Final Encounter

By Shirley Marlow

Things are changing at Live Oaks Plantation. Caressa Michaud, its longtime matriarch is no longer there. Her granddaughter, FBI Agent Dr. CC Cannon has inherited the stately manor, a substantial fortune and has a lot of decisions that have to be made, but she keeps procrastinating.
With a telephone call from the new FBI Assistant Director George Williams, Special Agents Marco Moretti, Dr. Cannon and the other team members are sent to Mobile, Alabama to try once again to apprehend the notorious Russian, Ivan Milkovich.
Intelligence reports have Milkovich hiding out in a survival wilderness camp, where he has teamed up with some radical Muslims, men that the bureau and various other agencies have been watching for months. What do the Muslims want from the Russians? An undercover agent has been killed inside the camp. What are they up to? The events leading up the end, boils down to whom if anyone will survive the final encounter.
Journey along with the writer on the last book of the series and find out what happens to the characters youve come to know and love. Will Marco get a chance to finally ask CC to marry him? Its the book you will hate to see end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483610672

Shirley Marlow

Shirley Marlow is retired, living in Dothan, Alabama, and is the author of Maybe Next Time and Misguided Justice. Final Encounter is the last book of her trilogy.

Book preview

Copyright © 2013 by Shirley Marlow.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 03/14/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

115996

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTY-THREE

THIRTY-FOUR

THIRTY-FIVE

THIRTY-SIX

THIRTY-SEVEN

THIRTY-EIGHT

THIRTY-NINE

FORTY

AFTERWORD

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To my wonderful husband Bill, thank you for your patience and for understanding my need to sit day after day and type words into a computer. I love you.

Special thanks to my daughter, Kimala Pringle, and granddaughter, Meridith Pringle, for your encouragement and technical help. Also, to my son, Keith, thank you for encouraging me to have my books published. Without your prompting, the manuscripts would still be sitting in my computer.

Thanks and my gratitude to everyone at the publishing services company Xlibris who helped me through this process. Your help was invaluable.

And my heartfelt thanks to all of you for taking time out of your busy schedules to read my books.

ONE

Another case, a kidnapping in Arizona, had been placed in the closed files. The FBI’s elite team was now home in New Orleans. They had worked twenty-three days without a break, trying to reunite a young boy with his mother. The father who took his child had been apprehended, and the boy was now safe back home with his family. The agents were tired and glad to be home.

Special Agent Marco Moretti was in his office today. He checked his watch. He was restless as he waited. Why hadn’t the assistant director returned his call? He was anxious to know the status of what was happening with Ivan Milkovich and the Muslims in Mobile. Was he avoiding him?

He looked around the room and then back down at his desk. He rubbed his eyes, trying to concentrate.

A figure appeared in his office doorway and stood there for a moment.

He didn’t look up.

I’m leaving, the voice said. She saw the photographs that were spread out on his desk and realized that Moretti wasn’t really looking at her. His mind was clearly somewhere else.

Moretti, did you hear me?

He looked up. It was Special Agent CC Cannon. He busied himself stacking the photos.

I said I was leaving to go home. She paused. Are you all right?

Yeah, sure, I’m fine, he told her. Go on. I’ll see you tomorrow.

I can stay if you need me.

No, I’m good. I’m just waiting for a call.

All right, I’ll see you later. She turned and walked away. Something was bothering him, but what? She also knew he wanted to be alone, but why? He had been like that a lot lately, and it disturbed her. She thought they had come to a point in their lives where they were sharing, but he was shutting her out. She was concerned.

Maybe I should have asked her to stay to keep me company, he thought after she had left, but he felt as if he needed to be alone. He had a lot to think about. Normally, I would have asked her to stay, but not tonight.

For months, CC knew the personal relationship between the two had continued to grow. No strings were attached, no demands were made on each other, and they felt comfortable with the arrangement. They kept it hidden from everyone as much as it was humanly possible, knowing that certain people at the bureau would strongly object.

