Flower Girl: A Burton Family Mystery Read online

  Agent Newhouse says, "They say no one quits the company, but according to recent events we are approved to discuss with you in confidence, Agent Burton has done just that."

  I did not flinch. I was thinking that Reddy may have met a worse end.

  Agent Newsome continued, "Four months ago Burton failed to check in after his last assignment and he's been officially declared to be off the reservation. No one, and I mean no one, seems to know where he is or even if he’s still alive."

  There, he said it, maybe Reddy is hurt or worse, dead.

  "He’s gone rogue," Agent Rapier said. "He vanished from our radar after being assigned to several covert assignments. Normally we don’t reveal these details about our agents, but he recently listed you as his beneficiary on his personnel docs and retrieving Burton and making sure he is OK is a high priority. He is a valuable asset."

  It struck me as careless of Reddy to reveal to the government that he had a daughter. He is so secretive about his comings and goings.

  However, I let it drop, asking instead, "Tell me how he's a valuable asset. I don't even know where he lives. He hasn't been here for months. If I hear from him, I'll tell him you dropped by and inquired about his whereabouts."

  "Thanks," Agent Newsome replied. "Actually, we also have a second objective. We’re here to recruit you. Frankly, we’re having this discussion with you to let you know we are sincere in an offer we are about to make to you, recovering Agent Burton would be a bonus."

  The words asset and recovering seemed very cold to me. Agent Newhouse cut into my thoughts, saying, "Let me tell you why we value Agent Burton and then I will get to that offer I just mentioned."

  Richard Francis Burton was raised on a mixture of Catholic values and benevolence a la his childhood idol, Dr. Tom Dooley - the doctor and humanitarian whose efforts in Viet-Nam and Laos in the 1950's saved many lives. He enlisted in the Marines at 18 after a short stint as a minor league baseball player. He served as U.S Marine Gunnery Sergeant. Three deployments to Iraq. Numerous tours of duty including US Embassy guard postings in Nairobi and Kuala Lumpur. Two years based at Camp Pendleton as a sniper instructor. His service jacket shows a bronze star with two clusters and a silver star for valor and two purple hearts.

  I began inadvertently to smile as my chest swelled up with a sense of pride as Agent Newhouse continued.

  First wife’s name, Anne Burton 1965-1986 (Maiden name: unknown). She was 19 when they married and moved into quarters at Camp Casey in South Korea; she died the following year, on 2 June 1986. Cause of death, malaria, which also took the life of her stillborn fetus, verified by attending physician Dr. Evel Park, Sr..

  I felt a lump in my throat and swallowed hard. Dr. Park had told me a third of the truth, my mother had died from malaria; however, the 2d of June matched the dates annually when my dreams of the man in black came back to haunt me at an early age, and my father is still alive and I'm supposed to be dead. I was in shock.

  I missed whatever Agent Newhouse said for the next minute or so, then she added, "That all happened before we hired him."

  I also wondered, perhaps for different reasons than the CIA, where he disappeared to, why, and why so frequently. However, while I took all this information in, I wasn't emotionally ready for the onslaught, not quite yet.

  When the agents turned to his military background and personal life, I came back to life. I learned that morning that he was a sniper and a hero. As to his personal life, 2 June was the date of my mother's and my deaths; However, I am still alive. Also, he had a second wife and maybe a son or daughter, meaning maybe he was absent so much because he was with his other family. I felt strangely jealous.

  I had to ask; however, I whispered, "Who was his second wife? Any children?"

  Agent Newhouse replied, "We are pretty sure he was married to a Philippine girl a few years later and they may have had a daughter, but it hasn’t been verified."

  Next, I suspected that the CIA wanted to keep tabs on me in order to track him, not just to recruit me into the company. Newsome and Rapier were dodging around their real mission.

  I wanted to keep the dialogue going. So far their goals meshed with mine. What I really wanted to know was what had happened to my father and why was I listed as officially dead. I had found out how and when my mother died but otherwise I knew nothing of her. However, having no other family, I also wanted to know about my father’s second wife and whether I had a step-sister or brother. Maybe his frequent and lengthy absences were to be with them. Then, I also had to ask myself, did I really want and need him in my life? Hell, I had rarely seen him since my rescue, with the exception of graduations.

