To Be The Last Ch. 01

With light brown hair and clear green eyes much like his father's this boy would be quite a looker when he grew up. The ball the boy had been playing with rolled and landed near a tall, handsome man. Smiling into the boy's big green eyes, much like his own, the man gently threw the ball back. The eight-year-old boy grinned at the man toothily before he turned around and pitched the ball as hard as he could at his sister. Mark's mother frowned disapprovingly at him.

"Mark, you're playing catch, not kill-my-baby-sister-with-a-baseball."

The man grinned to himself at Mark's reprimand. A light breeze blew, catching the woman's chestnut hair. The small family was having a picnic in Madison Square Park. The lush green foliage provided a brief sanctuary from the concrete jungle that surrounded them.

Blake looked up from the happy family as he heard a car door slam. A man in his mid forties clad in an expensive suit climbed out of the passenger's seat of a midnight blue Mercedes. He began making his way to the family, his hand reaching into his coat, as the car pulled back into traffic. Blake sighed. So much for the happy moment; duty called. He reached inside his coat for his M-23 A8 suppressed, loaded with one composite round. Aim never wavering, Blake pulled the trigger and the bullet embedded itself in his target's chest. As if in slow motion the target dropped to his knees and fell forward as the chestnut-haired woman clutched her two brown-headed children to her with a scream. The man in the suit was dead before his head had hit the ground. Perfect shot. Pushing his mother away, Mark ran to the body screaming, "father!"

....................................

Blake briskly strode away. He inconspicuously placed his gun in a brown paper bag and tucked it back into his coat pocket. As he passed the 4th trash can on the street he threw the brown paper bag into it without a second thought. A homeless man walked over to the trash can and took the brown paper bag. Blake and the man made eye-contact. The well-disguised agent would properly dispose of Blake's gun. Blake pulled his coat tightly about himself walking towards the car that would deliver him to his new apartment. He got into the black, chauffeured car at the end of the long street. The driver avoided looking at Blake as he opened the door for his new employer. Leaning back against the new leather seat, Blake closed his eyes and let his mind wander.

....................................

A little boy of three stood by his mother watching her cry as she turned her head from the television set.

A handsome man's arm was looped with his young wife-to-be as they walked pass the paparazzi. "...Multi-Millionaire Thomas Gregory Gucci had just gotten engaged to his girlfriend of four years, New York socialite and debutante Katherine Bethany Somerville. The two families have been long-time partners, with the marriage of Thomas Gucci and Katherine Somerville the two families hope to merge their businesses..."

The little boy walked over to the television set and turned it off, hoping his mother would stop crying. He began to play peek-a-boo, remembering that his mother would do that to get him to laugh. His beautiful mother looked up from her crying into the face of a child who looked so much like his handsome father and began to cry harder. She motioned for her son to come near.

"Maman, pourqoi est-ce que tu pleure?"

The mother swiped angrily at her tears as she tried to put on a smile for her worried son. "I'm not crying, Blake. Maman is just being stupide. Come give me a hug."

Blake hugged his mother fiercely, not knowing why she was so upset. "Do not worry maman. Tout va bien." he tried to reassure his mother, which caused her to cry even harder.

............................

Opening his eyes, Blake shook his head. That was not something he wanted to remember. Pulling out his buzzing cell phone he cursed as he saw the number. Apparently his boss didn't believe in reprieves. Placing the phone to his ear, Blake looked at the driver in the rear-view mirror.

"Go."

............................

Alexia Whitt loved Mondays; it was the day she was allowed back to work. She was such a workaholic that her boss made her take Sundays off. Alex decided to take a cut through Madison Square Parks that day. With her hot drink in hand she bounced cheerfully, singing September by Earth, Wind and Fire as she entered the park. Alex noticed a Mercedes pull up to the curb and a distinct, handsome older man stepped out. Watching where the man was heading, Alex let out a heartfelt sigh. Of course he'd be walking towards a family. The pretty brunette who Alex was sure was the man's wife, flashed him a radiant smile as she looked up from playing with two small children.

