Thin Line (39 page)

"Some swelling around your C-3 and C-4 vertebrae," the doctor said. "Should go down in a few days. We'll be holding you for observation during that time."
He aimed a pen toward my head. "Took a few nasty blows. Already had a dentist wire your teeth. Considering the damage elsewhere, I'd say you lucked out
that they were still attached." He jotted something on his chart, and then added, "Must've been a scary event for you."

I allowed another pool of chilled water to slide down my throat. "What's that?"

"Getting mugged and beaten and shot like that by those street thugs. I know plenty of people leave here and go right to their shrink for meds. Find a
support group. It takes a while, but just remember, what you went through was a once in a lifetime event that happens very rarely. Chances of you going
through it again are very slim."

It hurt to smile. I did anyway. This wasn't the first time I'd woken up in the hospital. Would it be the last? Too soon to make that determination.

"Anyway," Jovanovich said. "I'll let you get your rest. I'll be back in the morning to check up on you."

I fell asleep before the door shut. My dreams were plagued with a feeling of drowning, the sensation of being smothered. I woke, gasping for air, the
beeping behind me fast enough to set off the alarm. The nurse raced in. After she determined there was nothing wrong, she sent another stream of
IV-administered codeine coursing through my veins. Within minutes I was under again. Suffocating in my sleep.

Darkness pervaded the next time I opened my eyes. No feelings or sensations this time other than a disruption to the space surrounding me.

"How're you feeling, Jack?"

The light next to the bed switched on. I shifted a couple inches to the left and tried to smile at Brett Taylor. He stood next to the bed, dressed in tan
slacks, his hands in the pockets. He'd left his blue shirt unbuttoned at the collar. I figured his sports coat was hanging up in the car.

"Reese?" I asked, hoarse.

Brett's face grew tight. He nodded several times while exhaling heavily. Finally, he said, "They're putting her into the witness protection program. She'll
be shipped off to God-knows-where."

"Protection? Why?"

"Fear of retaliation. The true facts will never be released. Joe Dunne was a popular man in the Bureau. Reese wasn't liked by her own partner, much less
the FBI. To them, she's the reason this happened. Last thing anybody wants is a group of men with the knowledge of how to commit the perfect crime actually
doing so. Know what I mean?"

I dipped my chin an inch. Progress.

"I wanted to take her away from here. Establish a base somewhere outside the country. They wouldn't have it."

"Who is 'they'?"

Brett waved me off. "Anyway, I doubt you'll be able to follow up with her. She's being held in an undisclosed location, being debriefed by every agency
under the sun. They won't tell me where. But I have a close contact who's watching over the proceedings, and he says she's being treated fairly. I'm hoping
he'll allow us one more visit before she goes."

"Don't think she'll reach out to you?"

Brett shrugged. Smiled. She would, and he knew it.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the next question. "What about Bear?"

I waited for Brett to tell me that Bear's body had been shipped to wherever the big man's next of kin was located. I only knew of a step- or half-brother
in Montana. Instead, Brett said, "He pulled through. Going to take a couple weeks, but he's going to be all right. Once I can sign you out of here, we'll
go see him."

The vice that had gripped my heart and lungs released. I swore the beeping slowed down at the same time. "Any word from Frank Skinner?"

Brett shook his head. "We had a long talk. My feeling is he'll go to the grave before he gives up whoever issued the job to the SIS. I mean, I guess I can
respect that. Kind of have to, right?" He paused a beat. "Anyway, he said that you've effectively been blackballed. No one is going to want to work with
you after this. While I thank you, they think you've lost your edge. Doesn't matter that you were right, trusting me back there in Reese's apartment. You
failed to complete an op, and they don't trust you anymore."

I would have shrugged if I could.

"Frank said he'd try to throw you a bone here and there. You know what that means. Worst kind of jobs. Off the grid type stuff. Foreign soil, sand. But,
who knows, maybe in time they'll ease up and welcome you back into the community."

