Last Man Standing

by David Baldacci

  “Well, we can always use a few good men.” Six of them, in fact, Web thought, to rebuild Charlie Team.

  “I hear the tryouts are hellacious.”

  Romano almost snorted. “Take everything you’ve heard and raise it by a factor of ten, and then you’re getting close to the truth.”

  From his skeptical look Miller obviously didn’t buy that, Web could tell. Yet he was young and overconfident in his abilities, as the young always were.

  “Were you at Waco?” Miller asked. Web and Romano nodded. “You get any shots off?”

  “I’ve actually tried to banish it from my subconscious,” said Web. Wouldn’t Claire Daniels be proud?

  “I could see that,” said Miller in a doubtful manner that made Web feel sure the young agent actually did not get the point.

  “How long you been with the Bureau?” asked Romano.

  “Almost two years.”

  “Well, when you get the big three under your belt you can try out for HRT. Give me a buzz sometime. If you’re serious about HRT, I can show you around.” Romano handed him his card.

  As Miller tucked the card away in his pocket, Romano and Web exchanged amused glances.

  “Man, that would be great,” said Miller. “I hear you guys have some awesome firepower.”

  The initial draw for many, Web knew, was the guns. Several men he knew had joined the Bureau solely for the opportunity to carry and fire fancy weapons. “That we do. And we’ll show you exactly why it’s always best if you don’t have to use them.”

  “Right.” Miller looked disappointed, but he would get over it, Web knew. There was an awkward silence, and then Miller asked, “Uh, can I help you guys with anything?”

  “We just drove out here because I wanted to see the place. You know anything about the guy?”

  “Not all that much. I know he’s involved in what happened to you guys. Makes you wonder how somebody can turn like that, on their own kind, I mean.”

  “Yeah, it sure does.” Web looked around the row of town-houses. They backed up to woods. “Hope you got somebody covering the rear.”

  Miller grinned. “Something, anyway. K-9s in the backyard. It’s fenced in. Somebody tries to go in that way, they got a surprise. Cheaper than posting two agents out here, I guess.”

  “I guess.” Web checked his watch. “Getting close to dinnertime. You eaten?”

  Miller shook his head. “I brought some crackers and stuff along. And a bottle of water. Went through that. And like I said, I got three more hours before my relief shows up. Worst part is having no place to use the john.”

  “Tell me about it. Worked a bunch of surveillance details in the Midwest. Covered thousand-acre farms that were suspected drug distribution facilities and some trailer parks looking for good old boys that thought decent work included robbing banks and shooting people with sawed-off shotguns. Had to either hold it, pee in a bottle or just stand out in the fields and let it go.”

  “Yeah,” said Romano. “And when I was a Delta we used to squat together in rows in whatever piece-of-shit place we were in and take our dumps. You get to know guys real well when you’re crapping next to them. I had to shoot a guy once right when I was taking a shit. Man, let me tell you that was awkward.”

  Miller didn’t look like any of those avenues of relief held sway with him. He was dressed very sharply, Web noted, and no doubt peeing in a bottle or taking the chance of exposing himself wasn’t part of the young agent’s image.

  “There’s a Denny’s up the road. You want to take a dinner, we’ll stay put until you get back.”

  Miller looked uncertain about abandoning his post.

  “Offers like that don’t come along every day, Chris.” Web partially opened his jacket so Miller could see he was armed. “And yeah, I got some shots off at Waco. Go have yourself a good meal.”

  “You sure it’ll be okay?”

  Romano answered in his most intimidating voice. “If anybody comes along who shouldn’t, they’ll wish they got the dog over us.”

  At that, Agent Miller quickly got in his car and drove off.

  Web waited until he was out of sight before he went to his trunk, pulled out a small device along with a flashlight, looked around and then walked with Romano up to the front door of Cove’s house.

  “Damn, that dude would last all of two minutes at HRT,” said Romano.

  “You never know, Paulie. You made it, didn’t you?”

  “You really gonna pop this place?”

  “Yeah, I’m really gonna. You have a problem with that, go sit in the car.”

  “There’s not much in life I have a problem with.”

  The pick gun made fast work of the simple front door lock and Web and Romano were inside in a few seconds. Web closed the door and turned on his flashlight. He saw the alarm panel next to the front door, but it was not armed. Presumably only Cove would have known the pass code. They walked down the short hallway and entered the living room. Web hit all corners with the light. Both men’s hands were on their pistol grips. The place was very sparsely furnished. Cove probably didn’t spend much time in here anyway, Web assumed. They did a quick search of the main floor and found nothing of interest, which didn’t surprise Web. Cove was a veteran, and vets didn’t exactly leave detailed records of what they were doing lying around for folks to find.

