass, and pointed corners on the bottom. Can
cradle them in my palm, top near my thumbs, and do a…" She glanced up, thinking, calculating. "…windmill punch?"

"What about the silverware? Forks and knives and junk?"

"That's what they'd expect. With those glass shakers, all they see is a twelve year old girl flailing her arms."

Bear smiled and nodded and reached out for the salt. "Good job, kid. Now pass that over here."

They finished eating in less than ten minutes. Bear spent most of that time drinking his coffee, his sandwich only lasting sixty seconds. He scanned the
street. Every time he glanced at Mandy, she was doing the same. He'd given her pointers on what to look for, patterns she should notice, and what a team
acting in cohesion might attempt to do while stalking. This information was relearned regularly. In time, she would commit it to memory and it would become
second nature.

They left the cafe and joined the crowds on the misty sidewalk. It seemed thicker, denser than just fifteen minutes earlier. Pressing forward, Bear began
to feel as though they were close to their destination. He resisted the urge to rush, knowing they might be in a holding pattern soon. If they were being
tailed, even for the purposes of gathering information, he didn't want to linger too long and blow the location. That would hamper their ability to return,
nullifying his chances of seeing Kat again.

When they came to the old stone wall, he knew at once they had found the right place.

"This is it."

"What is it?"

"An apartment complex."

"Who do you know in here?"