Four days after the Provo incident
Martinez sat at the head of the conference table with her hands folded in front of her. The room was full—every available agent who had been assigned to the Ken Blake case was present. The energy was different today. Everyone could feel it. This was no longer a manhunt that might stretch on for months. This was the final act.
"Thank you all for being here," Martinez began, her voice cutting through the ambient tension. "I know this case has demanded a lot from everyone in this room. Today, we're going to discuss the final phase of our operation. By the end of this week, Ken Blake will be in custody or deceased. There is no third option."
She let that statement settle for a moment. The agents exchanged glances—some tightened their jaws, others nodded. They all understood what she was saying. This was going to end, one way or another.
"Chen," Martinez said, gesturing to the young analyst who had been tracking Blake's movements. "Give us your assessment."
Chen stood and pulled up a map on the large screen behind the conference table. Red dots indicated confirmed Blake sightings. Blue dots indicated locations where they suspected he'd been based on financial transactions, traffic camera footage, and witness reports.
"Blake is moving erratically," Chen said, her voice steady but her eyes betrayed her anxiety. "After the Provo incident, he went silent for approximately eighteen hours. Then we got a hit on a credit card he'd stolen in Philadelphia—a gas station purchase in western Pennsylvania. He's moving south and east, not north or west toward Canada like we initially predicted."
"Why?" Perkins asked. Perkins was solid, methodical, the kind of agent who liked patterns and logic. "What's his endgame?"
"We believe he's heading toward the coast," Chen said. "Possibly trying to disappear into a major city—New York, Boston, Washington D.C. Somewhere he can blend into a population and rebuild."
Martinez leaned back in her chair. "But he's not going to make it there."
"No," Chen confirmed. "Not if we execute the plan we've discussed."
Martinez stood up and walked to the map, pointing at a location in West Virginia. "We have confirmation that Blake passed through here two days ago. Based on speed, fuel consumption, and likely rest stops, he'll hit this corridor—" she traced a line on the map, "—sometime in the next forty-eight hours. This is our window."
"What about the Washburn variable?" asked Agent Reeves, one of the newer additions to the team. "The threat he made in Provo—was that strategic or emotional?"
Martinez exchanged a glance with Chen. This was the question that had been keeping her up at night.
"We believe it was emotional," Chen said carefully. "Blake has been deteriorating. His decision-making has become increasingly impulsive. The threats against Washburn suggest he's experiencing some kind of psychological breakdown. He knows he's cornered. He's lashing out."
"Which makes him more dangerous," Perkins interjected. "A man with nothing to lose."
"Exactly," Martinez said. "Which is why we need to be extremely careful about the next seventy-two hours."
She pressed a button on the remote, and a new image appeared on the screen. It was a photograph of James Patterson—younger, happier, probably taken before the entire nightmare had begun.
"James Patterson is the centerpiece of our operation," Martinez said. "We've discussed using him as a potential contact point with Blake. Patterson has significant emotional weight in Blake's narrative. He's the person Blake blames for his downfall, but he's also the only person Blake might actually engage with."
"Is that wise?" asked Agent Caldwell, the oldest person in the room. "Using a civilian as bait?"
"Patterson volunteered," Martinez said. "He's been consulting with us for months. He understands the risks. He also understands that his presence might be the only thing that prevents Blake from becoming completely irrational."
She clicked to another image—Blake's current photograph, taken from traffic camera footage. He looked gaunt. His hair had grown long and matted. There was a wildness in his eyes that hadn't been there in earlier photographs.
"This is who we're dealing with now," Martinez said. "Blake Crane has been running for months. He's lived in cars, cheap motels, abandoned buildings. He's been hunted. He's been drinking heavily based on witness reports. He's deteriorating physically and mentally. This is a man at the end of his rope."
"Which brings me to the biggest risk," Chen said, standing again. She pulled up her final slide—a psychological profile of Blake that she'd compiled over weeks of analysis. "Blake has made three separate purchases of alcohol and what appears to be prescription medication—likely opioids or benzodiazepines—in the past month. Combined with his known history of depression and the current stressors, there's a significant risk of suicide attempt."
The room went quiet. Suicide by cop was a known risk in these situations. A cornered suspect, determined to end the chase, would sometimes force law enforcement into a position where lethal force became necessary.
"How significant?" Perkins asked.
"Forty to fifty percent," Chen said quietly. "Maybe higher."