  The interview seemed to be at an end when Agent Newhouse said, "We have one last question, it is 'Classified Top Secret: Need to know only'."

  I nodded and she asked, "A hacker friend of his set up his computer with a nearly untraceable line that has the code name Michaela."

  "Any idea what Michaela means?" Agent Rapier asked. "It may be code for something. We think it may have something to do with his second family."

  Agent Rapier paused, then continued, "Burton has acquired contacts all over the world, and he is superior in one skill, he is a sniper par excellence."

  "Is Michaela a person or what?" I asked.

  It soon became apparent to the agents that I had no knowledge that would help them.

  It also became obvious to me that the CIA has been shadowing Reddy for a long time, another little inconsistency in their cover story about being at my house to recruit me. They never did provide the details of the job they were supposedly recruiting me for. I also knew that Reddy hated being shadowed and therefore left so many fake trails that the CIA had probably been spending considerable time and manpower chasing false leads. Until they mentioned that he had listed me as his beneficiary, I wondered how they even knew that I was his daughter. Essentially, his daughter died fifteen years ago.

  The agents' questions about Michaela made me suspicious about the real intent for their visit, even though I had no idea who or what she was.

  I thanked Agents Newhouse and Rapier for the CIA's interest and silently thought, Reddy has many secrets. I need to nudge him at least enough to find out more about my mother and his second wife and family. I am awakening to a deep seated and perhaps repressed need to know about my heritage.

  In the meantime, the CIA wasn't going to get any secrets about Reddy Burton's whereabouts out of me. I had that much filial piety for my absentee father.

  I want to tell the agents that Reddy may be a sniper or if you must, a hit man, hired gun, or assassin, call him what you may; however, I am trying to call him father.

  As the CIA agents’ four-door black Chevrolet Suburban turned the corner two blocks away with a squealing of tires, Reddy burst out of the basement. "Were those agents asking if they could see the workshop in the basement?"

  "They wanted to know where you are, and I think they want to find something or someone called Michaela." I replied.

  The Basement Workshop

  Without another word, he began installing a scrambling device on my house phone, then another on my cell phone, and on all the electronic internet stuff in the house. Within an hour, he made the place safe for confidential calls and swept it for listening devices and mini-cameras. He was certain that those CIA bastards left several listening and spying devices inside and outside and maybe even attached something to my car. He found three infrared detection devices that he carefully removed.

  However, he wasn't satisfied. He went back into the basement and came back with another device that looked like a ray gun from a Star Trek episode with a small fan shaped antennae. He held the antennae in his left hand and the ray gun in his right as he double- and triple-checked every nook and cranny in the house and yard. Then he asked me, "Have there been any TV cable or plumbing repair people in the neighborhood recently, say within the past three weeks?"

  "P.G.& E. checked the gas meter about a week ago, and th
ere’s a new dish on the roof of the home across the street."

  He casually walked across the street, went two houses down, and reinstalled in the neighbor's doghouse the infrared devices he had found earlier. They got an infrared heat signature coming and going from that location for months before they figured out his little joke.

  "Bingo! That'll keep them busy for a few weeks. You have the natural attributes of a sleuth. You’re most observant, and you have eyesight every bit as good as mine," he told me when he returned.

  "Uncorrected eyesight, maybe, but I thought you could see better than a sparrow hawk, better than Fred Williams." I said.

  "True, true, I do have incredible distance vision. I did a stint as a minor league player after getting out of high school, but my dreams of being the next Ted Williams, not Fred Williams, came to an abrupt end when I slid into third base trying to stretch a double into a triple and blew out my left knee. I was almost nineteen, so I joined the Marines, my dream of being a big leaguer over. I healed quickly but lost my desire to play ball after my first hitch in Iraq and my first . . . " he broke off as if listening for something, then he returned to his story about Ted Williams.

