The Last Witness
"We have two numbers today, Mr. Reese."
John Reese sipped his coffee walked over to look at the new photos. One showed a squared-jawed old man with thinning, white hair; the other, an old woman with piercing, brown eyes.
"Oren and Ruth Silverstein." Said Finch. "Married fifty-six years. Oren was a prisoner in a German concentration camp, and the only member of his family to survive the Holocaust. Ruth was more fortunate. She came to America with her mother and brother after they were freed from the Flossenburg camp. Oren immigrated eight months later. They met at a bakery, and have been together ever since. Having had their share of troubles in Germany, they've lived a quiet life, never bothering anyone and never being bothered, until now."
"So, no idea what the danger could be?" Asked Reese.
"Well, I do have a pretty good lead. Last month the Silversteins called the police to report that someone had been watching them with binoculars. The police tried to spot the man, but they never saw him; he must have cleared out when he realized he'd been spotted. The police gave up about a week ago."
"I'll check on the Silversteins." Reese said. "See if I notice anyone around them acting suspicious."
"Good idea. In the mean time, I'll do some digging. We both know several organizations that hate people like the Silversteins, the question is, which Neo-Nazi group is really prepared to commit murder?"
"I've got eyes on the Silversteins, Finch. Found any skinheads?" Reese was sitting on a park bench, watching the old couple on their morning walk.
"Yes, Mr. Reese. I think I've located the threat. The Aryan Brotherhood has been getting bored. Some of the members have been talking about 'shaking the Jews out of their complacency'. They want to make an example of someone…."
Reese stood up as the Silversteins rounded a corner. He followed them as they turned down a narrow alley.
"Funny place for a walk," he muttered.
"But to each his—" Reese never finished the sentence, for as he stepped into the alley, there was a small click, something caught him around the ankles, and he was jerked into the air!
He thrashed around, trying to free himself, but to no avail. His arms and legs were wrapped in wire, which suspended him from a fire escape overhead. He felt someone pull a bag over his head, drag him down the alley and throw him into the trunk of a car.
A few minutes later, Reese was dragged out of the trunk and across several yards of concrete. He felt his captor tie him to a chair and yank the bag off of his head.
He found himself in an abandoned warehouse, with two people standing in front of him, arms crossed. They weren't Aryans. They weren't Russians. They weren't Elias' men, or contract killers, or even CIA assassins. Mr. Reese had been captured by Oren and Ruth Silverstein!
"What are we going to do with him now?" asked Ruth. "We could keep him as a hostage, try to negotiate with his friends, but that could get messy, and we don't want to have to clean up any blood now, do we?"
"We can't shoot him, unfortunately." Said Oren. "Not right to shoot a prisoner. Not that his kind had any qualms about shooting my family back in Germany."
Reese gave a start. "Wait! I'm not who you think! I know some people have threatened you, but I'm not one of them. I'm here to protect you. I followed you to keep you safe!"
"Sure you did, Son." Said Oren. "And the Pope's a Lutheran. Now, how many of you are there? Tell the truth, because if you lie to me and it gets my wife killed, I will shoot you, prisoner or not."
Reese shook his head, clearing his thoughts.
"I don't know how many Aryans there are, but I do know this: you crossed the Atlantic to find a safe place to raise a family, but now you're in danger here, too. I've spent my whole life trying to keep people like you safe; first in the Army, then in the CIA, and now… whatever this is. If those Aryans are ruthless enough to kill you in cold blood, they're ruthless enough to come after you even if you had one of their own as a hostage. Now you can either leave me tied up, and hope I'm not too irritated when I manage to escape—and I will escape—or you can take a chance and let me go."
The Silversteins looked at each other. "All right. Let him go." Said Oren.
"You'll have to forgive us." Said Ruth as she untied Reese. "We were trying to prove that we were being followed. The police wouldn't believe us, see? Just a senile old couple, probably paranoid from post-traumatic whatever-you-call-it. So we booby-trapped the alley, and we had a camera attached to the snare for proof. But if you're not the one who's trying to kill us, a photo of you wouldn't do us any good."
"Well, now we've got that cleared up" said Reese, "I'll give you directions to a safe-house owned by a friend of mine, and I'll track down the Aryans and teach them to leave you alone."
The Silversteins looked at each other. "Well…" said Ruth, "Thank you for your help. Here—take this. It's an apology for tying you up." She reached into her purse and pulled out a biscuit.
"It was nice to have a bit of excitement." Oren said. "Life's gotten a bit dull since we retired."
Reese swallowed a bite of biscuit. "What did you two do for a living?"
"I was an engineer, and Ruth was a chemist. She could make you just about anything: rat poison, anesthesia, tranquilizer…."
Reese stared at his biscuit, and collapsed on the floor.
"Mr. Reese! Can you hear me, Mr. Reese?"
Reese felt someone tapping his forehead. He opened his eyes, and a face swam into focus above him. It was Finch.
"Are you alright, Mr. Reese? I came after your phone went silent. Where are our clients?"
Reese shielded his eyes, trying to block the light.
"Dunno. How long've I been out?"
