Noble Intentions: Season Four (41 page)

"So do we do this here?" Paolo asked.

"No," Beck said. "We're bringing you back to D.C. They can conduct their interviews at our facility. We'll control every aspect of this until you go into
the program."

"Program?"

Clarissa said, "Witness protection."

Paolo lowered his head and shook it. "Never thought I'd be a snitch. I mean, I know he's a bad man. Guess I'm really not much better, though."

Beck said, "I'd be happy to let you back on the streets after this is all over. If you feel like you need some kind of punishment, they'll dole it out."

"Just get my sister out of there."

"Don't worry," Clarissa said. "We're gonna hit them hard."

"The tunnels," Paolo said. "That's the only safe way."

"It's compromised, Paolo," Beck said. "You had a guy waiting. When you didn't show, you can bet he grew suspicious. Wouldn't doubt if he's already started
asking questions."

Clarissa left Beck to finish up. She headed out into the hall where the FBI agents were waiting.

"Where'd Harris go?" she asked.

Shelton gestured toward the elevator. "He got a call and split. Guess homicide never rests."

"Do me a favor," she said. "See what dirt you can dig up on that guy."

"Don't trust him?" Howell said.

"I don't trust you guys," she said, smiling. "He creeps me the hell out. I can smell a rat from a mile away, and guys, let me tell you, Harris stinks."

Neither man said anything. They both stared toward the elevator. She could see them thinking over the channels they would utilize to research Harris's
background. Where he lived. The kind of car he drove. What his wife did. Where the kids went to school. Who he hung out with. Financial records would be
scrutinized. If the guy was on the take, they'd figure it out. Quick.

"Anyway, that aside, we'll see you guys back in D.C. You can have at Paolo there."

"Ah, what the hell?" Shelton said. "We've been waiting all day. That's bullshit, and you know it."

Clarissa shrugged. "Take it up with my boss."

HARRIS DUCKED INTO the deserted alley. He stayed in the shadows, watching the entrance. Five minutes passed. He hadn't been tailed. He pulled out his
cell and placed a call. The man answered with a gruff greeting.

"You're in it deep," Harris said.

"Why's that? And why are you telling me this over the phone?" Charles said.

"Because you're running out of time."

"What the hell is this about?"

"They got your guy, Paolo. And he's rolling over on you, man."

"What'd he say?"

"They kicked me out for that. But as long as they had him in there, it can't be good."

"Where're they keeping him?"

"In Manhattan right now, but that won't last."

"Well then why don't you call me back once you know where he is and we'll take care of this."

Harris shoved his phone in his pocket and entered the flow of pedestrians, unaware that at the moment, the FBI had begun an investigation that would turn
his life upside down.

Washington, D.C.

JACK HAD SLEPT for seven hours. Even the sunrise hadn't been enough to wake him. He studied the highway signs and noted that they'd reached the northern
Virginia suburbs.

"Coffee," Jack said.

Brett pointed at an upcoming exit. "We'll get off here."

Five minutes later they were seated inside an IHOP.

"Can finally get some pancakes," Jack muttered.

"What?" Brett said.

Jack shook his head.

The waitress dropped off the coffee and took their orders. They each downed two cups without saying much. It was too busy to discuss what they had planned
for the day.

After eating, they gassed the car, then got back on the highway.

"He lives in D.C.," Brett said. "That's what my contact tells me at least."

"You trust them?"

"Of course. Wouldn't have called them otherwise."

"Mention me?"

Brett nodded. "Don't worry. They're so buried in this that if they tell, they'll be marked for termination."

What's done was done, so it didn't really matter. Jack would exercise extra caution. Nothing new.

"We can't get to him during the day," Brett said.

"Langley?" Jack asked, referring to the CIA headquarters.

Brett nodded.

"Live in the city?" Jack asked.

"No, out here. We're heading there now. Figure it makes sense to set up inside his house and wait. That way we can get to him the moment he gets home."