  "I listened to a Redsox-Yankees game on the radio where the announcer reported that ‘the splendid splinter’ could see the spin of the laces on a hundred mile an hour fast ball thrown towards the plate by the pitcher as he stood in the batter's box and focused on blasting the ball into the Fenway Park upper deck seats in right field. An ace fighter pilot as well as a baseball Hall of Famer, Williams was said to have 20-15 vision, and I didn't give a damn about the junk reporters said about his wanting to be cryogenically preserved at death. Hell, the man was a war hero and the greatest hitter of all time. If he could see that well with 20-15 vision, a Marine sniper could also benefit from enhanced distance vision."

  Reddy still wasn't satisfied with our security, emphasis on my safety and his basement lab, probably in reverse priority. "It isn't our eyesight I'm concerned with right now. It's our sense of smell, and a seventh sense for danger that animals possess but humans have neglected as we became more civilized."

  "We need a watchdog like Professor Craft's big Akita. You remember KC from up at Skeleton Lake," I blurted out. "I'll call Craft."

  "Great idea!" Reddy replied.

  I was thinking there was some hope for a father/daughter relationship, if he'd just stick around long enough for us to bond.

  I turned to Reddy. "I'll grant that with you around we need better home security, especially with your workshop in my basement. However, no one is supposed to know you're here." Before Reddy could answer, my smart phone was buzzing in the shoulder holster I use when running and hadn't yet taken off after my morning run. "Hi, Matte, what's up in River View land?"

  "Josiah got your message about needing an Akita. How about two? You would make a great family and home for these pups," Matte said.

  Reddy asked, "What's up?"

  "It's Matte. Here, I'll punch the speaker. You talk to her."

  "Hi, Matte, what's new?"

  "You and Shannon are about to be the parents of two seven week old Akita/wolf pups, Shy and Comet," Matte said.

  "Our security problems are soon to be a thing of the past. Serendipitous, don't you think?" I said.

  "Coincidence or not, it's great. Akitas are fabulous watchdogs and hunting dogs, originally bred to protect the Japanese royal family. They damn near hunted the moon bears of Japan to extinction," Reddy added.

  "Moon bears? We do not have a problem with moon bears," I quipped.

  Reddy almost smiled. "The wolf part remains to be seen."

  Meanwhile, I told you this is our family story, Reddy's and mine. The story of a rather unusual family, starting with a father who makes a living as a contract assassin and a daughter who almost became a child bride, who is about to have two more morning running companions and the best home security in the neighborhood.

  If you are wondering about how Reddy and I knew KC was having puppies, let me digress and tell you what Matte told me about last summer when KC, the pups’ mother, disappeared up at Skeleton Lake. KC had spent some time with the wolves up at the Lake, and several months later Craft had more Akitas than he could handle. As two of the pups were inseparable, we took them both.

  Angie and I felt more secure than ever in our Berkeley home. Every stranger that even accidentally got between them and us got a very scary growl. Succinctly put, the dogs completed our new security system and readily received Reddy’s approval which included treats at the Beastro Coffee House after our daily runs in the hills behind my home. Our family had two new members, Shy and Comet.

  The CIA visit taught me a lot about Reddy Burton, sniper extraordinaire, and the two agents mentioned a second wife which still had my curiosity tingling. However, I learned most of what I know about the man himself during summers at Skeleton Lake while I learned a trade I never thought I'd have any part of, a trade that was to lead to our starting a family business. I also never thought until recently that I had a father and maybe siblings.

  I’m trying to come to grips with why he seems to enjoy killing, even if the targets are the bad guys, and even if he is trying to eliminate collateral damage. Mostly, I'm wondering, how is it I was declared dead, and is he off somewhere on assignment or with his other family.

  Chapter 2: Summer 1 at Skeleton Lake

  As I mentioned earlier, Professor Craft and Dr. Matte recently invited Reddy and me to spend the summer at his cabin at Skeleton Lake. Matte suggested it as a father/daughter bonding experience. However, there is a catch to their invitation.

  Northwest Air flight 433 from San Francisco landed on time at Lambert Field at 14:25 CST. Reddy and I trekked into the terminal, heading for the cargo area to get Shy and Comet who had made the five hour flight in the cargo hold as per FAA regulations.

