“You will be mourned as a fallen hero, Rock,” Collins ignored Jack’s words once again. “You should take some comfort in that.”
“You seem to have it all worked out, Baker,” Jack said, rising to his feet to face his mentor one last time. “Thanks for letting me pay my respects to Sara. Now let me pay mine to you.”
Jack spat in Baker’s face. The older man stepped back in shock, stunned by what had just happened. Then his face screwed up in furious anger, his eyes blazing with the hate that had consumed his soul years before.
Collins turned away from Jack, whipping off his hat from his head and wiping off the spittle from his face with the sleeve of his coat, then did nothing more. Jack simply stood there, waiting silently.
After several long moments, with neither man having moved or spoken another word between then, Collins cast an uncertain look toward a towering oak tree off in the distance. With his hat in his hand he swiped his coat sleeve across his face once more, and still nothing happened. Turning to directly face the tree, Collins repeated the movement a third time.
“He won't be able to help you, Baker,” Jack said sadly from behind Collins as a loud popping sound carried from the tree, followed by a puff of smoke, and a man’s body tumbling out. The body stopped its fall toward the ground when the rope tied around its neck snapped tight. “I'm afraid he got hung up.”
Collins stared in shock at the body as it swung gently back and forth.
“He was already dead before he dropped out of the tree,” Jack explained, “if that even matters to you anymore. I wasn't sure if you were a part of the conspiracy until I found him waiting in that tree with orders to kill me if you gave that signal. You had a chance to walk away from this with a clean slate.
“The only reason why you would show up here today,” Jack exhaled, feeling old and tired, “is if you had passed on the information about the flight and needed to make sure I would never tell anyone of your involvement.”
Baker gave no reply, frozen in place as he stared at the morbid sight.
“I had to know, Baker. I had to know if you were so far gone that you would order my death personally.”
“Damn you, Jack, I'll...” Collins suddenly snarled, drawing his weapon as he savagely turned back toward Jack.
But Collins’ halted the motion, his gun nowhere near its intended target, as he saw Jack standing in front of him. The remote trigger that Jack had used to drop the body out of the tree tumbled out of his left hand. His left moved up to join his right, which held Jack’s own gun, leveled right at Collins’ heart.
For the briefest moment, there was shock in Collins’ eyes. Shock and regret that they had come to this point. Then the rage and anger returned in full force and Collins’ gun resumed swinging toward Jack.
Jack fired once. Collins never got off a shot.
Collins staggered back a few steps, the shot having struck his heart, and pitched back into the empty grave. Jack stepped up to the grave and looked down at his dead friend. Gathering up his gun by the trigger, he tossed it into the grave, and a moment later, tossed in his gun, too. He pulled out his FBI ID and gave it a long, hard look.
“Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity,” he recited. “When did you forget what those words meant, Baker?”
Jack tossed in the ID, which landed right on top of the bullet hole in Collins' chest. Jack reached over to grab the shovel left behind by the diggers, scooped up some dirt and tossed it on top of Baker. He tossed aside the shovel and stepped back to Sara's grave.
“Good-bye, Sara,” he whispered. “I hope you can forgive me for not being there when you needed me most.”
A dark delivery van pulled up to the oak tree and several men in suits swarmed out to cut loose the assassin’s body. Loading it up along with any evidence of its having ever been there at all, the van quickly departed.
A match to that van pulled up behind Collins’ sedan, Jack walked over to it as several more dark suited men, all Secret Service agents, emptied out of the back. A black limousine pulled up nearby. Doyle got out and opened the door for Arthur. The two men walked toward Jack as the other agents quickly collected Collins and the items Jack had tossed in from the grave and loaded them up into the van. The damage around the grave and the platform was quickly dealt with while one agent got into Collins’ sedan and drove away.
As soon as the other agents had finished their work, they got back into the van and it quickly sped away, leaving Jack alone with Doyle and Arthur. A mere matter of five minutes from death to disappearance.
Jack removed a concealed microphone from his coat and handed it to Doyle.
“We heard it all,” Arthur said sadly. “What a terrible waste. Are you sure you still want to leave? We could use your help rounding up the rest.”
“I appreciate the offer, sir,” Jack replied. “But now that we’ve cut off the head of the snake, and with Liposey being cooperative, you won't have much trouble getting the rest of them. Conspiracies are like that, sir. They are dangerous while they're secret, but once you drag them out into the light, they lose a lot of their power.”
“Well, I can't say as I blame you,” Arthur replied. “But if you ever want to come in from the cold, give me a call. By the way, I spoke to the Queen this morning, she was quiet relieved to discover that you are still alive. She asked me to relay her offer for you to come to England where they can offer you safe haven. You really made an impression on the Royals, Sir John.”
“Apparently,” Jack said dryly, his mouth quirking in a slight smile as he considered the interesting twists in life that had a U.S. President playing messenger boy to a “dead” FBI agent. “When you speak to her next, please thank her for her offer, but I already have a destination in mind.”