Jack had no argument. He sat back and watched the exits as they passed. Studied the faces of those in other cars. Watched the vehicles behind them in
search of a tail. He saw a few candidates behind them. There always were. But after a few minutes of monitoring, they all checked out.

"You can relax," Brett said. "This is a rental. No one knows where we are."

"Sure about that? What about your phone?"

"Nobody knows about it."

"You made a call to your contact?"

"From a throwaway device. And I've already discarded it in pieces."

Brett had all bases covered. Jack felt somewhat at ease. He wasn't in control, which bothered him. But sometimes that's how things went. Go with it, he
told himself.

Twenty minutes passed. They exited in Alexandria, Virginia. Jack had spent considerable time in the area years ago. It had changed a lot since then. And in
some ways, not at all. It'd just been added to. He doubted it improved anything. Made it all more crowded and congested.

Brett turned into a suburb of modest two story homes with well-kept landscapes. It was the kind of place Jack could never envision himself living. The
upkeep. Tied to the restrictions set forth by some HOA. Not the kind of life he wanted.

Then a thought crossed his mind. He blurted it out to Brett.

"Kids and a family?"

Brett glanced at the houses on both sides of the street. He took a moment to respond. "Not that I'm aware of. Would that be a problem?"

Jack shrugged. "Depends on what you plan to do with them."

"Take away their phones and stick them in the bathroom, I suppose."

"They'll see us."

"There's ways around that."

"Good enough."

They continued on. Brett drove the whole of the neighborhood. There were two exits, and a park that backed up to a heavily wooded area. Worst case, if they
had to make a run for it, that would provide some cover.

They circled back to Ballard's home. Brett drove past, made the first right turn and parked the car out of sight of the other road. They exited and walked
to Ballard's.

Jack checked the door. Locked.

Brett pulled tools from his pocket. Took him under fifteen seconds to pick the lock.

"Sorry," he said. "Bit rusty. Not much thieving in my work these days."

Stepping into the foyer, Jack noticed the problem right away. Apparently Brett did too.

"Someone's been here," Brett said in a hushed tone.

Jack nodded. He already had his pistol out and aimed down the hall.

They traveled together, with Brett covering their flank. Every sound presented a potential threat, though most could be attributed to the noises a house
makes.

They reached the great room. The couch lay on its back. A table was flipped over. The television was shattered.

Jack pointed to the kitchen. A long island was the only thing separating it from where they stood. He gestured for Brett to go left, and he took the right.

The two men timed their movements in tune with each other and crouched as they approached the island. Each burst around the corner at the same time. They
leveled their pistols at one another.

But they both stared at the floor.

At the corpse of Joe Ballard.

"Shit," Brett said.

"Looks like someone beat us to it," Jack said.

"We need to clear the house." Brett rose and started toward the stairs. "Stay down here."

Jack remained with Ballard while Brett headed upstairs.

"What did you do?" Jack said, not expecting a response.

The man had to have screwed up to end up dead. There was no doubt it was an agency job. He glanced around at the destruction in the other room. Then he
looked at the kitchen. The fight had stopped at the island, yet the shot was obviously close range. He saw the scorch marks on the guy's forehead. Ballard
had taken the bullet point blank.

"Upstairs is clear," Brett said as he descended the staircase.

"Come look at this and tell me what you see," Jack said.

"Well," Brett said as he stepped around the far end of the island. "I see a dead guy." He knelt and looked at Ballard's head. "Close range. Muzzle blast
got him."

"And?"

Ballard rose. He looked at the kitchen. Then the living room. Down at Jack, then around the kitchen.

"No signs of struggle in here," Brett said.

"That's right," Jack said.

"It's like someone walked right up to him, maybe waited for him to turn around, and fired. He wasn't expecting it. Christ, he hadn't finished dressing yet.
Probably in here, getting ready to make coffee and breakfast, when someone shows up at his door. He lets them in. They're talking. Then wham, he's dead."