Walking away, CC suspected she knew where his mind was. She and the other team members were aware of the possibility that Ivan Milkovich was back in the States, Moretti had told them. Everyone knew how frustrating it was for him not to be able to be on the team that had him under surveillance. Moretti hated the man; the bureau knew that. He knew the man better than anyone. They all agreed he should be the one on the case, the one to apprehend him.

Moretti picked up the telephone and decided to try one more time to reach Art Boyd before he left for the day.

Assistant Director Boyd’s office, his assistant said.

Hey, Bev, it’s Moretti. Is he in?

Special Agent Moretti, I was about to call you, Beverly Rivenbark said. I just haven’t had a chance. It has been so hectic around here.

She was sobbing. He could hear her little gasp. What’s going on? he asked.

Oh, Moretti, he passed away this morning, she managed somehow to say in between sobs.

Passed away… He wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly. Did you say he passed away?

Yes.

What happened?

This morning, he was on his way to a meeting here in the building. And before he got there, they said he just collapsed in the hallway. She was crying harder now.

It’s OK, Beverly, try to calm down.

She started again. They said he had a brain aneurism and died instantly.

Moretti was in shock at the news. Arthur Boyd was more than just a boss—he was his friend. He had recruited him for the FBI at a time in his life when he was planning on giving up law enforcement completely. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to think.

Agent Moretti, are you there?

Yeah, I’m here. Listen, Beverly, I’m sorry, really sorry. Why don’t you go home and get some rest.

I can’t. That’s what everybody keeps telling me. The crying had stopped, at least for the moment. I don’t want to be alone. I need to be around people doing something.

I understand. He liked Beverly. She had been a dedicated employee, and he had heard Art Boyd say several times that if anything ever happened to her, he would be lost. Now ironically, it was her that would be lost without him.

Thank you, Agent Moretti. I’m going to miss him.

Yeah, I know you are. We all are. During times like this, he knew anything he said would not make any difference right now. He was forced to face reality. Their boss, his friend, was dead. He slowly laid the receiver back down in its cradle and sat there, staring out the window. He said a few cuss words and shook his head. He couldn’t believe it. He just couldn’t.

TWO

What happened to you last night? CC asked Moretti the next morning when she arrived at work. I thought you would stop by. I waited up for you.

He was in the break room, getting a cup of coffee. He didn’t look up. He continued stirring the coffee. Truth is, he said, turning, I didn’t because I would not have been very good company.

She thought he looked terrible. OK.

He picked up his cup. Is everyone here? he asked.

I believe so. He was acting strange. She knew something was terribly wrong, and that frightened her. Marc, what is going on?

He walked slowly toward the conference room, with her beside him. I got some bad news last night.

What? Tell me, she said. The expression on his face was really bothering her.

I want to wait until I get everyone together so I can tell all of you at the same time. He pushed down the intercom button and asked the other team members to join them. After they all had settled down, Moretti placed his coffee cup on the table and cleared his throat. Ah—he looked around the table—I asked you to come in here because last night, I received some very disturbing news.

The mood in the room changed. Everyone was poised for what was coming next.

Assistant Director Boyd passed away yesterday morning.

At first, silence filled the room, and then came the questions.

Moretti held up his hand and shook his head, I don’t have much information. His assistant, Beverly Rivenbark, told me they think he had a brain aneurism and that he died instantly.

Oh man, Johnson said in disbelief. You just never know. He was a young man.

Moretti nodded. That he was.

Where was he when it happened? Waldman asked.

At work, somewhere there in the FBI building, he said.

The room went silent again.

At least, it was fast, and maybe there was no pain, Grayson finally said. When my time comes, that’s the way I want to go.

CC remained quiet. She watched Moretti as he talked. She knew how close he was to the man, and he was taking it hard. She wished there was something she could say to try and make him feel better, but all she said was, I’m sorry, Moretti. I know what he meant to you. If there is anything I can do, please let me know.