“A simple thank you doesn't seem to be enough for all you've done,” Arthur said, giving an understanding nod as he extended his hand to Jack. “And yet, that's all I can think of to say, except to bid you goodbye and to pray that God will be with you.”
Jack shook Arthur’s hand then turned to say goodbye to Doyle.
“You’re still an arrogant pain in the ass, Del Rio,” Doyle said, extending his own hand out with a smile, “but I damned glad you were on our side. It’s been an honor, Jack.”
Jack shook Doyle’s hand and withdrew without saying a word, walking off toward the old grey tombstones off in the distance. The President and Doyle watched him go until he disappeared among them.
“All right, Jeremy,” Arthur said after losing sight of Jack, “let's get back to work. We've got a country to put back together.”
Jack made his way through the cemetery until he came upon an old El Camino parked on one of the paths. He’d bought the car less than an hour before arriving at the cemetery that morning, paying a few extra hundred to its previous owner to compensate for the early hour.
He’d spent the night making arrangements for his disappearance, taking advantage of the Bureau’s well-oiled machine of creating deep backgrounds for its undercover agents. In less than two hours, he had left the Hoover building in possession of a new Arizona driver’s license, social security card, birth certificate, and passport.
All would withstand the most thorough scrutiny and help him start a brand new life with no one ever catching on to who he’d been before. At least, with any luck, he’d be able to pull it off.
His bank account that he used for his pay checks, along with his apartment, were lost to him. He’d have to stop by the bank and figure out how to retrieve the items from his safety deposit box without tipping anyone off that he was alive. It would be tricky, but doable. The medal from England and the necklace from New Mexico were two things he wasn’t going to lose without a fight. The rest would be probated and, when no living relatives were found, and seeing as how he’d never made a will, eventually the proceeds would go to the state.
But money would not be a problem. His father had set up trust accounts for both he and Steve and neither had never needed to touch them. Transferring the
funds to new accounts that he could access under his new identity without leaving a trace was child’s play.
As Jack slipped behind the wheel of the vehicle, he realized that it had been over a full day since he’d slept. He’d be able to make it a few more hours, but once he gotten a good distance away he’d stop and sleep.
After starting the engine, Jack pulled out a disc from the small bag he’d packed and left in the car and placed it in the player in the dashboard. It was a recording of several of Sara’s performances at The Lavender.
After a few seconds, a piano began to play and Sara's voice began singing "Sentimental Reasons". Jack closed his eyes, seeing all that he had lost and picturing what might have been. After a few bars of the song had played, Jack opened his eyes, put the car in gear and, without looking back, drove away.
Winding his way through the old cemetery toward one of the four exits and feeling as wore out as he ever had, Jack very nearly didn’t realize that there was someone standing in the road ahead until it was nearly too late.
Karpov had suddenly stepped out from behind one of the small mausoleums and directly into the path of Jack’s car. Shouting an expletive, Jack slammed on the brakes, skidding to a halt only a foot or two short of the old Russian.
Karpov calmly stood in front of the car, waiting with a smirking smile on his face, as Jack gave him a dirty look for scaring ten years off of his life. Shutting off the engine Jack opened the door and stepped out of the car.
Staying behind the open door, as if he intended on getting back in to the car and getting out of the cemetery as quickly as possible, Jack addressed Karpov, “I thought you were dead.”
“I got better,” Karpov cracked. “It turns out you had a counterpart in my homeland. He was able to deal with our part of the problem sufficiently. Although I must say, his solution lacked your dramatic flair. It was a most interesting endgame indeed, my friend. I must confess, I didn't think you capable of it.”
“Thanks,” Jack said dryly, “I think. So tell me, how did my counterpart solve the problem?”
“Oh,” Karpov said, stepping around from the front of the car, “he gathered up a small group of his most trusted comrades, explained the situation to them and had all of those that he suspected of being involved in the conspiracy placed under arrest.”
“And then?” Jack asked, pretty certain he already knew the answer.
“Eventually, he made them see the errors of their way…” Karpov answered, matching Jack’s dry tone.
“You mean he arrested them without cause,” Jack interpreted, “and then beat the required information out of them.”
“…and they confessed their sins,” Karpov finished the sentence as if Jack hadn’t spoken. “He's been quite busy rounding up the rest. But he still found the time to send a few of his men over to give me a hand. Clever boy. Freedom has its uses but it is nice to use the old ways every once in a while. You should meet him sometime, he's going to go far, that grandson of mine.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Jack said, smiling a little though his heart really wasn’t in it. “Listen, can I give you a lift somewhere?”
“No, my friend,” Karpov replied. “I just wanted to see you before you left. I assume you're going to disappear for good?”
“Permanently, if I do it right.”
“I thought so,” Karpov said. “Tell me, before you go, how did you know to shoot Paxton and not Arthur?”
“Who says that I wasn't trying to shoot the President and missed?” Jack replied, his expression perfectly blank.
“Were you?” Karpov asked, surprised. He broke out in a hearty laugh when Jack held his poker face and said nothing for several seconds. “As I said, Ivanovich, a truly unique endgame.”
