Noble Intentions: Season Four (31 page)

The girl felt hollow in her chest and stomach. Tears began to well in her eyes. She whispered, "I don't know who I am."

Marie reached out, took the girl's hand. Squeezed it.

The girl pulled back and drew her knees to her chest, threading her arms underneath and locking her hands together.

"We'll figure it out," Marie said. "I promise."

The girl studied the woman, her kind eyes, soft smile. She wanted to trust Marie. Wanted to believe her. After all, the nurse was the only person in the
world she knew.

Over the Atlantic.

JARED AKERS DOZED in and out of sleep as the plane cruised at 600 miles per hour at a height greater than 36,000 feet. He wanted to close his eyes and
give in completely. Slip away until they landed. But he had to keep an eye on the little girl.

So far, she had posed little problem. Still in shock, he figured, from witnessing her mother die. His threat to do the same to her, only slower, might've
helped keep her in check as well. And to ensure her cooperation, before leaving for the airport, he'd crushed up and slipped into her drink enough valium
to knock out a three hundred pound man. By the time they checked-in, she was asleep in his arms.

He'd have preferred to leave her behind, but his boss insisted that until they knew Noble was dead, they needed the girl. She would be the ultimate
bargaining chip. Not that it'd matter in the end. Both she and Noble would be dead when it was all said and done.

Akers turned his head and watched her sleep. Most people might feel a pang of guilt, or something similar, in such a moment. Not him. He killed
indiscriminately. Had for more than twenty years. Men, women, children. Made no difference to him. Depending on where he'd been, Jared didn't always need
an order to do so. The way he figured it, things had always been that way. Not everyone he'd worked with over the years agreed with him. Especially during
his time in the Army. But they were party to his misdeeds, so they kept their mouths shut. One man's word against another. Could go either way.

These days, he stuck to his orders. It helped he spent little time if any in some wasteland of a third world country. Being older helped too. The anger he
felt as a younger man had dissipated. Somewhat, at least. But he'd also grown colder than ever. Some might consider him a sociopath. Akers would disagree.
Everything he did was for money. He never broke into someone's home and slaughtered a family. Or stalked some young lady with intent to rape and kill her.
And he never felt bad for the people things like that happened to.

Feeling like he was not going to fall back asleep, Akers checked his email for the next step of his job. All he knew to this point was that his plane was
going to arrive in Boston in a couple hours. He knew of no safe houses in the area, so there had to be another leg of the journey to complete. The first
message he read confirmed it.

Rent a car. Go to New York.

Clear and simple. The way Akers liked it.

Johannesburg, South Africa.

"THIS IS ABSURD," Mason said, confined in the small rental's passenger seat. "We've got no support here. No idea where this guy is. No clue what he's
doing here."

Sasha weaved through traffic on the M1, south through the city. She had no idea what to expect from the traffic patterns. So far, they hadn't seen much.
The motorway was thick with cars, but flowed.

"Sasha," Mason said. "Are you listening to me?"

She nodded, said nothing. Too busy thinking ahead. Keeping her mind occupied while waiting for the next call. The trail on Brett had gone cold. All they
knew was the man had been on a plane bound for Johannesburg. He might've met a connecting flight and already left.

"So?" Mason said.

"What?" She turned her head toward him for a second.

"What's the plan here?"

"Don't have one."

"We're just going to drive around the city in hopes of spotting this guy?"

"Yes. If that's what it takes, then that's what we'll do. You know my people are the best in the business. They'll come through for us."

"They've been working on it for hours now. If they couldn't come up with anything by the time we landed here, what makes you think they will now?"

"He's been silent. That's the only answer that makes sense. But he won't be for long. He'll check in with someone, and then we'll know. We're close, Mason.
I know we are."

