The Last Man

Chap 1: A Watch without Hands

Death Row

Louisiana State Penitentiary (Also known as: Angola)

Eight Weeks Ago

In a halting yet determined voice death row inmate Maurice Jenkins began his quest for absolution, "Forgive me Padre, it has been nine hundred and thirteen days since my last confession," the gravelly voice said to the man sitting on the other side of the concrete wall.

"Yes it has been, has it not? Few people are in the position to have such an accurate accounting of time. We have such an understanding of how short life is here, don't we. Yet, we are in no position to do any of the things that make life truly worth living; the irony of that never seeks to elude me."

"They are coming for me tonight…" his stony voice quivered just slightly.

"Yes, I know. I was able to view your dinner selection. I could smell the Creole seasoning from the crab boil under the door: a splendid choice."

"I would've had you join me if I could have… I didn't think to request that," he said genuinely.

The priest replied gently from his own cell, "I know. It would've been a true delight, after all these years, to break bread with you Maurice. There was something you wanted to confess?"

"Will God really forgive me?" the huge man on the other side of the stone wall sounded so infantile.

The padre cleared his throat, "While your crimes are- allegedly- heinous in their breadth and scope, God does offer forgiveness for those who seek it…"

"I know the 'but' that is coming Padre… We talked this to death already," the statement was tinged with ice and anyone else on death row would have been afraid to continue on this line of questioning. 'The Padre' was no normal inmate however.

"Yes, but now your time of reckoning is at hand. Death is upon you. There is no reason to hold back now."

"I didn't do the things they said that I did…" he said slowly.

"You didn't kill those girls?"

"Oh… I killed them," he said matter-of-factly. "They said I did things… sex things and that I ate them and stuff. I didn't do none-ah that. I just rolled with it- because I got my own cell. I didn't do anything sick to'em. Truth is I just like seein' things die. I like to see the eyes, I know the soul leaves- you can see it! They didn't suffer. There are more of them than they think though. A lot more."

"All the more reason you should confess. The families will know that they weren't butchered and tormented."

"I don't know…"

"When they go to take you down that hall, would you like to walk with your head held high, knowing that you are a man who can admit his sins? Or, will you be pulled down the corridor kicking and screaming as a petulant child would?"

He laughed loudly, "You're shrinking me…"

"Is it not true? Would you not feel more like a man, having dropped your charade?"

"Yeah…" There was a long silence in which the man known as the padre hooked his feet in the bars at the top of his cell and started doing vertical sit ups.

"…tell you what Padre; I'll come clean if you do. Who the hell are you man? Whatcha in for? Word is you're here by choice! You aint got no release or death date, no medical records, no criminal records, no nothin… They never let you outta the cell- not ever. Shit aint legal."

Padre paused in mid sit-up, "I have your word- as a true friend?"

There was a long pause, "Yeah man. To you, God, my mama: all of it. I gotta know this shit… That way I take somethin' with me- some kinda secret. I wanta die with a smirk on my face."

Padre relaxed his legs and hung upside down, "My name in Kane Tolman, but I was known as Padre long before I was exiled here. I killed people…"

"Bullshit man…"

"I killed more people than Small Pox…"

"Seriously…? So, why did you do it?"

"Because it was asked of me: I killed men, women, and children… all in the name of freedom; for which mine was taken from me. I guess the real reason that I am here, is that I asked a question."

"What?"

"No, close though. It was 'Why?'"

Maurice laughed so loudly and deeply that Padre was momentarily surprised, a rarity. "Yeah that one can getcha in a world of trouble. Worst whippin my Moms ever gave was causea that. It wasn't the question that gotcha 'ere; you asked the wrong person…"

"Quite right you are sir. I was a contract killer for the government and one does not question their government. However an ocean of blood flowed through these hands at their behest and thus the reason for my penance. The last time I killed, I took one hundred and nine souls at once: in blistering agony- in a fire, their faces will forever haunt me."

"Shit you aint jokin'. Damn man…"

"Yes, I am the devil."

"Damn, at least I watched mine and they went quick…" he muttered.

"True. Their deaths were a waste in every fashion- including yours. So, I was exiled here. Truth be told, at this point I honestly believe they have forgotten about me. They would have killed me straight away if they were going to and four years is too long for a wrist slap. Perhaps they will endeavor to use me as some sort of scapegoat- as they did with poor Oswald. Rest assured, when they come for me: it won't be to grant me a last request."

"Maybe… Well I'm going to try to get one more dream in. Later man, good luck."

"Sweet dreams Maurice…"

Later that evening, when they came for Maurice Jenkins, he made one last requested when leaving his cell, he asked to shake the hand and see the face of the man he had spoken to for years, but never set eyes on. The guards refused to open the door, but they lowered the flap that food was passed in and out of and the two men shook hands and nodded silently to each other.