“They had destroyed everything I loved,” Jack said finally. “As far as I knew, I was the only one left to stop them. I didn't seem to have anything or anyone left to lose.”
Jack was surprised when a sly smile suddenly spread over Karpov’s face. “You are not quite as alone as you think,” Karpov said mysteriously, beckoning for someone to join them from behind the mausoleum.
A woman about the same age as Karpov stepped out and walked toward Jack, a warm smile on her face. It was a face he knew well even though it had been years since he seen it last. It was a face of a woman who he’d thought was dead.
“Hello, Jackie,” his grandmother Mary said as she placed a hand on her grandson’s cheek.
“Grans,” he replied, addressing her with the nickname he and Steve had called her by for years. “But how? I was at your funeral.”
“I know, child,” she replied. “Your grandfather and I thought it best if we were thought to be dead so that your parents and you boys might never be troubled by those we thought we’d left behind, so we faked our deaths and started new lives in France. As each year passed and nothing happened, we thought we had gotten away with it.”
“But when Mom and Dad died, why didn’t you come back?” His eyes pleaded.
“Your grandfather was too ill to travel,” she explained. “He died two years later. And there was no way for me to come back without insuring that they would turn their attention toward you and Steven. Trust me, if I had known the truth about your parents’ death, I would have come back.”
“She is taking a huge risk being here as it is,” Karpov said sternly. “I intend on getting her back to France and to the safety of anonymity as soon as possible.”
“I wanted to see you one last time, Jackie,” she said. “To say I’m sorry and to say goodbye properly this time. To let you know you are not alone.”
“I’m glad you came,” Jack said, feeling some of the weight lift from his heart. “I really am.”
“I will set up a way for you to communicate safely,” Karpov said. “Of course, you could come with us, Jack. I could use a man like you.”
“I thought you already had one,” Jack quipped. “Thank you for the offer, but no. I have a place in mind already…Somewhere away from the storm,” Jack thought back a few months to a conversation that had taken place between him and an old Native American who’d been something of a prophet.
“It is I who should be thanking you,” Karpov said. “I suspect we all should be thanking you for a long time to come. I do wish you would reconsider my offer to come to Russia or perhaps France.”
“I think I'll pass.” The corner of Jack’s eyes crinkled. “Besides, I never could acquire a taste for Vodka.”
“I had feared as much,” Karpov said, extending his hand. “I think my father would have been proud to see what his progeny had grown to become. As I am proud to call you a fellow son of my father. Das va dana, my brother.”
“Until we meet again,” Jack repeated the Russian farewell in English as he shook Karpov’s hand.
Karpov stepped away to allow Jack to say goodbye to his recently re-found grandmother.
“It seems unfair to have to part ways again so quickly,” she said past the tears, stepping up to hug her grandson.
“It does,” Jack agreed, returning the embrace. “But we’ll find a way to stay in touch, I promise. And I’ll make a trip to France soon, when it’s safe for us to be seen together in public again. I promise that, too.”
“I know child, I know,” she said, kissing him on both cheeks. “Be safe, Jackie, and find a new and happy life wherever it is you are going.”
Neither could find a way to actually say goodbye. Finally, Mary stepped away and walked off with Karpov, who placed an arm around her to help guide her away.
Jack watched them go for a few moments before finally getting back into the car.
He made it to a small town in North Carolina before exhaustion demanded he stop and find a hotel with a nice comfortable bed to sleep in.
As he checked in, the lobby television was showing a press conference being held by President Arthur.
“In the last few days our country has survived a great upheaval,” Arthur said. “As we have many times in our past, we wi
ll prevail. But there are others out there with international interests and many with home-grown interests as well. They are aiming to overthrow our current system of government in the name of patriotism.
“But there are men and women among us who are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to preserve our way of life. They stand ready to heed our call to action. To these true patriots, we offer our deepest gratitude.”
Jack was in his room, snoring soundly without even bothering to get undressed first before Arthur finished his statement and began taking questions.
ENDGAMES
By Richard Paolinelli
Other Tuscany Bay Books by Richard Paolinelli
NOVELS
Maelstrom
Escaping Infinity
JACK DEL RIO SERIES
Reservations
Betrayals
Endgames
NOVELLAS
The Invited
Legacy of Death
NON-FICTION
From The Fields
Perfection’s Arbiter
ANTHOLOGY APPEARANCES
Beyond Watson (Belanger Books)
Holmes Away From Home (Belanger Books)
Copyright 2017
This novel is a work of fiction, and any similarity
to real persons or situations is purely coincidental.
First Edition, 2017, Tuscany Bay Books
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR.
Find out more about Richard Paolinelli at his website:
www.scifiscribe.com
To Michael Gibson (a.k.a. Gibson Michaels) and Ron Sarhad.
Two friends taken far too early.
You are missed.
Jack Del Rio: Complete Trilogy: Reservations, Betrayals, Endgames Page 41