The Twelfth Of Never: A suspense mystery romantic thriller

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 was 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.