Just as Alex turned away, the woman let out such a scream that Alex shrieked in surprise. Whether her shriek was a reaction to the woman's scream or the fact that she had spilt her boiling hot chocolate over herself because of the woman's scream, Alex couldn't tell. Probably both.

By the time Alex looked up from her ruined clothes the woman and her two children were crying over the man's body. Wracked with fear, Alex rushed toward the fallen man. Some of the other families in the park gazed at the family curiously as others moved quickly to put distance between them. A few people were standing near, uncertain of what to do.

Alex dropped to her knees besides the man and managed a smile for the sobbing family. Placing her hands on the man's chest, she leaned forward to determine whether or not the man was breathing. He was not. Alex got up and removed her hands, preparing to start CPR.

Originally Alex wanted to be a doctor. She had gotten her GED at 16 and attended John Hopkins University. By 22 she had gotten her medical science degree and masters in Business Economy. She never understood why she didn't become a doctor. She had trade in her dream of helping others for a high paying job at Richardson Corps as co-supervisor and 2nd director of the technology department. Alex had always regretted not pursuing her dream and more so that she had wasted so much time. But right now Alex was grateful for her medical knowledge because maybe today she could use it to save some one's life.

Looking down at her unusually damp hands Alex let out a terrified scream. She had not noticed before because the man had been wearing a black suit, but now that she examined closely the suit was soaked in blood, as were her hands. Alex saw where the flow of blood was coming from; a bullet wound in the man's chest. She sat back on her heels and looked at a small present in the man's hand. Choking on a sob, she averted her eyes. There was nothing she could do. The man was dead.

.................

Blake looked out his large windows at Trump Palace on 200 East 69th Street. His new apartment was too big. There were three bedrooms, and two full bathrooms, one with a Jacuzzi tub, a full kitchen and dining room and living room area that also came with a home theatre. The place was fully furnished and a Bose system had been installed in every room, including the two bathrooms.

Normally Blake would insist on a smaller place to live that was equally expensive. He didn't need more than one bedroom. No one would be visiting his home. And even if he did invite someone home, she sure as hell wouldn't be sleeping in a separate bed, considering she'd be sleeping at all.

"You told me I could do what I wanted, as long as I killed him efficiently," Blake calmly spoke into his phone. His employer's errand boy was beginning to sound redundant.

"And you consider killing him in a public area efficient?" the irate voice on line demanded. "What the hell were you thinking? How are we going to catch his partners now? After that display Carmelo's buddies are going to be lower key than ever."

"I hope so," was Blake's cold answer.

"You, you what!" the voice spluttered.

Pulling his view away from the window, Blake walked towards the kitchen.

The onyx counter-tops were spotless and polished. There was an island in the middle of the kitchen where top of the line cookware were hanging overhead. The kitchen was something a person would see on Iron Chef. Thinking about the dinner he wanted to cook, Blake looked around and asserted he had all the spices and equipment he needed. When he was done with this call, he'd head out to buy the ingredients. He opened the refrigerator's well-concealed door and took out a bottle of Evian. The insistent criticizing was bringing on a headache.

"I don't see what the big fucking deal is." Blake had his cell phone wedged between his shoulder and ear as he threw the Evian from his left hand to his right. His French accent was beginning to surface. It happened when he became too emotional and right now he was becoming extremely irritated. "You tell me kill him, I killed him. That was the best opportunity that presented itself and I took it. I hope Carmelo's partners are hiding, I need a challenge. All I had to do was visit Carmelo's office and pretend to be a potential client."

"And they told you were you could find Carmelo?" the voice asked, amused.

"No Matt, I flirted with the new secretary a bit," Blake explained impatiently. "After a few looks and complements, she was a font of information."

"Did you get anything important out of her?"

"Just where Carmelo was this afternoon and that my coat was very fashion faux pas," Blake said, smiling for the first time since the conversation had started 45 minutes ago.

"Dammit Blake this isn't a joke. People's lives are put at stake and you're telling me Carmelo's secretary thinks you need to buy a fashionable coat? Never mind, forget it. Dane wants me to assign you on another case. Apparently you are the best agent for this case we have available and he doesn't want you working on the case you're working on anymore."

