The Twelfth Of Never: A suspense mystery romantic thriller Read online

  The Twelfth of Never

  A thriller romantic suspense mystery

  By Lillian Francken

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  Other Books by Lillian Francken:

  Tetris

  Omega Factor

  Rustic Roads

  Till Death Do Us Part

  Blue Moon Rising

  Wednesday’s Child

  A Family Christmas Story

  We Come In Peace

  All About Love

  Raven

  Visit my website for more information about Lillian Francken

  http://lillianfrancken.weebly.com/

  Dedicated to all those still missing in action.

  CHAPTER 1

  Monday, September 12, 1977 (New York City)

  A chilling silence filled the cool morning air as birds fluttered from branch to branch in their primal quest for food while men crouched in the shadows and the distant clamor of a busy city awakened the start of a new day. Delaney Conovers stared at the morning sun rising, but was not in awe of its beauty or anything else that filled his vision. His small frame shook in anticipation while a cool damp breeze blew off the East River, sending hazy hues drifting along winding paths.

  Delaney had not slept in days or eaten a decent meal in weeks. His gray, unfeeling eyes were set in recessed sockets, his cheeks hollow from years of seeing the evil deeds men did unto themselves. He was no longer the patriotic soul who left the bosom of his mother's love to fight in a war no one wanted. He was a shell of that man, and no more.

  Once the man in the midnight-blue jogging suit came up the East Drive and neared the pond, it would mark the start of the end for him. It was an end he helped bring about.

  Delaney turned and watched the park entrance. He quickly took a deep drag off the little stub in the corner of his mouth before tossing it to the ground. He exhaled, and watched the white billowy cloud drift upwards and vanish from view. It was what he hoped to do when the morning was over. Start a new life. Anywhere, he did not care, just so there was no more killing. His once youthful face had seen a world of hate and a lifetime of death. All he wanted was to see his twenty-fifth birthday in November and nothing more.

  The swift flutter of a tiny Chickadee almost perching on his shoulder startled him out of the trancelike state. Instinct took over and within an instant he had his weapon unholstered, the mechanism cocked, ready, and alert. An eternity passed before he felt himself breathe again and when he did, he could feel the pounding of his heart throughout his body. He listened to the beat until the slow pulsation was hardly audible, and his breathing less labored. Then his thoughts turned to dying. It was a thought that had consumed him of late, but he quickly shook that notion and turned to the entrance.

  Delaney watched as early risers made their way in an enigmatic city and envied them their mundane lives. He wished he did not have to be there, but knew he had no choice. It was all in motion, all that was left was to play out this little game of charades, and hope freedom was his reward.

  So many identities had been assumed in the past few years. He had almost forgotten who he was. All he wanted was a life of his own, to go home. But that could never be. He'd walked away from that more than five years ago. His passport read John Hamilton. His birth certificate read some other poor forgotten soul. In the end he would be John Smith if it meant he could live without fear or the killing he was so good at.

  Delaney stood watching and waiting for his destiny to unfold. Everything was meticulously laid out for him. Each and every detail, even down to the moment he was to pull the trigger, and still beads of perspiration trickled down his forehead. He had done it all before, but this time was different. There would be no killing if he had anything to do with it. He only hoped his final message got through.

  * * *

  Jake Finnegan had gotten the call around midnight to be there in the park. He'd left without even enough time to think about the weather or grab a jacket. He expected the usual briefing, but all Inspector Bronk told him was that something was going down at sunrise and to stand by in case there was trouble.

  He had never cared for Central Park and liked it even less in the early hours of the morning. A few tall shrubs obstructed his view, but his orders were clear. Stay put and do not get in the way. He and his partner, Rico Sanchez, were to do nothing more than observe.

  Throughout the early morning Jake thought about his dad, Henry Finnegan, and the many stories he'd told through the years about all-night stakeouts. But somehow this one was different. It did not quite measure up to his old man's description or any other stakeouts Jake had had the misfortune to be on. In all, there were three agencies involved. Gideon LaMont had not been seen since earlier that morning. It was obvious to all that he was the senior man in charge. It was his operation, his orders Jake was to follow, and all Jake could think about were Gideon's dark intense eyes, haloed by a mass of wavy salt-and-pepper hair, and the moody manner of his that somehow doubted Jake's eagerness at being there.

  Jake shook his head, as if by doing so he could erase Gideon LaMont from his memory. He glanced at Rico across the path, gave him the thumbs-up. But Jake knew better. He had been on the force for eight years, and his shrewd Irish blood was making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He ran his hand through his thick red hair, puzzled by the lack of answers given to routine questions. In the end, like all good cops, he did as he was told.

  * * *

  Gideon LaMont crouched in the underbrush just inside the park, near the corner of Fifth and 59th Street. He stared blankly at the picture of the woman he held. Church bells rang in the distance. The air was damp and cold. But his mind was not on what was going down: it was on the image before him and his little girls he should have met after services yesterday. His ex never did understand when it came to his job or the excuses that always kept him from the two beings that put credence to his whole reason for existing.