They drove another five miles without speaking. They were roughly at the city's center. They would have reached it minutes earlier had they gone west from
the airport, rather than north along the N3, then south on the M1. Sasha estimated another ten to fifteen minutes and they'd reach the south end of the
loop. Where to go then? Stop, perhaps. Make a few calls and see if anything new had been determined. Maybe even attempt to reach out to Jack again. She had
some concern over doing so because of the chance that someone was monitoring his number. It'd be easy for them to determine the origin of the call. They'd
trace the number to her. Most couldn't, but this organization obviously had the ability to skirt security clearances. Once her identity was revealed, the
questions would begin. What is a future MI6 director doing in South Africa? But who would be asking, and who would they ask?

She startled when her phone rang, jerking the car to the left. The motorist in her path hit his brakes and honked. Sasha ignored it and answered the call.

"We picked up a call from his cell, not ten minutes ago."

"Where?"

"Johannesburg, south end of the city, on National 12 southbound."

"Mason," she said.

He turned toward her.

"Locate the N12."

"He's there?"

She nodded and spoke into the phone. "Anything else? Do we know the content of the conversation?"

"All we can get is the signal. We're working on tracking it in real time."

"And how did we get that?"

"It's who he's working with. We've been monitoring Joe Ballard since mid-morning. Once the call was made, we put two and two together."

"Christ," she said, glancing at Mason. "This is going to cause a political shitstorm, isn't it?"

The guy on the other end of the call said nothing. Mason lifted an eyebrow, imploring her to continue.

After she ended the call, Mason said, "Good news?"

"Partly," she said. "He was through here not too long ago. We need to continue south, on 12, and hopefully we'll reach him."

"Hopefully?"

"They don't have his signal live. Yet, at least."

"And the whole political shitstorm comment?"

"Right, they're spying on Taylor's contact back in the States. Take a stab at which agency you think he's in. Frankly, I'm not sure it matters. Whichever
one it is won't appreciate us monitoring them."

"Like they don't do it to us."

She said nothing. Truth was, it happened more routinely than she was willing to admit.

"So we keep driving," Mason said.

Johannesburg, South Africa.

"SHIT." JACK RAPPED his knuckles against the steering wheel as the car rolled to a stop on the side of the freeway. Out of gas, even though the gauge
indicated more than a quarter tank left. He investigated the glove box. Found nothing. Before exiting, he popped the trunk. It rose up a foot and then
settled to rest on the frame. If there was a weapon to be had, it'd be in there.

Outside, the temperature hadn't changed much from earlier that day. The sun sat lower in the sky, though. A quick glance indicated he had maybe two hours
of light left. Exits were frequent along the highway. He'd walk to the next one and figure it out from there. Probably find a place to settle in for the
night. Get a phone and try to reach a contact or two.

At the rear of the vehicle, he lifted the trunk lid. Inside there was nothing. He pulled back the flap. The spare was gone, as were the tools. He cursed
under his breath as he slammed the lid closed, then stepped around the side of the vehicle and began walking along the shoulder.

There weren't many cars this far south of the city. The ones that passed paid little attention. Soon enough, that wouldn't be the case.

The phone in his pocket bounced against his leg with each step. He pulled the device out and stared at it for a moment. His first instinct was to make a
call. Bear, Brandon, Clarissa. It didn't matter. All three would go out of their way to help him. But he didn't dial them. Instead he called Frank.

The man answered immediately. "Jack? That you?"

"You son of a bitch," Jack said.

"Take it easy, man. I had to get you out of the country. Once you mentioned your ex and daughter, I knew there was no way I could talk you out of it."

"Yeah, and what about the guy that tried to kill me a few minutes after I hit the street?"

There was a pause. "Not sure what you're talking about, Jack?"

Jack started to reply. An eighteen-wheeler passed, drowning out his voice.

"Where are you?" Frank asked. "On the side of the road? Are you alone?"

"Doesn't matter," Jack said.

"Look, Jack, we need to figure out what's going on here. You were supposed to be left with my contact, a man named Jorge, north of the city."