Martinez let that sink in. Forty to fifty percent chance that they would be the ones forced to kill Ken Blake. That meant forty to fifty percent chance that families would have their evening disrupted by camera crews asking how they felt about the use of force. That meant forty to fifty percent chance that someone in this room would have to file a report justifying why they fired their weapon.
She understood why everyone's shoulders had tightened slightly.
"The purpose of having Morrison present is to reduce that probability," Martinez said. "If Blake sees Patterson, if they actually communicate, there's a chance—a real chance—that Blake might stand down. That he might surrender rather than force a confrontation."
"And if he doesn't?" Caldwell asked.
"Then we do what we're trained to do," Martinez said. "We protect James. We protect ourselves. And we end the threat."
The room was silent again. Everyone understood what that meant.
"I also want to address something else," Martinez said, pulling up a final image. It was a photograph of Officer White—the man Blake had murdered. A man with a family. A man with a wife and two children who would be watching the news, hoping for justice.
"Officer White's family has requested that we proceed with extreme caution," Martinez said. "They want Blake taken alive if possible. They want him to stand trial. They want him to face consequences in a courtroom, not to escape them through death."
Perkins shifted uncomfortably. "That's a nice sentiment, but we can't let it dictate our response. If Blake poses a lethal threat—"
"I know," Martinez interrupted. "We follow protocol. We protect ourselves and the people around us. But the point is this: Officer White's family doesn't want blood. They want justice. They want Blake to face what he's done. Let's try to give them that."
She stood up and looked at each agent in turn.
"We are the best-trained people in this room to handle this situation. We have experience, we have training, we have protocols. But we also have the ability to think. To feel. To recognize that Ken Blake is a human being—a broken, dangerous human being, but a human being nonetheless. Our job is not to prove how tough we are. Our job is to bring this to an end with the minimum amount of damage and the maximum amount of justice."
She paused. "To do that, we need to be sharp, we need to be careful, and we need to remember that we're not just catching a killer. We're trying to restore something to people who have lost everything."
"What's the timeline?" Reeves asked.
"We expect Blake to hit the intercept corridor sometime between tonight and Tuesday morning," Chen said. "We have surveillance points set up. The moment we confirm his position, we'll move. Morrison will be contacted and brought to the location. We'll attempt communication. If Blake cooperates, he goes into custody. If he doesn't—"
"We do what's necessary," Martinez finished.
The briefing continued for another two hours. They discussed entry points, escape routes, medical support, media management, legal liability. Every contingency was considered. Every scenario was played out.
By the end, Martinez's team was as ready as they could possibly be.
As the agents filed out, Perkins lingered behind. He approached Martinez while she was gathering her materials.
"You really think this is going to work?" he asked quietly. "Morrison talking Blake down?"
Martinez set down her folder. "I think Blake is desperate and broken and scared. I think he's been running for so long that he's lost sight of why he was running. And I think there's a chance—just a chance—that if he sees someone willing to listen, someone willing to see him as more than just a killer, he might choose a different ending."
"That's optimistic," Perkins said.
"It is," Martinez acknowledged. "But you know what? If it doesn't work, we have seventeen armed agents, three snipers, and a clear protocol. So I can afford to be optimistic."
Perkins nodded slowly. He understood. Martinez wasn't naive. She was strategic. She was hope combined with preparation, faith combined with firepower.
After Perkins left, Martinez sat alone in the conference room for several minutes. She thought about Officer White. She thought about his family. She thought about the choice Ken Blake had made in that parking lot when he decided to pull a trigger instead of walk away.
She thought about James Patterson, who had decided to help instead of hide. Who was willing to put himself in danger to bring this to an end.
And she thought about Blake—this man she'd never met, who had torn through so many lives like a storm, leaving destruction in his wake. What had his life been like before the murders? What could have been different? What moment of choice had he missed that might have changed everything?
It didn't matter now. The moment for different choices had passed. All that remained was the ending, and Martinez's job was to make sure that ending honored everyone who had been harmed.
She gathered her materials and stood up. The conference room went dark except for the city lights streaming through the windows. Outside, Salt Lake City continued its evening routines. People were eating dinner, watching television, putting their children to bed. They had no idea that in the next seventy-two hours, the city would be the epicenter of a manhunt that would finally come to an end.
Martinez thought about what that would mean. For Blake. For James. For Officer White's family. For her team.
For everyone who had been waiting, hoping, praying for this nightmare to finally be over.
She turned off the lights and walked out of the conference room, ready for whatever came next.
The End