He nodded.

I know this is probably not the right time to bring this up, but who do you think will take his place? Waldman asked.

Moretti shook his head. I haven’t a clue.

Names of agents in the bureau were tossed around, but everyone knew there was no way of telling who would get the job. They were just making conversation to keep from thinking about his death. Finally, Moretti told them, I will let you know when I get any more information.

They stood up to leave. Will you be going to the memorial service? Johnson asked Moretti.

He nodded. Yeah, I’m sure I will.

How about the rest of us, do you think we should go? Grayson asked.

Moretti took a deep breath. That’s up to you. But first let me get the details, and then you can decide.

Everyone agreed that would be the best thing to do as they slowly left the room and walked back to their offices.

CC headed to the break room for a fresh cup of coffee. The unfinished cup she held in her hand was cold. If Marc goes to Washington, so am I, she thought. She didn’t hear Johnson as he walked in.

Earth to Cannon, he said jokingly.

I’m sorry, she replied. Did you say something?

Yeah, I asked if you were planning on going to Washington.

She shrugged. I’m not sure, but probably. How about you?

I don’t know. It depends on what Moretti tells us.

She nodded.

Do you think his death is going to affect us?

I don’t know, she replied.

Moretti was on the phone when Agent Waldman walked into his office. He leaned back in his chair and then motioned for him to have a seat. He continued with his conversation. So you don’t have a positive identification yet? He was talking to the special agent in charge of the Mobile, Alabama, agency.

Not yet. The man we think is Milkovich is going by the name of Dimitri Bondar.

He has used a number of aliases, and I don’t recognize that one, but I’m not surprised. It could still be him.

That’s true, the agent replied.

Do you still have someone inside the camp?

Yes. He is trying to get something of his for DNA testing but hasn’t been able to.

They talked a little longer about the case and about the assistant director passing away. OK, I’ll talk to you later, Moretti said as he hung up the phone.

He briefly discussed the situation with Waldman before he asked, Did you need me for something?

I was wondering, do you think his passing away is going to affect us? Then he added, The team.

Moretti shook his head. I wouldn’t think so. He wanted to sound optimistic, but he had had the same thoughts. I’ll know more after I talk to someone.

Waldman was almost to the door when he suddenly turned around. Oh yeah, I almost forgot to tell you. Johnson and Grayson said to tell you they went out to the airport to check on the plane.

OK, thanks.

CC was sitting at her desk, looking out the windows at the overcast November morning. The holidays were fast approaching. Another year was about to end. She was unaware that Moretti had entered the room until she heard his voice.

Why don’t you go on home? he said.

She jumped.

Sorry if I frightened you.

She shook her head. No problem. Have you heard anything from Washington?

No, it’s early yet. You go on home, he told her. I’m going to tell the others to do the same thing. We won’t be taking a new case right now.

What are you going to do? she asked.

I’m not sure, wait to hear from them for one thing. He stared at her. I’ll call when I get some news.

I’d rather stay with you, she said.

He shook his head. If you don’t mind, I had rather be alone right now. He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. Go on, I’ll see you later.

CC left her office but not the building. She walked the short distance over to Special Agent Tom Pierces’ office. She saw him through the glass but stopped at his assistant’s desk. Hi, Cindy, she said. Is he busy?

Good morning, Agent Cannon, let me check.

Pierce had seen her and was motioning for her to come on in. CC thanked the assistant and went inside. Good morning, Tom, she said.

Good morning, CC. What brings you to our side of the building? he asked, smiling.

She sat down on a chair in front of his desk. I guess you heard about the assistant director?

Yeah, damn shame. He was young. The bureau has lost one of its finest.

That’s true, she replied.

How’s Moretti taking it? He leaned forward in his chair and put his elbows on his desk.

Not too good, I’m afraid.