"I woke up in the damn maintenance room of some slum building. Old guy sitting outside the door, paid off and told to wait for me. Handed me some clothes
and a phone. This phone that I'm calling you on."

"That's not right. None of that is right. You're supposed to be with Jorge. Jesus, Jack. Look, don't move. I need to make some calls. Stand by on that line
for a minute."

Just enough static hummed through the line to let Jack know the call remained connected.

"WHERE THE HELL did he go?" Brett stared at his cell's screen, the map zoomed out, no sign of Jack anywhere. The dot was there the last time he checked.
Now it was gone.

Glancing back, he whipped the wheel to the side and pulled onto the emergency shoulder. It had to be a mistake. A malfunction of the software. In which
case, it would return, so sitting on the side of the freeway was no way to deal with the situation. He had an idea of Jack's last location. If something
had happened, say an accident, he'd find Noble there. After a few moments of scrolling through the map, Brett re-centered his position and merged into
traffic.

JACK'S CONCERN GREW with every second that passed. What was taking so long? All the guy had to do was find someone to meet Jack, then give him the
address. He could take it from there. Somehow. It wouldn't be easy, so far out of town, no money for a cab. There were other ways, though. He'd already
stolen one car today. How much more damage could he do by taking another?

First, he had to get off the highway. Eventually someone would pull over to help. Worse, that someone could end up being a cop. They'd run the tag, find
the car reported stolen, and then it'd be over. Assault. Robbery. Whatever else they could throw on top of it.

"C'mon, Frank," Jack shouted into the phone.

Frank didn't respond.

"Screw this," Jack muttered as he ended the call. The next exit wasn't in sight, and the previous one was at least five miles behind him. He decided to
take his chances moving forward.

BRETT SPENT THE better portion of the drive glancing at his phone, hoping the tracking beacon would come back. He tried to tell himself it hadn't been a
mistake coming to South Africa. But making the journey and coming up empty handed wouldn't sit well. Time was limited. Once it was up, it was his head
that'd be served to the government.

A small car parked on the shoulder drew his attention. He hadn't noticed, but that was something he hadn't seen thus far on the freeway.

"You don't believe in signs," he reminded himself.

But glancing down at his phone, he realized the tracking signal had returned, was moving slowly, and was less than a mile away.

AFTER CLOSE TO a mile, there was no exit in sight. Perhaps something better, though. Jack hopped the guardrail and descended the grassy slope to the
narrow lane below. The freeway passed right over it, but offered no ramp for exiting or entering. There was a chance that the man from the alley was still
in pursuit. Maybe the guy had made the right choices and ended up on 12, like Jack had. If so, he wasn't that far behind. This bought him some time. Maybe
an hour. Maybe a day. But now he had a chance to get a new phone, a ride or a vehicle, and to get in contact with someone that could help.

So he passed underneath the interstate and continued south, walking along the grass, next to the trees.

"ALL RIGHT, JACK," Frank said. "Here's what I want you to do and where I want you to go. From there, we'll get you back here, with me, until this is
finished."

He waited for a response, but didn't get one.

"Jack? You there?"

Complete silence. Jack had ended the call.

"Dammit."

BRETT SLOWED AND pulled over on the side of the overpass. There was a road below, and the tracking beacon indicated Jack was on it. But there was no
method of accessing the street from the freeway. And guardrails lined the shoulder, meaning he couldn't pull off and try to descend the hill.

So how had Jack done it?

Easy, he thought. That was his car back there. He'd hiked to this point and took the opportunity. Brett had him, though. Once again, he zoomed out and
traced the freeway to the next exit, attempting to connect a path of country roads from a spot five miles ahead to the road below him.

There wasn't one.

And the signal could go out at any moment. As it was now, Jack was only a half-mile away. It'd be easy to figure out his pace, and then all Brett had to do
was travel a little faster.

So he ditched the vehicle and went over the side, down the hill, and set off in the same direction in pursuit of Jack. It was the closest he'd been yet,
and he had no intention of failing now.

Unknown Location.