"About thirty minutes. Oh… Look here! I bugged the Silversteins' house this morning, and it looks as if they just got home."
Reese staggered to his feet.
"I have to follow them. I haven't eliminated the threat."
Reese arrived at the Silversteins' house just in time to see them drive away.
"I lost them Finch! I lost sight of their car."
"It's alright, Mr. Reese. I'm tracking their GPS."
Finch and Reese tracked the Silversteins to a parking garage. Reese parked on the street outside the garage, got out of his car, and walked toward the entrance. As he squeezed past the parking gate, something struck him in the small of his back and he fell.
Reese rolled to his feet and came eye-to-eye with a broad-shouldered man with a crooked nose. Reese slammed his head into the man's chest, and they both went down. They rolled across the asphalt, each man trying to end up on top. Reese drove his knee into the man's stomach. When the man doubled over, Reese decked him in the jaw. Two more blows and the man was unconscious.
Reese activated his earpiece.
"Something's funny here, Finch. That man was black. How could he be a member of the Aryan Brotherhood?"
"That's very odd, Mr. Reese. Perhaps the Brotherhood has finally decided to broaden its views on racial purity."
"Wouldn't that sort of defeat the purpose of the organization, Finch?"
"Well, yes…."
Hearing a noise overhead, Reese ran up the nearest flight of stairs. Four flights up, he heard voices beside him and looked out of the stairwell. Oren Silverstein was bound to a chair in the middle of the floor, surrounded by four men.
Reese paused, listening.
"What did you tell them, Oren? Don't be scared to tell the truth. Mr. Schwingenhammer will find out if you're lying. He doesn't like lies. Tell me who you've talked to and what you said if you want a quick death."
Reese stepped out of the stairwell, but before he could reach Oren and his captors, a blinding light flashed from the corner of the room. Reese stumbled and struggled to regain his bearings. When he could see again, two of the men lay limp on the floor.
Reese put a bullet in the knee of one of the remaining enemies, but the man didn't fall. Reese ducked back into the stairwell, out of the way of the return shot. He pulled his jacket off and swung it in front of the doorway. The trick worked: his enemy wasted another bullet. Reese waved his coat like a matador, and every time it swung in front of the doorway, the twitchy gunman fired again, until Reese heard a click. Before the gunman could reload, Reese stepped out and fired. As his enemy fell to the floor, Reese looked around, expecting to see the last survivor, ready to attack. He looked just in time to see the man fall to the floor, Ruth Silverstein's Taser pressed to his neck.
"Well, of all things." Said Ruth, "You must have been telling the truth about protecting us."
She untied her husband, then walked back to the corner and picked up a used flash grenade and a camera attached to several wires. The wires attached to an electrical outlet, connected to the camera, and ran across the floor in front of Oren's chair.
"Good." Ruth looked at the camera with satisfaction. "It took the picture this time. When you set off our first booby trap, it didn't trigger the camera like it was supposed to. I suppose it's a good thing you gave us a trial run." She turned to Reese.
"Now, you realize, young man, you're very lucky you were caught in the trap that didn't use an electric shock. I think those men will survive, but electrocution can't be good for the heart."
"You shouldn't have sedated me. I barely got here in time. You're very lucky my friend was able to track your car."
"Don't be ridiculous." Said Oren. "We had everything under control. Anyway, we couldn't leave you conscious, since we didn't know if you were lying; we only untied you because we figured you'd escape anyway.
"Do you know why those men were trying to kill you, Mr. Silverstein?"
"I know now. I knew as soon as he said 'Schwingenhammer'. That was the youngest guard at the concentration camp, and one of the cruelest. I had no idea he was still alive. Guess he somehow managed to avoid prison or execution, but he knows I could put him away for the rest of his life if I ever talked. Most former Nazis would just lay low, but old Schwingy always wanted to strike the last blow. If I told his hired goons who I'd already mentioned him to, they would have killed anyone I'd told about him and silenced me for good."
"These rugelach are delicious, Mrs. Silverstein." Harold Finch sat in front of the Silverstein's coffee table while Reese stood, leaning against the wall.
"Yes." Said Oren. "We showed the police our photographs, and they finally took the threat seriously. I also told them about Schwingenhammer, and they tracked him down. He was living in Minnesota, of all places. They offered us witness protection, but we're too old to do anything that drastic. Some rich person anonymously paid a security company to guard us until the trial is over. That won't take long, and then our last enemy will be gone for good. Thought that called for a celebration."
"Last enemy…." Said Finch. "I wonder…. It will surely be your last enemy, although anti-Semitism and other evils have hardly been stamped out. I wonder how future generations will fare. Makes you wonder if it's really a good idea –having children, knowing they may face men like that…" Finch stared into the fire, his eyes distant. He gave a start. "Oh I'm sorry! That was inappropriate of me. I didn't realize I was speaking out loud."
"I expect that descendants will be in danger someday, and some will probably be killed, but I'm not worried about it." Ruth replied.
"You're, you're not?"
"No." said Ruth, "Whether we live or die, God is with us. Besides, even though there will always be men like that,"—she glanced at Reese—"there will always be men like this, too."
The End