  The basement was unfinished. There were a few boxes down there. Romano and Web quickly went through them. The only item Web lingered over was a framed photograph of Cove, his wife and their children. Web shone the light at an angle so it wouldn’t reflect off the glass. Cove was in a suit, no dreadlocks in sight, his features handsome and confident. His smile was contagious. From simply looking at the photo, Web felt the corners of his mouth curl. One big arm was around his wife and the other enveloped both his children. His wife was remarkably beautiful, with shoulder-length hair, a big smile of her own and eyes that could have reduced any man to the quivers. The boy and girl favored their mother. They would have grown up into beautiful people, no doubt, at the same time their mother and father grew old together. That was how life was supposed to work out anyway, and rarely did, at least for people who did what Cove and Web did for a living. The photograph captured the other side of Randall Cove, focusing on the man as husband and father. Web envisioned the former All-American tailback tossing a football to his son in the backyard; maybe the boy had inherited his old man’s athletic skills. Perhaps he could’ve had the professional career that had been denied his father. In a Hollywood movie that might happen, but it rarely did in the unfairness of real life.

  “Nice family,” commented Romano.

  “Not anymore.” Web didn’t bother to explain.

  He put the photo back in the box and they headed upstairs. As his light glanced off the rear sliding door, something flung itself against the glass. In unison Web and Romano pulled their guns until they heard the barking and realized it was the K-9 doing its job.

  Well, at least a dog would never rat on you; maybe that was the real reason they were man’s best friends, thought Web. They kept your secrets to the grave.

  They hustled to the upstairs level, wanting to be done long before Miller got back. Web didn’t like conning a fellow agent, but he definitely didn’t want to be caught conducting an unauthorized search of a major suspect’s home. Bates would throw away the key on that one and Web probably couldn’t blame him. There were two rooms up here connected by a bathroom. The front room that overlooked the street was Cove’s bedroom. The bed was made and the closet held few clothes. Web lifted a shirt out and held it up to himself. Web could have almost fit his leg into one of the arms of the shirt. Web wouldn’t have wanted to play defense against the man; one might as well try and tackle a van.

  The room that was on the rear side of the house was empty. It was set up as a bedroom but apparently had never been used as one. The inside of the small closet had no hanger scratches on the walls, and the carpet held no imprints of furniture having been there.

Web and Romano were about to leave when Web noticed something. He looked at the windows in this back room and then went through the connecting bath and into the front bedroom and looked at the windows there. They had miniblinds for privacy; logical, since this room overlooked the street. Web went back through the bathroom and into the other room. There were shades on these windows too but not miniblinds, noted Web; these were old-fashioned roll-up shades. The back bedroom overlooked dense woods, so privacy wasn’t really an issue. Web looked out the window and saw where the sun was falling. The back room faced to the north, so it would get no afternoon light that required shades to block. And since the room wasn’t being used, why have shades at all? And if one did elect some sort of window treatment, why not the same throughout the house? At least with miniblinds one could allow some light in and still have a reasonable degree of privacy. With shades it was all or nothing, and with little light back here as it was and no overhead light built in, this room would stay in perpetual darkness. It didn’t make a lot of sense, but perhaps Cove had inherited this arrangement from a previous owner and had no interest in changing it.

  “What’s got your antenna up?” asked Romano.

  “The man’s choice in shades.”

  “You going feminine on me?”

  Web ignored Romano and stepped to the window. The shades were fully pulled up. Web took the rope and jerked. The shade did its thing and came down, nothing out of the ordinary there. He stepped to the other window and did the same thing. The rope was stuck, and the shade did not come down. For an instant Web was about to just call it quits and leave. But then he shone his light up at the trip mechanism on the shade and saw that it had been bent such that the rope pull wouldn’t work anymore. He bent the trip back into place and pulled on the rope. Down came the shade, and Romano gaped as the envelope that had been secreted in the rolled-up shade literally dropped into his hands.

  Romano stared at him. “Damn, you are good at this.”

  “Let’s go, Paulie.” Web pulled the shade back up and they jogged down the stairs. Romano checked to make sure the coast was clear and then they slipped out. Web pulled the front door closed behind him.

  Web and Romano got in their car and Web turned on the overhead light and settled down to review what they had found.

  He opened the envelope and pulled out the yellowed news clipping. It was from the Los Angeles Times, and it was reporting on the deaths of an undercover agent’s family at the hands of the Russian mafia. The official speaking on behalf of the Bureau gave a stinging attack on the criminals and vowed that they would be brought to justice. The official was identified as someone very close to the investigation. He was actually the case supervisor of the under-cover agent, whom they refused to identify even though the names of the slain family members had been made public. Web could only shake his head at the name of the Bureau official.

  Percy Bates.

  Miller drove up a few minutes later, got out and walked over to the car. He patted his belly. “Thanks for the assist, guys.”

  “No problem,” said Romano. “We been there, done that.”

  “Anything come up while I was gone?”