Jack said, "And then they trash the place to make it look like a struggle. A break in, perhaps."

"Plausible."

Jack checked Ballard's pockets. Found his cell phone and wallet, which upon investigation he found had been emptied. But the phone, leaving that behind had
been a mistake.

"Why?" Jack said.

"As far as I know, I was the only one he was working with on this. Now, whether he was running other ops, I'm not sure. I can't imagine that he was."

"That'd be too much for one man. Did he have a team?"

"Never said."

"Partner?"

"A handler? Doubtful."

"And you're sure he never worked in the field?"

Brett glanced down. "Look at him, Jack. Would you or I end up dead this way?"

"Good point."

Brett nodded, said nothing.

"So that leaves one option."

"What's that?"

"They know I'm alive. They think he lied to them. Didn't even question the guy about it. Simple execution."

"Tough group."

Jack nodded. "Sure is. So let's do our best to keep off their radar."

"Obviously a bit late for that." Brett paused a beat. "He had the answers. He knows how this all originated. Now we've got nothing. No leads."

"I've got his phone. Look for his laptop and anything else he might've used for work. Let's hurry. Someone could be watching. We need to get the hell out
of here."

Nevers, France.

THE TREE PROVIDED little relief from the rain. Bear didn't care. He was a block away from the address the woman had given him. It easily could have been
a trap. Every fiber of his being told him to stay away. Going there would only result in his death.

But it had happened so quickly. And the tension in her voice, the frustration, the fear. It sounded real. As though the woman attempted to wash her hands
of all that had happened by offering Mandy to him.

A peace offering.

Take your girl and get out of our country for good.

And while he planned on doing so, his thoughts kept turning to Kat. What had they done with her? He presumed they had killed her prior to setting the stage
for Pierre's death.

What a plan, he thought. Bring the man back on board after haunting him for months. But make it a concession on his part, that way he'd revel in his power
a bit more. Even hook him up with his old team. That had been one of the few morsels Pierre had fed him on their drive.

His old second in command, Laure Desault, a woman Bear had met years earlier, had stepped down and allowed Pierre to resume control of his old team. Not
even the position he'd had when he left the agency.

Bear already had her address. And after he had Mandy in a safe location, he was going after Laure. She set it all up. She'd told him where to find Mandy.
She would know Kat's location.

He slowed his breathing, cleared his head, and waited in the rain for another hour. Behind the dark clouds, the sun slipped deep to the west. Streetlights
clicked on. The falling rain distorted the lampposts cones of light.

In the hours he'd been watching, Bear had seen kids enter the home. A woman left. Then returned. There were no threats on the street. No faces lingered
longer than a few minutes. No strange cars parked nearby. The rooftops were clear.

Sticking to the shadows, he made his move. He hadn't thought about what he'd say when they opened the door. Or what he'd say to his girl.

My girl.

He smiled at the thought. Time passed quickly. She was growing up, and would soon set out on her own. From here on, he was not going to put her in the
position to become part of such a situation again.

"One last time," he muttered as he stared up at the rainclouds. "Cut me a break this one last time."

He stopped short of the landing. Leaned back against the exterior and watched the street and sidewalk again for five minutes. Comfortable all was well,
Bear resumed the walk. He only had a few feet to go.

Bear hopped up the steps to the landing. He rapped on the door with his thick knuckles.

A boy who looked like he'd used his face to attack a two by four answered.

"Your parents home?" Bear said in French.

The boy nodded and ran off. A moment later, a woman who looked to be in her early fifties approached with caution. Bear was used to it.

"I'm looking for my daughter."

The woman shrugged.

"Her name is Mandy."

The woman shook her head.

Bear pulled out a picture. The woman glanced at it and then looked up at him, eyes narrowed.

"She was here. That boy who answered, she did that to him. Then the little wench fled."

"Mandy did that?"

The woman did not respond.

"He must've deserved it then."

"And another thing, she had no name when she came here. Knew nothing about herself. We started calling her-"