Blake stopped throwing his bottle of water around and managed to not groan aloud. When was the last time he had a vacation? With a defeated sigh Blake demanded, "Do I get paid a lot for this next job? Is there anyone I need to kill? And most importantly, do I have to pretend to be someone this time?"

"Yes, maybe and yes. Whether or not you can get evidence of this company funding terrorists, you'll get paid enough to spend a quarter year at that damn place you like so much in Spain. We aren't expecting for anyone to get killed until more evidence is collected either. And regarding the identity, we are fabricating a background for you right now with your name Blake Xander. After a month of training, you're going in as a computer and technology genius, which shouldn't be hard for you to pull off."

"Mexico," Blake said absent-mindedly.

"What?" Matt demanded, completely confused.

"The 'damn place I like so much in Spain' isn't in Spain, it's in the Mexico you idiot. Alright," Blake said with reluctance, "what company?"

"Richardson Corp."

............................

Alex stopped in front of the entrance to Madison Square Park. She hadn't walked in the park since that incident. It had been a month since then and Alex refused to let her fears control her life. Taking a sip of her steaming coffee, Alex began to relax and enjoy the chill of the October air.

Walking cautiously at first, Alex looked like an awkward child, uncertain of its self. With each safe and sure step, Alex began to walk more confidently. She strolled through the park and admired the couples and old folk feeding the birds. As Alex walked, she began to notice that life moved too quickly. The busy city around her was drowned with always moving bodies. There was always a constant and cluttering flow of people on the sidewalks and cars on the road. She wanted to stop walking and watch were everyone was headed and yell, "slow down!" But anything could change in a New York minute. The most glamorous model replaced and young aspiring actors, singers and performers turned down yet again. And the life of a very important political figure ended. But one thing she couldn't change was time. Everyone would still travel just as fast to their destination. As the city bustled with people everything that had happened couldn't be undone and would just be remembered occasionally.

After reflecting on those thoughts for the past 45 minutes, Alex noticed Richardson Corps was only around the corner. When one was looking up at the 60 story building they'd feel very small and insignificant. Alex shook off the bad feeling she had and rounded the corner. As she did so she heard a man shout, 'Hey you!' Alex turned to see a man dressed in black with large dark glasses chasing after her. Bolting down the street Alex ran for the building. Maybe someone was after her because she had been there that day at Madison Square Park and she knew too much. She didn't know anything at all! Maybe her imagination was running wild again. All she knew was that she wasn't going to stop to talk to the man until she was inside the safe building. She flew into the lobby, her raven hair wild. She looked frightened and disoriented.

It was out of place to see Alex unprofessional that the toughest security guard, 'Steel' Tony laughed. Alex turned on him with accusing eyes and was about to reprimand him when the stranger stopped, breathing hard, in front of them. She let out a shriek and ran behind Tony and used him as a shield. Tony was 6' 7" and had a large built. He looked down at the pretty, messy raven haired girl, barely 5' 4", at his side who peered at the new comer queerly.

"Stalker!"

The stranger looked angrily at Alex and held up a sultry black shoe that only a stripper would think of wearing.

Tony looked at Alex and she smiled guiltily. Then she reached into her large bag and produced the other side of the shoe.

"Well being truthful, it isn't my shoe. It's Jesse's shoe. Jesse asked me to bring them when I meet up with him for lunch."

"Who is Jesse?" the stranger demanded.

"Not that it is any of your business, Jesse is a good friend. Though he prefers to be called Jessica." Alex replied primly as she walked over to retrieve the shoe, not looking at the man. "Thank you. I advise that next time you chase down a woman to return something, you don't do it so...creepily."

"Creepily?" the man questioned in disbelief.

"Yes. Dressed in entirely black. Although it's not as though you could change your clothes to chase after me so...never mind, I tend to ramble and I'm going to stop right now." Alex looked down at the man's shiny onyx shoes and up his jet clad suit pants and buttoned black coat and noticed the stranger had a nice physique. Alex swallowed as she pulled her gaze from his body and finally looked at his face. Amused, green eyes stared back at her.