  “Nope, all clear.”

  “Hey, I’m off duty in about two hours. You guys interested in having a beer?”

  “We—” Web glanced past Miller because the failing sunlight had just glanced off some reflective object in the distance.

  “Web, look out,” Romano cried out, because he obviously had seen the same thing.

  Web reached across to Miller, grabbed his tie and tried to pull him down. The shot hit Miller dead center of the back and came through his chest, zipped right in front of Web and shattered the glass on the passenger side. Romano was already out of the car and behind one of the wheels. He poked the gun over the hood but didn’t fire.

  “Web, get the hell out of there.”

  For a split second Web held on to Miller’s tie even as the young agent slid down the side of the car. The last thing Web saw was the dead man’s eyes staring at him and then Miller hit the ground.

  “Web, get your ass out of that car or I’ll shoot you myself.”

  Wed ducked down as another shot shattered the rear side window of the Bucar. Web slid out and took up position behind the rear wheel. At the Academy you were taught that squatting behind car wheels was the place to be because there were few weapons that could penetrate all that metal.

  “You see anything?” asked Romano.

  “Just that first reflection. Off a scope. A damn good thousand yards away, in the woods, between those two sections of town-houses. Miller’s dead.”

  “No shit. I’m figuring something like a .308 chambering steel-jackets with a Litton ten-powerscope.”

  “Great, the same stuff we use,” replied Web. “Just keep your damn head down.”

  “Oh, thanks for telling me, Web. I was just about to jump up screaming for my mommy.”

  “We can’t fire back; our pistols don’t have that range.”

  “Why don’t you tell me something I don’t know? You got any goodies in your trunk?”

  “I would if it were my car.”

  Another shot hit the sedan and both men ducked. Yet another shot came and the left front wheel blew. Another and steam rose from the radiator.

  “Don’t you think somebody might try calling the cops?” complained Romano. “What, you got snipers in the suburbs every day?”

  “My phone’s in the car.”

  “Well, don’t try and get it. Whoever’s out there knows what he’s doing.”

  They waited another five minutes and no more shots hit; then they could finally hear sirens in the distance. Web edged his head up over the side and looked through the car’s windows. He didn’t see any more reflections from the woods.

  The police finally showed and Web and Romano held up their creds and motioned for the cops to get down. After another few minutes Web crawled over to the squad car and explained the situation. No more shots came and then apparently all the county cops showed up, along with a half dozen state troopers. The woods were combed without finding anyone, although a dirt road leading out to the main one on the other side of the subdivision Cove lived in had fresh tire tracks. And they also found a number of spent rifle shells. Romano had been right: steel-jacketed .308s.

  Chris Miller was officially pronounced dead and the ambulance came and took him away. Web noted the wedding band on his finger before they zipped the body bag shut. Well, Mrs. Miller was going to get the dreaded visit from the Bureau tonight. He shook his head and looked over at Romano.

  “I’m really getting sick of this life.”

  27

  Web and Romano had given their statements about three times each. And Bates had come down and had taken a bite out of Web’s butt for conducting an unauthorized investigation.

  “I told you they’d be gunning for you, Web. But you stubborn son of a bitch, you just won’t listen,” ranted Bates.

  “Hey, take it easy,” said Romano.

  “Do I know you?” said Bates, as he got right in Romano’s face.

  “Paul Romano, Hotel Team assaulter.” He put out his hand.

  Bates ignored the gesture and turned back to Web. “Do you realize that Buck Winters is looking for any excuse to squash you?” He glanced at Romano. “To officially cremate all of HRT? And you’re playing right into his hands.”

  “All I’m trying to do is find out what happened to my guys,” rejoined Web. “And you’d be doing the same thing if you were me.”

  “Don’t you throw that bullshit in my face.” Bates stopped cold because Web was holding up the newspaper clipping.

  “I found this in the house.”

  Bates slowly reached out and took the clipping.

  “You want to talk about it?” asked Web.

  Bates led them away from the crime scene and over to a quiet slice of ground. He glanced at Romano and then at Web.

  “He’s okay,” said Web. “Cleared for all sorts of top-secret stuff.”

  “Even did joint VIP protection on Arafat once,” said Romano. “Now, you talk about a target, lots of people after that man.”

  “You didn’t mention you were working with Cove when his family was killed,” said Web.

  “I don’t owe you my life story,” snapped Bates.

  “Maybe you just owe me an explanation.”

  Bates folded the clipping up and put it in his pocket. “It was really nobody’s fault. Cove didn’t mess up and we didn’t either. It was a fluke and the Russians got lucky. I wish I could take it back, but nobody can. Randy Cove is a hell of an agent.”

  “So Cove has no reason to be seeking payback?”

  “No. I’ve talked to him. He almost got popped not that long after Charlie Team. He said he saw that building filled to the brim with everything that was supposed to be there.”

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