Then he indeed walked down death row with his head held high, as the other men on Death Row pounded their fists on their doors. They did it in time with each other, sounding not unlike a human heart beat. It was a ritual they always preformed, but for the first time Maurice heard pounding from the cell at the very end of block and he smiled slyly. The government man at the end of the hall had finally bought in.

True to his word Maurice made one last confession as to the true nature of his crimes and the location of the bodies of his victims, none of which had ever been found. As they strapped him into the electric chair an hour later, his last thoughts were of the man known only as the Padre and if he would ever make it out of that cell. What he never could've fathomed was that the cell was already empty…

Eighteen Hours later

Reston, VA

Retired Colonel Eric Byers' eyes snapped open instantly at the ringing of his phone. He huffed in exasperation and snatched it, knowing that he was now awake for the duration of the day even though it was three in the morning; he had horrible insomnia and was lucky to ever fall asleep to begin with.

"Eric Byer," he snapped.

"Code in: Rusty…"

"Aubrey…?" he said in confusion as to why his minion would be asking for a 'hostility challenge' to make sure he wasn't under duress.

"Colonel, sir, we have a situation sir…"

"Reggie that's two sirs and a Colonel in seven words; this is going to be a very long conversation… What is it- Aaron Cross?"

"Sir, no… it's the team we sent to Louisiana… they are off the grid."

"To Angola? Okay, drop the Get Smart quotes and tell me: what we know and what we don't know…"

"We sent four agents to take care of Padre and we haven't heard from them in eighteen hours. We know the transfer did in fact occur, his cell is empty. He is no longer at the prison. No one saw him leave the facility. The car entered off the record and left that way as well."

"Eighteen hours!" he shouted. "Why did their handler wait so long to alert us?"

"They are off the grid too sir…"

"So, let's recap for those just tuning in- he wiped a four man field team, presumably while in full body irons, and then found their handler and took them out too?"

"That would be speculation, sir."

"Well, the last time we lost one of these guys for eighteen hours he turned up in the damn Philippines…"

"Orders sir?"

He mocked in a cooing voice, "Oh… I don't know… Let's see… How about you fire up Google Earth and start searching the globe street by street. I hope you packed a suitcase, we are camping at Langley."

"Hey Reggie, one more thing, did you know that the phone by my bed is an old rotary dial phone from the '70s. Do you know why? Because you can't do this to a cell phone…" he slammed the phone down on the receiver as hard as he could.

He stormed into his bathroom and gripped his sink in anger as he muttered, "Hirsch, if you weren't dead I'd kill you myself…"

Seventeen Hours Prior

Death Row

Louisiana State Penitentiary (Also known as: Angola)

When the guards allowed Maurice Jenkins to shake the Padres hand they were very cautious to check to see if Padre passed any weapons to Jenkins; they were not cautious of Jenkins passing something to Padre however. After the guards took him away, Padre looked down at the small paper clip and whispered, "Mr. Jenkins, you may just outlive me…" as he listened to the news report, yet again, on the 24hr news network:

[The trial for several CIA officials began today in connection with the broadening scandal enveloping Washington —Assassination program code-named "Blackbriar" was exposed by a former assassin named David Webb— Program reportedly targeting US Citizens in some cases... CIA Director Ezra Kramer produced explosive documents for the Senate Committee indicating "Blackbriar" was authorized at the highest levels of government.

Eight months ago David Webb, who was known inside the intelligence community, as "Jason Bourne" jumped from the fourteenth floor of the CIA facility where he was trained in New York into the East River below; his body has never been recovered.]

He knew that they would be coming; the news loop had started twelve hours ago. He wasn't arrogant enough to believe that he was a primary concern and was lucky to have not been visited before now, but he was a huge loose-end that would need to be snipped. With a trial underway he knew they would be double checking to make sure any potential witnesses were crossed off- permanently.

When the four agents arrived for him a few minutes later, he couldn't help but mentally tick off the mistakes that they made. First and foremost, they didn't let the guards transfer him from his cell to the motor pool. Death Row guards are at the top of their career field and strictly followed rules that had been hard learned lessons over the thousands of years prisons had existed.

First of all they arrived without notice, intending to surprise him but the guards couldn't find the key to his cell; as it turns out only the warden had them. While the four agents waited for forty minutes, they stayed within his eyesight, which allowed him to assess their abilities and weaknesses.

The forty minutes in his cell were spent in body irons, which were passed through the bars and applied while he was still in the cell. Then one of the agents had cruelly cranked down on them so hard that his circulation was cut off. In those forty minutes he was out of their view occasionally, which he used to pick the locks on his irons and loosen them so that his hands could be pulled out easily. When they took him from the cell, they failed to recheck the irons; one of the prison guards started to, but was told to stand down and back away by the agents.

