Beverly Barton - Murdock's Last Stand

With the check paid and the last round of beers drunk, the agents began milling around the room, shaking hands and saying their good-nights. Murdock enjoyed a social occasion from time to time, but usually he preferred the solitude of his loft apartment in an old renovated building. Sometimes Cassidy would drop by for a game of pool or several of the guys would come over for poker, but the rest of his free nights, Murdock spent alone. He liked to read, a passion of his since childhood. And sometimes, when he had the urge, he’d find himself a willing woman. One who didn’t mind that he’d leave afterward, long before daylight, and probably wouldn’t call her for a second date.

As they headed out the door, Murdock laid his hand on Cassidy’s back. “I hear you got stuck with teaching the ropes to the new Dundee recruits.”

“Yeah, I drew the short straw.”

Cassidy grinned, something Murdock had seldom seen the man do in all the years he’d known him. Cassidy was a somber man, with some sort of demon chasing him.

“You on for pool tonight?” Murdock asked.

“Not tonight,” Cassidy replied, the smile still in place. “I have all-night plans with a lady.”

“A lady, huh? Well, be careful, Bubba. Ladies are the most dangerous kind of female known to man.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“A gentleman never gets kicked where it hurts and tells.” Murdock slapped Cassidy on the back as the two men chuckled.

The cool autumn air hit Murdock the minute he stepped out onto the Atlanta street. He threw up his hand to wave goodbye to Cassidy and the others, then headed for his Camaro.

The drive home to Locklin Street took less than fifteen minutes. He parked the Z28 in the tenants’ garage that took up the entire ground level of the old building. Besides his loft apartment, there were four other apartments below him, two each on the second and third floors. Using the service elevator, which none of the other residents used, Murdock headed upward. The moment he emerged from the elevator, a sense of unease hit him square in the gut. He lifted his jacket back over the hip holster and unbuckled the flap. He hadn’t lived forty-six years, most of it in life-threatening situations, without acquiring a keen instinct for danger.

“No need to draw your weapon,” the familiar voice said.

Recognizing the voice, Murdock released a tightly in-drawn breath and turned to face his former CIA contact. “What the hell are you doing here, Burdett?”

After glancing around at the darkened corridor, Burdett nodded toward the door of Murdock’s apartment. “I just drove over from Huntington, Tennessee, and I’ve been waiting for you here nearly an hour. Before we talk, I need to see a man about a dog and then I wouldn’t object to a drink or two.”

Murdock chuckled as he unlocked the door and ushered Burdett inside the open expanse of his private domain. After flipping a light switch that controlled the recessed wall fixtures and illuminating the huge living room, he locked the door behind them.

“Bathroom’s through those double louvered doors.” Murdock used his thumb to point the direction. “Jack Daniel’s is all I’m drinking these days.”

“Fine with me. Make mine neat.”

While he prepared the drinks and waited for Burdett to emerge from the john, Murdock wondered why a CIA Deputy Director was paying him a nighttime visit. He hadn’t seen or heard from Rick Burdett in nearly two years.

When Burdett came out of the bathroom, he glanced around the apartment, his gaze taking leisurely note of everything from floor to ceiling. “Don’t tell me you decorated this place yourself.”

“All right, I won’t tell you.” Murdock handed Burdett his whiskey. “So, are you going to tell me what you’re doing here or are we going to play nice-nice all night?”

Burdett took a sip of the liquor, then without invitation, sat on the tan leather sofa that rested on the wooden floor, squarely in the middle of the large room.

“Lanny McCroskey is alive.”

“What?” Murdock felt as if he’d been hit on the head with a sledgehammer.

“Lanny didn’t die twenty years ago the way we thought he did, the way you said he did.” Burdett took another sip of whiskey. “We figure he was wounded. Hurt pretty bad. But he lived, God bless his damned soul. He’s spent the past twenty years in a Zarazaian prison.”

“How do you know? Hell, don’t answer that! Just tell me if you’re sure. One hundred percent sure.”

Rick Burdett pulled a photograph from his coat pocket and handed it to Murdock. “This was taken less than a week ago.”

Murdock studied the snapshot of a skinny, old, gray-haired man. If not for the eyes, he wouldn’t have recognized his former sergeant. “God! He’d have been better off if he’d died.”

“Have you been keeping up with the latest news on the Zarazaian civil war?”

“Yeah. I know Juan Sabino’s kid has taken over where his old man left off and he’s whipping Ramos’s ass.”

“Ramos is preparing for the worst and he wants to make sure that if he has to abdicate his position, he can take as much money with him as possible. He’s asking $100,000 in exchange for Lanny.”

“Jeez!” A hundred thousand was a lot, but by cashing in some bonds, emptying his savings and, if necessary, selling his new Camaro, he could scrape up the cash. “I can get my hands on that much, but it could take me several days.”

“Lanny’s daughter has the cash and she’s willing to pay for his release.”

“Lanny’s daughter?” Murdock frowned, remembering. “Oh, yeah. He talked about her all the time. Her and her mother. He really cared about his ex-wife and about his kid, too. So, the girl’s all right, huh, if she’s willing to help—”

“Catherine Price is no girl,” Burdett said. “She’s thirty-six, a widow and was reluctant at first to even talk to me about her father.”

“Thirty-six. Damn. Guess I still thought of her as a young girl.”

“Here’s the deal,” Burdett said, as if he didn’t want to waste any more time. “Ramos is demanding the money in cash.”

Murdock let out a long, low whistle. “That’s a lot of money for one of your men to carry around in a briefcase all the way to Zaraza.”

“There’s a bigger problem. One of my men won’t be taking the money. Catherine Price will be.”

“Why the blue blazes would you—”

“Ramos’s stipulation. He’s demanded Lanny’s daughter bring it herself. For each prisoner, Ramos has asked that a specific family member bring the ransom money. He’s a wily old fox trying to cover his ass by not getting any governments directly involved in the exchange.” Burdett paused momentarily, but when Murdock didn’t respond, he continued. “I told Ms. Price that you would accompany her to San Carlos for the exchange. She’ll arrive tomorrow evening, escorted by one of our agents, who will turn her and the hundred thousand over to you.”

“I don’t like it. Taking Lanny’s daughter into that cesspool. The last thing he’d want would be for that girl of his to put her life in danger to save him.”

“She’s going to Zaraza to get her father out of prison. She’s the type of woman who’s doing this because it’s the honorable thing to do, not because she loves Lanny. But regardless of her motivation, she needs a bodyguard. I was sure you’d want to be her protector.”

“What time does her flight arrive?”

“Five-thirty.” After finishing off his whiskey, Burdett set the glass on a brown marble coaster that rested on the big, square, oak coffee table. “You two will fly straight to Peru day after tomorrow. Arrangements have been made to then take you and Ms. Price, by private plane, directly into San Carlos. One of our contacts will meet you at the airport down there.”