"Don't like my coat? You're the second person who has told me it isn't very fashionable," the man joked good-naturedly.

Alex felt her cheeks burn. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. Well, I better go now. Have a nice life," Alex said as she made a quick getaway.

....................

Blake couldn't believe his morning. First day on the case and he bumped into one of the most infuriating woman he's met in awhile. She was completely unappreciative of him retrieving her shoe. He had been accused of being a stalker and called creepy. The shoe turned out to belong to her cross dressing friend. She was quite a pretty thing, with large dark brown eyes, a pert nose and generous lips. When Blake had tried flirting with her, she had tossed her hair over her shoulder and practically told him to get lost.

But he knew she was interested; the way her eyes roved over his body and how she nibbled on her lower lip and swallowed. When she had finally looked up, she had a guilty tinge on her cheeks that made Blake smile. He wasn't there for flirting with the other workers though. He was there to get a job done and save the day. Again.

..........................

"And you told him to have a nice life?" Alex's friend and secretary, Clara, asked in between laughs. She was seated on Alex's desk and refused to return to work without scolding Alex first.

"I know! Stop reminding me what an idiot I am!" Alex complained.

Clara remained quiet. Alex looked up at Clara making fish-faces. Laughing, Alex picked up her stress ball and threw it at her artificially gorgeous friend. Clara effortlessly caught the ball and hopped off the desk.

"You're lucky the blinds are closed. How unattractive do you think the men would think you are after they saw those faces?"

"You love it. Don't deny it."

"Okay, okay, I love it. Now get your perky ass out of my office," Alex teased.

Clara looked over her shoulder then at her butt.

"Sexual harassment! How much are you willing to pay me now to prevent me from suing?"

"Will you please get to work?" Alex laughed.

"Fine, fine. I'm leaving." Clara tossed the ball over her shoulder and Alex reflexively caught it. She placed the stress ball at the top of her desk, still smiling.

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Strolling into the office after the secretary, Blake tried to ignore the admiring looks he was receiving. The secretary would also constantly look over her shoulder to give Blake smiles. In an effort to be polite, Blake had smiled back, trying to ignore the irritation that was beginning to form.

Unwanted, Blake began to remember the one time he was ambushed by a group of lust-struck teenage girls while attending an all-boys school in France. Most twelve year old boys would brag about being tackled and held captive by three very attractive girls, but Blake was frightened. Being raised from infancy by his mother to respect women and treat them like treasures, Blake didn't know any other way than to be courteous and gentlemanly.

He couldn't find kind words to get the girls' greedy hands off of him. First he tried to tell them he had somewhere to be. When that hadn't worked he tried to threaten them. Obviously he wasn't very successful at that either because the girls then began to slide their hands under his shirt while whispering dirty things to him. Fortunately enough, two of his friends had gone looking for him. They pried Blake out of a pile of long-limbs and lip-gloss. Since then Blake made it a habit to travel in groups.

Shortly after that incident, Blake's mother died. Not knowing anything about his father, Blake assumed the man was either dead or walked out on his mother. If it was the second, Blake would have preferred the man to have been dead. Since the only living relative he knew of was his uncle Philip, Blake decided he wanted to live with him.

Moving wasn't a big deal to Blake. He had been moving all over Europe most of his life. So uprooting from Paris to Rome was actually a welcome to Blake. He preferred the bit quieter life Rome had to offer. And Blake didn't mind living with a man he had only met once when he was six because he would rather live with family than with strangers. His mother had been hesitant to introduce them; thinking Philip would be a bad influence on Blake. Even with the warnings Blake's mother had given him, Blake remembered liking his uncle Philip and his decadent ways immensely.

Being raised by his uncle until he was eighteen was the most insightful six years of his life. That was when he truly began to learn about women. Much like his sister, Philip couldn't stay in one place for very long. He and Blake traveled all over Europe and the Middle East. By the time Blake was eighteen he fluently spoke six different languages, did well off in four other languages and understood half a dozen more. Blake's penchant for languages was the reason he was scouted by the Agency. And also the fact that he was an orphan after his uncle passed away, no one would miss Blake if he were to die on a mission.