Next was that they let him walk out of his cell, although it was in said full arm and leg irons. They should have blown his head off right there or tranquilized him and drug him out. They had been ordered to do the latter and even had an animal tranquilizer gun, but were upset at having to wait and wanted to make up for lost time; they hadn't thought to request a gurney or wheelchair until the key was found and didn't want to wait for one.

All of the other mistakes would have been nullified, but for one. When they got to the car the female agent started to dig around in the back seat of the sedan. "Diane, what are you doing?"

"Looking for his seat belt…" all four men, Padre included scoffed at her utter naivety, as they were just taking him out to a field to shoot him in the head.

"Get in the car!" one of the two bigger men ordered. You two ride in the back, you're smaller…" to which the Padre laughed inwardly as he noticed the left handed man rode shotgun, which made both men in the front ineffective with pistols, as they would be in their interior hands.

As they rode, he rubbed his wrists periodically so they got use to the motion. Angola sat on twenty-two thousand acres and it was surrounded on three sides by the Mississippi. His final dream came to fruition as they blew through the last set of exterior gates. They were waved through without being checked; they were 'off the books'.

He waited until they turned down a dirt road between two sugar cane fields before he struck. His hands had been free of the cuffs for a minute before he took sharpened tooth brush and stabbed the man on his right in the gut, then in a fluid motion he pulled it out and swung his arm back and elbowed the woman on his right in the face, which was merely the wind up for his lunge at the drivers eye as he looked over his shoulder.

With the two agents in the back distracted and the driver dead, the mouthy man riding shotgun made their final mistake: he went for the wheel instead of his gun. Padre grabbed a fist full of his hair and shoved his head forward as he channeled four years worth of hate and rage into his blow as he rammed his only weapon into the rear of the man's head, where the skull meets the spine. He felt the shaft break off in the man's skull, as he figured it would, but it had served its purpose.

The car finally veered off the road and into the cane field as he went to work on the two agents in the rear. His rage was so intense, that to an observer outside the car, it would've appeared like the two people were trapped in the backseat with a wild animal.

The car rolled to a stop and moments later. Padre climbed out, put the car in park, and stripped the three men while they were in their seats to keep the clothes from getting muddy. He then dumped the bodies in the field. He opened the trunk and laughed when he saw the assault weapons, body armor, and suitcases in there. He added the pistols to them, all but one.

He heard a groan as the female agent stirred from unconsciousness. He grabbed her chin with a vice like grip as he held up a picture of two children that he had taken from her wallet. "I am still very much put off and will be killing a few more people today. I am asking for a parley. For the life of your oldest child, I want you to give me a name and address. For the life of the younger, I want you to make a sixty second phone call. I will then go to the address you give me as opposed to your address. Are these terms acceptable?"

She thought about it a lot longer than he assumed she would, but he waited in silence. Finally after thirty seconds she slowly nodded.

"You know where I want to go and whom I want you to call, correct?"

She nodded.

"Excellent!" He pulled her out of the car, he had the handcuffs and the waist belt on her, so her hands were fixed to her waist but her feet were unsecured. "Turn around and face the car," he hiked up her skirt around her waist and pulled her underwear down, at which point she screamed.

"Silence…"

More screaming…

"Remain calm…"

She continued screaming.

"I have asked twice in a gentle tone. I will not ask a third time…"

She became silent.

"I asked for two things; do I have them yet?"

"No…" she murmured.

"Then why would I inflect harm upon you and risk your cooperation. Now squat; if you must empty you bladder or bowels please do so now. You won't have another opportunity in the foreseeable future… I have a few things left to do and will afford you as much priv'icy as possible."

He busied himself with the vehicle, wallets, weaponry, changing clothes and minor grooming. When he was done he loaded her in the front seat and slowly pulled the car out of the field and he stopped where the clay road met the blacktop.

She nervously looked over at him and saw that he had his eyes squeezed shut and was rubbing the bridge of his nose. She offered meekly, "Kane, I'm sorry I screamed; it wasn't a conscience choice. Your file described you as very gentlemanly; I just didn't expect to be assaulted."

"Nor should you. I dreamed of seeing the sun for years, now I curse it! When did they stop issuing government agents mirrored sunglasses, I swear- four of you and nary a pair to be had amongst you all."

"Mine are in the glove-box… You might look silly, but they'll help."

He retrieved the Prada glasses which had leopard print pattern to them and tried them on. "What do you think?"

She looked at his wild unkempt graying hair and long beard, "Very avant garde… The hair suits you, the beard is horrible."

"Truly? I thought it wizardly…"

"Beards are for men with bad teeth or an unattractive face. You are an attractive man, you don't need it."

"Why thank you very much madam. By the by, there is one thing that will most assuredly result in my blowing your head off- please do not utter the words 'are we there yet…'" he laughed and slapped the steering wheel as though it were the funniest joke ever told.