"What about you?"

"Me? You don't have to worry about that. I still have a group of terrorists to eliminate. It felt good to nail al-Sharaa and put him in the ground, but there
are others. And I want to get the next level. So, with all that's happened, I see myself disappearing into France to take it from there."

"Pierre," I said. "Reach out to him. He's seeking vengeance, and I know he'll offer you unlimited support."

Brett nodded, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He set it on the table next to the bed, under the light.

"That's a numbered account," he said. "About a million dollars in there. Should be enough to keep you on your feet while you wait this out or look
elsewhere for opportunities."

"I can't take your money."

"You could have taken my life, but you didn't, Jack. You lost out on whatever they were going to pay you, too."

The only way I could get that kind of cash was to accept the Old Man's offer to work for his organization. That wasn't going to happen.

"Maybe you can get away. Some place tropical. Might enjoy it enough to just disappear there. A million dollars goes along way in a country like Dominica."

I said nothing.

"Well, think about it. Either you use it, or the money goes to waste."

With that, Brett turned and walked toward the door.

"Brett?"

He stopped, placed his hand on the door frame and looked back at me. "Yeah?"

"Mugged? Really?"

He laughed and said, "They'd have never believed the truth."

TEN DAYS LATER I was walking down 5th Avenue, Midtown Manhattan, amid a crowd of Japanese tourists. I'd been out of the hospital for five days. My first
stop after being released was to see Brandon. He'd lost everything in the fire except for his life and his brain. His computer equipment and gadgets, his
wheelchair, all was gone. Worst part was he had no insurance to cover any of it. The smile on his face when I handed him a slip of paper revealing a
numbered account with a million dollars on it was thanks enough. The only stipulation I had was that he used the bleeding-edge tech he would build to
locate Reese McSweeney for me. I had to know that she was safe. Out of reach for anyone that might be delusional enough to support Joe Dunne. I wanted her
to know that she could count on me anytime, anywhere.

Following my visit to Brandon, I located Bear. While Brandon had been spared in the clearing behind his house, Bear had taken a bullet to the brain. Guess
the ex-SEAL and Joe Dunne were more worried about the guy with working legs. Bear had spent six days in a coma and suffered partial memory loss. When I
tried to discuss the details of our ordeal, starting with him on the flight with Brett Taylor, Bear had no recollection. Doctors said the gap might be
filled later, but he seemed to have lost about a month's worth of data.

Probably better. I knew I'd like to forget what we'd gone through.

The doctors also said they had left the bullet where it had embedded itself. Removing it would have left Bear's brain at risk of hemorrhaging. As long as
he limited contact to his head, and stayed away from heavy-duty magnets, there was little chance of the left-behind bullet doing any damage.

At 6' 6", most people didn't bother to aim for his head, so I figured he'd be all right.

He had to remain at the facility another four weeks before they'd let him leave. Despite his initial protests, I talked him into staying.

From the recovery center, I hopped a flight to Tampa Bay, Florida, and drove north a bit. There, I spent a couple days with my family. Time in a boat, on
the gulf, under the sun fishing does wonders for the soul. As I departed, my mother begged me to stay longer. She always feared she'd never see me again.
It wasn't in the cards. After a visit to the cemetery to talk to my deceased sister Molly for a half hour, I hitched a ride to the airport with my brother
Sean. Normally we'd talk little during such a trip. This time he pushed for answers on why I was wearing a cast and looked as though I'd gone fifteen
rounds in a heavyweight fight. I fended him off until we reached Tampa.

I picked up a pay-as-you-go phone at a stand inside the airport, found my gate, and napped for two hours before boarding the 757 bound for New York.

I'd only been in town for a couple hours now. Most would want to head home, get a shower, nap, change, whatever. Their greatest desire, I supposed. I had
one too, and it meant I had somewhere else to go.

And so, as the Japanese tourists turned at 45th Street, I continued on another few blocks, approaching my destination.