Are you going up there with him?

She nodded. You going? she asked.

Yeah, I suppose so. Maybe the three of us can travel together.

Fine by me, she said as she stood up to leave. I’ll let you know what we decide.

Where are you going now?

Moretti told us to take the day off. At this point, I’m not really sure. I do have some errands I could do, she told him.

OK, I’ll see you later, he said, and she was gone.

CC drove out to Live Oaks Plantation, her grandmother Ressas’ home. She needed something to get her mind off the current situation. She thought about Marc and wished he would call. She thought about calling him but didn’t know if she should. He had asked to be alone, she said out loud, as if that was a determining factor. It helped; she didn’t call.

~~~~~

CC’s doorbell rang about nine thirty that night, and she went to the door. It was Marc, and she noticed at once he had been drinking, drinking a lot. He tried to kiss her as he passed by but missed. He was unsteady on his feet as he walked across the room to sit down. She knew it took a lot to get him that way. Where have you been? she asked.

He jerked his head up to look at her. She saw a look on his face she had not seen before. Why? he asked in a nasty tone. Are you keeping tabs on me now?

She was shocked. Where did that come from? She sat down beside him on the sofa and laid her hand on his arm. She studied his face. I’m sorry, she said. Marc, have you had anything to eat today?

He shook his head. I’m not hungry.

OK, let’s get you to bed then. She tried to help him up, but they fell back down on the sofa, and both of them burst into laughter. He put his arms around her and drew her close, but she pulled away. She did not want to make love to him in his condition. She tried to lift him up again. Come on, Marc, you need some sleep.

He stood up, and with her help, they staggered to the bedroom. I’ll get the bed ready while you take off your clothes, she said. She barely got the covers back before he fell onto the bed, clothes and all. She shook her head, pulled his clothes off, covered him up, then went into the bathroom. The warm bubbly water in the tub was almost to the top as she slipped in and lay back to think about what had just happened. She had seen a side of him tonight that she did not know existed, and she wasn’t comfortable with it.

THREE

Moretti was gone the next morning when CC was awakened by her alarm clock. She wasn’t surprised. She made her way to the kitchen to make coffee, then headed for the bathroom to take her shower.

Later, with a coffee cup in hand, she called him.

He answered immediately when he saw it was her.

Good morning, she began. Did you get any information on the memorial service?

Yeah, I was going to call you. He sounded like his old self. If you want to go, we have to leave this afternoon. The service is tomorrow morning at 10:00 eastern time.

I was planning on going, that is, if it’s all right with you.

Yeah, sure, he said.

How about the others, are they going?

No, just the two of us, he said. And Pierce, he is going with us.

I know, he told me yesterday he wanted to go.

McPhee made our arrangements. The plane takes off at 1:45.

OK, I’ll be in soon. I have to get dressed.

All right, see you later.

No indication he wanted to talk about the night before. He didn’t mention it, and neither did she. It was like it had never happened. A thought came to her. Maybe he was so drunk he doesn’t remember. That had to be it, or maybe he was too embarrassed. She wouldn’t mention it if he didn’t.

The three rode together from the office to the airport. The mood was somber. Nothing more than idle chitchat was spoken. It was as if everyone had something secretive on their minds and didn’t want to share.

~~~~~

The old church in downtown DC where the services were being held was crowded when Moretti, Cannon, and Pierce arrived the next morning. They hurried up the steep concrete steps and walked inside. The magnificently polished old oak pews that were lined up on both sides of the small church were already filled with mourners. Standing in the back of the room alongside several other people, CC’s mind wandered away from the words the priest was saying. She couldn’t help but admire the building’s interior. An array of small statues could be seen in alcoves along the walls, but the thing she liked most was the awesome color and designs in the transparent stained glass windows. She couldn’t remember when she had seen anything more beautiful.

Moretti broke her concentration a short while later when he gently touched her arm and nodded toward the open doors. The service had ended. They followed the group to the cemetery where a few people had already gathered.

