Noble Intent by William Miller

Author:William Miller [Miller, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Literary Rebel, LLC
Published: 2018-02-24T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Forty-Three

Noble was behind the wheel of a black Peugeot, headed south. The sun was poking through a blanket of scattered clouds, throwing patchwork shadows on the narrow lanes of Vesoul. Sam was in the passenger seat, a pageboy cap pulled low on her head. She checked the mirrors then crowded forward over the dash and peered up into the sky.

“Relax,” Noble told her. “We lost ‘em. For now.”

They had ditched the Nissan inside the tunnel and carjacked a young woman with a yappy poodle, who was more concerned about the puppy than the car. Noble didn’t even have to threaten her. She got out, begging him not to hurt her baby. The dog had curled its lips back and issued a growl, more comical than scary, from the depths of its tiny body. Sam apologized profusely as she jogged around the front bumper and climbed in the passenger side while her friend piled in the backseat. Noble handed over the keys to the stolen Nissan, got behind the wheel of the Peugeot and shifted into gear.

Now, with the threat of drones behind them, Sam pulled the cap off, closed her eyes and breathed. Her friend splayed across the backseat, sucking on an inhaler. The acrid stench of burning plastic clung to their clothes.

“Tough night?” Noble asked.

Sam turned in her seat to face him, opened her mouth to speak, and threw her arms around him instead. He fought to control the vehicle. He had been dreaming of this moment ever since Hong Kong. Now Sam was wrapped around him and he couldn’t even stop to enjoy it. A smile forced its way onto his face. He wanted to tell her how much he had missed her. Instead, he patted her shoulder with one hand and said, “Okay, don’t crash us.”

“It’s really you,” Sam spoke into his chest. “You’re really here.”

“It’s me,” Noble assured her.

She eased up on her strangle hold. “How did you know?”

Noble chewed the inside of one cheek while he thought about how to answer.

Her hands slipped away. All the happiness drained out of her face, replaced by a tightness around her eyes and mouth. She said, “You’re here to bring us in?”

“Yeah.” Admitting it felt slimy, like wading through ankle-deep sewage.

The guy in the backseat cranked himself into an upright position and took the inhaler away from his mouth. “What?”

Sam’s face went through a confusing tangle of emotions. Pearly tears gathered in the corners of her dark eyes. The sight drove a railroad spike right through Noble’s heart.

“What’s going on?” the pudgy Frenchman with the white hair asked.

Noble aimed his comment at Sam, “Armstrong sent me.”

Sam screwed her eyes shut and raked a hand through her hair.

The Frenchman said, “Are you turning us over to the CIA?”

Noble’s grip on the wheel tightened. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re working for Armstrong,” Sam said.

“I don’t work for anybody,” Noble said, “but Armstrong sent me.”

“Then why are you here?” Sam wanted to know.

“I’m here to figure out what’s going on, Sam.

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