"Noble."

I knew the voice, unfortunately. So, I stepped to the curb where Charles stood waiting.

"What do you want?" I said.

"Why's everyone always think it's me? I don't want nothin' with you, Jack. The Old Man would like to have a word."

"Tell him I'm a bit busy right now."

"Tell him yourself." Charles pointed across the street. "He's waiting in there."

"You don't scare me."

"That's good to hear. But, before you think about doing something, I've got five guys within fifty yards. All of them got itchy fingers, too."

"Tell them to start wiping with toilet paper."

Charles shook his head. "I don't know why the Old Man has got such a hard-on for you."

"Well, if he spends most of his day with you, just look in a mirror. You'll figure it out."

"Yeah, yeah. All right. Enough." He opened his jacket enough for me to see his shoulder holster and the pistol it held. "Get across the street and talk to
him for a few."

The situation was unavoidable. I figured now as a good a time as any to get this over with. I crossed 5th, maneuvering around the vehicles stopped on the
road, and entered the boutique. A middle-aged woman waited by the door. After I entered, she turned the lock and slipped out of view.

"Her husband's a degenerate," the Old Man said. "Owes me a lot of money. She just cut the debt in half by letting me use her store."

"I'll spare you the time of saying anything else. I'm not interested in whatever you offer."

He smiled and stepped toward me, the same slow pace as during our walk on Rockaway beach. "That's typical. Usually, when I make an offer, it'd mean you owe
me. But, in this case, you owe me nothing, Mr. Jack."

"Great. I'll be going then."

"Just a minute of your time. That's all I ask."

Charles and three other men gathered across the street. They talked and laughed and smoked. Outside the store, two other guys had stopped and positioned
themselves in front of the door. Whether to keep me in or customers out, I wasn't sure.

"OK," I said. "A minute."

The Old Man gestured for me to follow him to the sales counter. On it sat a folder.

By this point, I was weary of opening folders. They always contained trouble.

Fortunately, the Old Man grabbed it and did the honors himself.

"I won't pay you for this job, Mr. Jack."

"Even more enticing."

His smile returned. "I think you'll take it anyway."

"Why are you so sure about that?"

"Because I'd like you to kill a certain member of the House of Representatives that I've recently had the displeasure of working with. Sources indicated
that he's planning a nasty tell-all. He needs to be silenced. Interested?"

I reached out for the paper. The Old Man released it.

"It needs to look natural," he said. "Can you handle that?"

"I can handle anything."

"So you accept?"

I said nothing. Turned toward the door and started walking. The lady rushed forward and unlocked it for me. Charles pulled it open. He tried to make a
joke, but I had a foot on the asphalt before he got the second word out. I crossed 5th again, rounded the stuck vehicles again. They might have been the
same ones. For once, I hadn't paid attention.

Back on the sidewalk, I resumed my walk another two blocks. I folded the paper six times, so it fit in the palm of my hand. Barely noticed it was there. At
the same time, it felt like it weighed six hundred pounds. I'd always said that the difference between good and evil was a thin line. So thin it almost
didn't exist. I realized at that moment I'd been lying to myself. The gap was great, and I'd straddled it since the age of eighteen. Justification was
easy: what I did was for the good of the country. But accepting the job from the Old Man had dragged me clear to the side I never envisioned being a part
of.

And I didn't think twice.

The bastard deserved to die.

I altered my route to make it look like I was heading back to the apartment. Along the way, I stopped into a Starbucks and kept my back to the counter,
watching the street. One café americano later, I started toward my real destination.

The crowd was thick enough to get lost in. The rise of footsteps, voices, engines, horns, and exhaust choked the air. I barely noticed any of it. One
thought occupied my mind. It drove me forward, four blocks, finally coming to a stop in front of the sunken, split, weathered door that led to a bar.

THE END

Jack Noble's story continues in the
Noble Intentions
saga. Links below!

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