Later, after the graveside service was completed, CC—standing alone, surrounded by the cemetery’s old monuments—watched the crowd as it dispersed. Moretti and Pierce were making the rounds, talking to people they knew. CC spoke to several people but did not engage in any lengthy conversations.

She noticed the old trees in the cemetery were stripped off their leaves. The sun was shining brightly, but the chill of the early-winter cold sent shivers throughout her body. CC stood there watching the people. She wrapped her arms tightly against her body. Inwardly, she smiled. She didn’t think she would ever miss the southern heat, but she did today. All of a sudden, she caught a glimpse of her old Washington DC boss, George Williams. He was coming toward her. She waved.

They embraced.

Hi, CC, it’s good to see you. He stepped back. You look good, he added.

Thank you, George, it’s good to see you, she said, smiling. It’s a shame about the assistant director.

He nodded. I probably don’t have to tell you what a shock it has been for everyone around here.

I’m sure. I know it has been hard on Moretti.

Yeah, it’s rough. I understand they were pretty close. How are things going with the team?

Good.

They had continued talking about nothing in particular when Pierce joined them. The two men shook hands. Good to see you, George.

Yeah, hell of a note, isn’t it? Who would have thought it would be Art leaving us like this?

Pierce agreed. They talked for a while before he turned to CC. I hate to break this up—he pointed down at his watch—but we’d better be leaving if we want to catch our plane. They said their good-byes and headed for the car where Moretti was waiting.

The return trip to New Orleans was a long flight as they continued to mourn over the loss of their dear friend and coworker.

Pierce who was sitting in the aisle seat had his eyes closed, resting.

Sitting between the two men, CC’s eyes slowly focused on Moretti, who was staring out the window into space. What is he thinking?

He unexpectedly broke the silence. I saw you talking to Williams.

Yeah, just for a brief moment.

Did he happen to mention to you he was on the short list to replace Art? His voice was low. He saw the surprised look on her face.

She shook her head. No, he didn’t say a word. She wondered why. Did he tell you?

No.

She turned her head toward Pierce and noticed his eyes were closed. She did not disturb him. She turned back to Moretti. Who else is being considered?

Two other men in the bureau, he said. I’ve heard their names, but I really don’t know who they are.

Silence again.

Moretti looked out the window. He saw the lights of the city below. They were almost home. He laid his head back and closed his eyes. He knew CC was looking at him—he could feel her. She probably was expecting him to go home with her, but he needed to be alone, but what could he tell her? She had not done anything wrong. It was not her fault he had a lot of thinking to do and decisions that needed to be made. He had a lot of things to sort out, and he wasn’t ready to talk about them yet—not to her, not to anyone.

She lightly brushed his arm, keeping her voice low. Are you coming over tonight?

He opened his eyes. Not tonight, he said.

She didn’t respond.

CC, he called her name.

It’s OK, I understand. She didn’t. It was impossible for her to understand, but talking about it now was not the time.

Her feelings are hurt, he thought. He felt bad, but nevertheless, he let it go.

Pierce had heard their conversation but remained quiet.

FOUR

The next morning, CC was up early. She put on her running clothes and headed for the outdoors. The eastern sky held the hazy glow of the early-morning sun as it rose higher and higher. She knew it would be full daylight before long. The autumn air was cool and crisp, a perfect day for running.

She was trying to clear her mind, taking her thoughts off Moretti. He had been acting strange for the last few days, and she wasn’t sure why. It was more than Art Boyd’s death, she was sure of that, but what?

She wished he would talk to her.

She began jogging.

Pugsly Park, her destination, was less than three blocks from her apartment building. A view of it could be seen from her windows. CC liked the small family park. It suited her needs, and she used it often, as often as she could.

A small pond was nestled in the middle of the park, surrounded by low bushes and brownish green grass. It made a perfect habitat for