John Miller - The Last Family

Thorne Greer cleared his throat sharply before speaking.

“Do not engage Martin Fletcher one on one under any circumstances. Do not allow him to engage you in conversation. He is a master, and whatever you think of your own skills, remember that he can use anything at hand as a weapon. He has never been seriously hurt, but his adversaries have been-those who lived. Unlike imaginary monsters, however, he is as vulnerable to a lead bullet as any of us.” Thorne said.

Paul scanned the faces of the new agents. For a brief couple of seconds his mind flashed a clear memory of the faces of Hill and Barnett, the two agents who had been standing with him in Miami when the container was opened. He turned away and took a deep breath.

Paul remembered the two dead agents, the wives, the children of Joe Barnett, a Mississippi boy with an accent as thick as a gambler’s flash roll. Jeff Hill’s young wife had sent Paul the flag that had been taken off Jeff’s casket. Paul believed he knew what her message was: You killed those two boys. Did I? Maybe I did. I must have. Else why do they haunt me, wander about in my dreams?

Paul’s mind went back to the Miami office that had been, and still was, the nation’s epicenter of drug activity and the springboard for his promotion to deputy director of the DSF. God, he had been driven in those days. The dealers with their big houses, expensive cars, and women, the glitz and glamour-he had gone after them like a hellhound.

He realized that Thorne had finished his speech pertaining to the technology they would be using in the field. His eye met Woodrow Poole’s, and for a split second he read something disquieting in them.

“I’m sorry. Sometimes I…” He looked around the table. “I’m delighted with the team we have here. I asked for the best and brightest and most enthusiastic agents. There isn’t anything for me to add about Martin. Except one last bit of advice. If you have him identified, shoot to kill. You get a chance during a moment of weakness or vulnerability on his part, use it. I promise you… God will smile.”

The projector clicked, and the next picture on the wall was of a large, awkward-looking woman watering a bush.

“This is the surveillance team’s target in Charlotte, Eve Fletcher. This woman is Martin’s mother and his only known weakness. Learn this face.”

“How could you forget it?” Sierra said.

Laughter.

“Looks like Rod Steiger,” Thorne said. “I met him once.”

“I doubt that she knows where her son is most of the time. She may know where he is at the moment and surely where he will be in the near future, but she will never tell of her own free will, and we are not authorized to beat it out of her.”

Nervous laughter.

“This woman is an emotional anchor for Martin, and whatever has happened, or wherever he is, he contacts her and sees her on or around his birthday. We’re banking on it. The year after he escaped from prison, she made reservations for four separate flights and then flew to Heathrow. She was followed to her hotel but somehow got out of the hotel and disappeared. Interpol picked her up when she surfaced in Madrid four days later. That was how they knew Martin was in Europe. We believe he had reconstructive surgery and no one has a picture of the new Martin Fletcher. Intelligence is that every year they get together. Last year she took a bus tour through Mexico. The surveillance team, a group of professionals, lost her for an afternoon.”

He crushed out a cigarette and lit another.

“This time we will not lose her.” He held up a small plastic box with something that looked like dark nails inside. “These are the latest thing from the technological whiz kids. They are transmitters capable of sending a continuous signal that can be picked up for a range of fifty miles. By utilizing a plane or a helicopter the pickup team can triangulate her whereabouts. Once she lands, we will be able to follow her without having to be on her tail.”

“Do we put them in her pockets?” Stephanie asked.

“We have decided that the most effective place to plant them is in the heels of her shoes. There’s a gun that fires them in so the transmitter head is just below the surface. No matter what else she sheds, she’ll most likely keep her shoes on. She wears custom-made orthopedic shoes.”

“How are we going to get to her shoes?” Stephanie asked.

“Simple. She wears slippers unless she goes out, which is rare. So they’ll be in her closet or under her bed. One in each heel.”

“And how do we get into the closet?” Sierra asked.

“We have that worked out,” Joe said.

Paul took a tennis ball from a small black bag and began squeezing it in his left hand.

“Martin’s birthday, our target date, is October third. That is seven days from today. Now, he may meet her on the first or the fifth. So far, according to intelligence, these yearly visits have all fallen within two days of the third. The one variation was a missed visit six years ago.”

“Did he at least send a card?” a voice asked. There was more nervous laughter from the young agents.

Paul turned his eye on the source of the words. It was the female agent named Sierra. She shifted uncomfortably beneath his frosty gaze.

“McLean’s team is to be in place in Charlotte by seven hundred hours tomorrow. As unlikely as it seems, my sources believe Martin will arrange a rendezvous with her in spite of the murders hanging over his head. His psychological profile targets her as his one compulsion, and she may provide our only shot at isolating or at least identifying him before he strikes.”

Joe McLean stood. “Okay, if Larry Burrows, Stephanie Martin, Sierra Ross, and Walter Davidson will follow me, I’ll finish the briefing down the hall.”

Thorne, Rainey, Sean, and Woodrow sat until the others were gone. Paul leaned against the edge of the table and looked at the two young agents.

“You two were selected specifically for your skills. There will be others in support positions when you get there, but I am charging you to protect the family at any cost. Is that clear?”

They nodded.

Paul opened a file. “Sean, you had the highest score in your self-defense classes-marksmanship was exceptional. Whatever you have to do, you do. Of all the team members you two have the greatest chance of meeting Martin Fletcher face-to-face. Thorne and the two of you are best prepared to handle him. You know what I expect. Stay alert at all times. Rainey, you and Thorne take Sean to get something to eat. I’d like a word with Woodrow about his late arrival.”

Paul waited until the two had left the room. He stepped to the window, turned, and looked at Woodrow.

The agent returned the look. His hands were on the table, the fingers interlocked. “You were pressed on me,” Paul said. “Tod Peoples referred-make that insisted-that I use you.”

“I’m not familiar with anyone named Tod Peoples, sir.”

“No matter. Tod Peoples isn’t your boss on this. You will not report to anyone else while you are on this operation. The success of this operation is your one loyalty. Is that understood?”

“My orders were to that effect, sir.”

“I’m not going to ask what you did or who you did it for before you came here. As of now you are mine alone. There had better not be a hidden agenda.”

“Sir,” Woodrow started, “I’d like to… the truth is that I was asked to join your people because someone felt I’d be useful if it comes down to having to defend your family. I am, by trade and preference, a baby-sitter. It’s what I do. In my immediate group we have never lost a client, though there have been attempts to spoil the record. My word to you is that I will protect your family first and neutralize Mr. Fletcher secondarily only if it doesn’t compromise the family’s security. If I fail, it will be because I am dead. My loyalty to your family is absolute.”