  As the traffic on Fifth slowly picked up, Gideon was no longer inconspicuous standing off in the shadows of the entrance. He took one last look at the picture he held, tucked it in his wallet, and readied himself for what was to come. Gideon did not feel the chill of the frigid morning air, only longed for the woman in the picture. He knew not how or where she existed. But in his dreams he could feel her soft satin skin, the warm pleasing smile that was only meant for him, while her soft hazel eyes haunted his inner soul. It was only a simple picture of a sketch; he was not even sure a real woman existed behind the image. But it was all he had, and she'd carried him through tough moments such as this, when the demons surfaced and sought to consume his soul. So to him she was real.

  Gideon turned to the sound of wood on pavement. He watched the flowers swaying in the early morning light. Quickly he unstrapped his weapon, watched and waited as events unfolded before him.

  * * *

  The old woman labored as she turned the corner into the park. By then the bells had stopped ringing and silence overtook the crisp morning air. It was an eerie setting, the hazy glow of the ground, the tap, tap, tapping of the old woman's cane, and the squeaking cartwheels slowly maneuvering onto the asphalt path. Traffic picked up as cars sped past, but no one took notice of anyone inside the park.

  * * *

  Delaney's heart raced. No one else was there, or at least no one made his presence known. He had not seen the two men hiding up the path in the shadows. But from years in the business, he wa
s aware of everything around him. It was a sixth sense he always had just before one of his kills. It had been two weeks since his decision to end the killing. For the past week he had been stalking the park. Every morning he watched the ritual of the male jogger buying the rose. It was not until five hours earlier that he knew the man was his target, he’d only suspected up until then.

  Delaney hoped Gideon was waiting somewhere in the park. He trusted his former comrade-in-arms with his life and now was having doubts. There was no assurance Gideon could be believed or trusted. Five and a half years separated their journey in time. That and what happened in a clearing near Dong Ha, in a country long forgotten. His eyes darted; a cold sweat formed while his body shook in fear. It was a feeling he had felt once before in the jungles of Vietnam. Instinct told him to abort the mission, but it was too late. Everything was in place. He could hear the cart coming closer while the tap, tap, tap of the cane got louder, and death hung heavy in the air. No longer did he hear the noise from the street or the church bells ringing in the distance. It was all tuned out as he turned to watch the old woman slowly pushing the cart up the path. All that could be heard were the sounds of wood hitting pavement and the shuffle of her leg as it dragged along. He found himself mesmerized by the mixture of colors swaying in the breeze with every labored step she took.

  The old woman crouched over the cart as if in pain from the burden she pushed while the dark gray shawl covered most of her face. Delaney glanced at his watch; she was early. For the past five mornings the old woman had come into the park at 5:22 exactly. He turned back to the pond. In the distance the gray-haired man trotted along slowly. It was Ambassador Wayne. Delaney instantly recognized him from the picture he had seen in the paper the night before and knew his speech in front of the Security Council was the reasoning behind all that was happening now.

  Delaney studied Ambassador Wayne for the longest moment then turned his attention back to the old woman. Soon the Ambassador would meet the old woman, buy the rose, and make his way back to the Consulate. The movement in the bushes off to the right went unnoticed as Delaney's attention was solely on the old woman. He watched the waves of color, a reminder of an innocent youth and a mother's love. It was getting harder, this game of killing.

  Slowly, the old woman maneuvered her way up the path, and then stopped. She turned and waited. It was Delaney's cue. All was in place. Wayne was fast approaching. Delaney glanced down at his watch and then turned to the woman. Wayne was behind a cluster of trees. The time had come.

  For five years Delaney Conovers had made this his life's work. In all that time he'd never asked the reason why, doing only as he was told. Even that first time, when he was about to pull the trigger on the young lieutenant. He was saving his own life then. It was a life he came to hate and he now wondered what would have happened that day five and a half years ago if he had refused the order. But now was not the time to think about the what-ifs in life. He had made his choice back then, just as he was making it now, for a future.

  Delaney stepped forward. Something was wrong, very wrong, but there was no time to back out. It was all in motion and the only thing to do was play out his part. He stared at the flowers swaying in the breeze. The pungent sweetness filled his nostrils, taking him back to a time when all was right in the world. There was just no more time left to right all the wrongs, and useless to think any of it mattered in the major scheme of destiny.

  The old woman hung onto the cart for support. She was only supposed to witness the act and nothing more. Confirm the kill. But Delaney was to busy fighting his inner thoughts, dwelling on the past, worrying about the future and a life without death. Suddenly he caught a glimpse of the old women in the morning light and realized something was different. The clothes were the same tattered ones she had worn before. The slow, labored walk was similar to yesterday. Even down to the smallest detail. Everything was in place but not on schedule. The gray complexion he had seen for days was no longer visible. The eyes were not that of a kindly old woman selling her wares, but the steely eyes of a killer such as himself.

  Delaney stepped out into the open. Took aim, but not at the Ambassador. He hesitated a moment, unable to pull the trigger.