  We also expected to meet Dr. Rhyly Raincrow, former graduate assistant for Professor Craft, now a professor in her own right, a U.S. Air Force veteran and member of the Chippewa tribe in southern Illinois, and a friend of Craft and Matte. We soon saw a young woman striding toward us as she tied her long raven black hair into a ponytail and pulled it through the opening in the rear of her cardinal red baseball cap. She wore a leather flight jacket and mirror aviator glasses. An avid runner like Craft and myself and Angie, she radiated energy and physical fitness.

  She greeted us with a deep, raspy voice. "Hi folks, welcome to Lambert Field. I rescued these two characters from the cargo area." Folks in the terminal gave the two rambunctious big dogs a wide berth as they came loping towards Reddy and me. Reddy had some dog treats in his jacket pocket so they quickly lost interest in me.

  "Hi, Rhyly, I see you’ve met Shy and Comet," I said. "Thanks for getting them released."

  "Hi, Shannon!" Rhyly said, smiling as she came across the baggage claim area. The next thing I noticed about Rhyly as she got close enough for a hug, yes I flinched, is that her latest wound was superficial, a bandage around her neck the only visible clue of her being shot. This recent shooting was the second attempt on her life by a sniper, the first having occurred during an attempt to steal the Westminster Throne replica from Professor Craft's office at the Track on the campus of RVU.

  I recently told Matte that Reddy and I see each other so rarely that I can’t imagine us ever becoming a family. That was in part why we were invited to Skeleton Lake. Accepting Matte and Craft’s invitation to spend the summer at his cabin at Skeleton Lake was our first real opportunity to do some father and daughter bonding. In return for our vacation, Matte and Craft wanted Reddy to investigate who hired the shooter(s), find the shooter(s), and set up security for Rhyly at Moosonee where she would be the archaeological project leader for the next two months.

  We walked the pups outside to where Rhyly had parked the Cessna Caravan, a single engine turboprop equipped with floats that accommodated nine passengers and a couple thousand pounds of cargo. Craft had reluctantly agreed with his mechanic, Sarge, that it was
time to retire the now thirty-year-old Cessna 185 that had served him so well.

  The dogs quickly got their land legs back and I was expecting them to balk at being loaded into another aircraft. They surprised me and leapt into the Caravan where I fastened their harnesses as Rhyly did a pre-flight check of the aircraft and Reddy loaded the luggage.

  An hour later, we landed on the light chop of the Ohio River and taxied up to the dock at Craft’s place in River View, Illinois. Matte, Craft, Laz, and the matriarch of the Bear clan, along with two of her pups were at the dock to greet us. As we tethered the Caravan to the dock and disembarked, I said, "Shy and Comet, meet Rogue and Wolf and your mother KC."

  "Nice tan," Matte said as she shook Reddy’s hand. "Shannon's told me nothing about you."

  Reddy was sporting a ten-day beard, offset by a deep tan. He looked younger than his forty-eight years. However, his face remained expressionless as he said, "I think confidentiality is an important aspect of your profession, Dr. Morgan." Then he added, "Got this great tan in the Caribbean, did a swing around several islands on a yacht. I have some regular clients down there." Matte stared at him with her usual penetrating gaze. To his credit, Reddy didn't flinch. I think he sensed what was coming on tomorrow’s flight to the lake.

  "Hi, Professor Craft," Reddy said with a smile blemished only by a recently acquired gold cap on his left eyetooth. He wasn't the talkative type. His hard muscled arms and lean 5 foot 11 inch frame were matched by an even harder look in his slate gray eyes. As usual, he was taking in everything around him. To me he looked the part he had chosen to play in life, investigator and probably covert operator for some government agency since his years as a Marine sniper. Matte was probably counting on his demeanor becoming magically transformed into a sociable dotting father when his daughter was nearby.

  "Can you recommend a good dentist here in RV? Not that you'd recommend a bad one. I need to get this gold cap replaced with a porcelain one," Reddy asked with a toothy grin as he slung a duffle bag over his shoulder and started for the house. Maybe he does have a sense of humor, I thought.