  Quickly the old woman stripped herself free of the shawl, pulled out the weapon, and within an instant took aim at the helpless jogger. Shots rang out, cutting through the morning silence. Birds took flight while small animals ran for shelter.

  Wayne felt the hot piercing pain in his leg as he stumbled and fell to the ground. It was not until he glanced down and saw the bright red blood seeping through a gaping hole that he realized he had been shot.

  Delaney stood paralyzed, still unable to fire. He watched in horror as the assassin took aim again, but before another shot could be fired, the men in the shrubs had Wayne secured to the ground, shielding him from further harm.

  Delaney reached for the weapon that still smoked from its spent shell, but was knocked off balance with one swift swipe of the woman's cane. The shattering sound of knee cartilage filled the morning silence. Delaney collapsed to the pavement in pain. Before he could call out, the back swing of the cane smashed his larynx. Delaney gasped for air while staring into the eyes of an assassin. The flash from the barrel was all he saw. Suddenly the pain in his right side felt like a hot poker being driven through his inner core. He could say nothing. All he could do was struggle to breathe and no more.

  A barrage of shots rang out, but no piercing pain followed. Delaney looked up. Blood dripped from the assassin's mouth. Then, slowly, the figure in gray stumbled forward and fell motionless to the ground. Delaney struggled to suck in enough air needed to sustain life as the sharp pain in his right side sent shockwaves through his body.

  It was not supposed to happen like this, Delaney told himself. He lay back and embraced death’s hold as he watched the waving branches above. All he'd ever wanted was to find peace and to go home and to feel the love of family once more.

  * * *

  Gideon watched Delaney step out into the open. Once the gunfire started, he stared at the old woman as she'd turned her vengeance onto Delaney. Gideon quickly looked down the path. The two men near the pond were shielding Ambassador Wayne from further harm. By the time the cane dropped and the weapon was drawn, Gideon had taken aim with his .357 Magnum and took the assassin out.

  Slowly Gideon turned to Delaney and watched him struggle to get up, but then slump back to the ground. Quickly Gideon reholstered his weapon, rushed up to the cart, and kicked the gun out of the assassin's hand. It was then he realized that the hand was not that of a woman, but a man. Gideon reached down. The skin felt warm and firm; he put two fingers on the carotid artery, not expecting to find a pulse, but he had to make sure. Once that was established, Gideon knelt at Delaney's side and watched as Delaney's eyes bulged with a pathetic plea for help. Delaney's skin was cold and clammy, his face blue.

  "Call an ambulance," Gideon barked at the two men standing near the entrance.

  They were all aware of Delaney and why he was in the park that morning. It was one of the men at Wayne's side who came running over to Gideon. Jake Finnegan had only talked to Gideon briefly earlier that morning, but understood the chain of command and was not about to break it.

  By then the two men at the park entrance had walked up to the cart. The agent standing nearest the cart lit a cigarette with indifference to what was being asked. He snickered at Gideon, and then murmured under his breath.

  "Let the dog die."

  "Damn it, what did I tell you?" Gideon sprang up, grabbed the man's jacket.

  "I'll make the call," Jake said quickly, and then disappeared around the corner.

  "Yeah, keep him alive. Like he's such an asset," the agent mocked while trying to break free of Gideon's hold.

  Gideon kneed him in the groin before releasing his jacket. The second man stepped forward, but Gideon was too swift and had him pinned in a headlock before either man realized what had happened. Disgusted, Gide
on shoved the man aside.

  "He came to us, didn't he?" Gideon snapped as he bent over Delaney.

  "How much are we going to pay him for what he doesn't know?"

  Gideon looked up. "Do something."

  "This is your operation."

  "Yeah, but you blew it." Gideon's jaw muscles strained, and then he turned to look up the path. "You almost got Wayne killed."

  "We're not the only ones here."

  "You were supposed to keep Wayne from harm." Gideon turned to the man crouched near the cart.

  "I knew those guys were near the pond. Besides, nature called. What can I say?"

  "You were told ‘at sunrise,’ weren't you?" Gideon snapped.

  "That was half an hour ago."

  "You chose a fine time to take a leak."

  Gideon edged closer to Delaney and watched as he labored to breathe. His hand shook for a moment in terror as a familiar vision came back from his subconscious, but before its horror could encompass him, the sound of footsteps brought him back to the present. The sharp pain in his right temple made his eyes water, blurring his vision until he shook free of its clawlike grip.

  Jake entered the park, running, then looked at Gideon and just stared.

  "They're on the way," he finally managed to say before turning away. Jake figured Delaney would not make it and did not want to watch the man die.

  Gideon took a knife out of his pocket. He reached down, ripped open Delaney's shirt, and then Gideon sucked in the cool morning air as if to give him courage.

  "Shit, what are you going to do?" Jake asked, catching the expression on Gideon's face.

  "Hold him down." Gideon looked up. He did not have to ask again; his hand shook while the knife inched closer to Delaney's neck.

  Jake held Delaney's arms so he could not struggle. Jake's stomach turned as he watched the point of the knife and the beads of red drip down Delaney's neck. Gideon drew back.