Stuart Woods Holly Barker Collection

by Stuart Woods

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “No reason why you should. You may recall that I told you I didn’t have any children?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, none to speak of, as they say. A little over thirty years ago, I spent a few weeks in Miami, and I had a rather passionate liaison with a young lady of Latino extraction. That union produced a child, and while I wasn’t on hand for all the usual occasions—birthdays, Christmas, and so on, I certainly kept a fatherly eye on his rearing, and the boy has turned out to be very useful to me in my business.”

  A figure had appeared in the shadows of the bar, and Ed waved him over. “Enrico, come over here; there’s someone I want you to meet.” Ed turned to Holly. “He’s been dying to meet you.”

  Holly turned and watched the man approach.

  “Holly,” Ed said, “this is my son, Enrico.”

  Trini Rodriguez, dressed in a severely cut black suit, smiled a broad smile.

  61

  This was bad. Holly saw Grant getting to his feet and offering Trini his hand. “How do you do?” he asked. Trini ignored him and continued to stare at Holly.

  “Grant!” Holly said. “Have you got a weapon on you?” It was a stupid thing to say, but it caused everyone to look at Grant, while Holly dropped her napkin onto her steak knife and gathered it into her lap.

  “What?” Grant replied, incredulously. “A weapon, did you say?”

  “Only joking,” Holly replied.

  “Why would I have a weapon?” Grant asked, as if he thought she were insane.

  “Yes, Holly,” Ed said, “why would he? You seem to be very nervous, sweetheart.”

  Holly turned to Ed. “I take it you’re fully informed of your son’s activities over recent days?”

  “Why, of course,” Ed replied. “Enrico does only what I ask him to.” He turned to Trini. “And, Enrico, right now I’d like you to take Miss Barker back to her cottage.”

  “Why?” Holly asked. She slipped the steak knife into her waistband under her jacket.

  “Yes, why?” Grant echoed.

  “Because my son has expressed an interest in having some time alone with Miss Barker,” Ed said.

  Holly felt a wave of nausea.

  “Enrico,” Ed said, “you may as well deal with Mr. Early, too,” Ed said.

  Grant was on his feet, looking wary. He turned to face Trini.

  Trini raised a hand containing a semiautomatic pistol and shot Grant in the chest. Grant flew backward onto the floor, knocking over his chair.

  Barbara Pellegrino began screaming, and Holly got up and rushed around the table to Grant and bent over him. “Grant, Grant,” she was yelling.

  Grant opened his eyes and winked at her, then closed them again. Then she realized there was no blood, just a neat hole in his shirt. She put her hand on his chest and felt the vest underneath his shirt.

  Holly stood up and faced Trini, who was walking toward her, holding the weapon at his side. “You miserable son of a bitch!” she yelled at him. “You’ve killed him!”

  Trini smiled and drew back his empty hand to hit her. Holly ducked, and Trini’s knees suddenly buckled as Grant reached up, grabbed his coattails, and pulled him off balance. She got ahold of his gun hand with both hands and held on for dear life. Then Grant got ahold of Trini’s belt and pulled him over on top of himself. Holly followed, falling on Trini. His gun went off.

  There was a scream from behind her; the bullet had found its way to somebody, but Holly couldn’t see who. Grant was twisting Trini’s arm now, and Holly could let go with one hand. She felt for the heavy steak knife at her waist, got ahold of it and plunged it into Trini’s neck, twisting it and yanking it out the way she had been trained in the army. Blood began to spurt rhythmically from Trini’s jugular.

  Grant got the gun free from him and was getting to his feet when a man with a shotgun stepped up and hit him across the back of his head with the butt of the weapon.

  Where the hell had he come from? Holly wondered. He was pointing the shotgun at her now, motioning for her to drop the knife. She dropped it.

  Willard Smith was sitting back in his chair, blood all over his chest, so Holly knew where the stray round had gone.

  Ed Shine had run around the table and was kneeling at his son’s side. “What have you done?” he shouted at Holly.

  “What he’s been doing to everybody else,” Holly said.

  “Enrico,” Ed was saying, trying to stanch the flow of blood with his dinner napkin.

  Trini’s eyes were fluttering, and he looked panicked, but it was clear to Holly that he was bleeding out very quickly. A moment later, he stopped moving.

  Ed stood up, his hands covered with Trini’s blood. “I was fond of you,” he said to Holly. “I was going to make you a rich woman.”

  “When, after Trini had finished with me? He’s been trying to kill me for some time, you know, and you’ve already said he does only what you want him to.”

  Other men with shotguns were in the room now. Shine turned to one of them. “Take these two over to the admin building and put them into vault number two, the empty one, then set the security system to the emergency mode.”

  Someone drew Holly’s hands behind her and she felt herself being handcuffed. Grant had begun to stir, and he was handcuffed as well. They were frogmarched out of the building and tossed into the rear of a Blood Orchid van. While one man sat in the rear seat, covering them with a shotgun, another drove rapidly toward the administration building, where a vault awaited them.

  62

  Grant shifted his body until he was lying close behind Holly, and he put his lips close to her ear. “Can you roll over and reach my cellphone?” he whispered. “It’s in my inside jacket pocket, down low. Your hands are near it now.”

  Holly groped behind her and felt his belt buckle.

  “To your left six inches,” Grant said.

  Holly found the phone.

  “Now, pry it open—it’s already turned on.”

  Holly got the phone open.

  “Press one and hold it down for a few seconds.”

  Holly felt the keypad of the phone, located the number one, and held it down.

  Grant waited a moment, then began shouting. “Now!” he yelled. “Do it now!”

  “What?” Holly asked, as if he were talking to her.

  “You two shut up,” the man with the shotgun said.

  “Why now?” Holly asked, hoping to confuse the man.

  “Now! Do it now!” Grant yelled again.

  The man with the shotgun rapped him sharply on the top of the head with the barrel. “I told you to shut up.”

  “Why do you want to lock us in a vault?” Grant asked the man loudly. “Why can’t you just shoot us?”

  “Believe me, I’d just as soon shoot you, but the boss says to put you in the vault!” the man yelled back. “He didn’t say I couldn’t crack your skull first, though, and that’s what I’m going to do if you open your mouth again!”

  The van stopped, and the driver got out and opened the rear doors. He dragged Holly and Grant to their feet, and the two men unlocked the front door and shoved them roughly into the building, then into the elevator.

  Holly and Grant each stood in a corner of the elevator, looking at each other as they descended one floor.

  “Don’t open your mouths,” one of the men said.

  They were dragged off the elevator in the basement and taken down a hallway to a vault, the door of which stood open. The two men kicked them into the vault and then swung the foot-thick door slowly shut.

  Holly heard the mechanical sound of the bolts closing. “Well, shit,” she said.

  “My sentiments exactly,” Grant replied.

  “Back in the van, who was on the other end of the cellphone?”

  “I hope to God it was Harry,” he said. “He’s out there somewhere with forty or fifty men.”

  “Out where?”

  “Outside Blood Orchid, ready to storm the place at
my signal. At least I hope he is; that was the plan. I didn’t have time to tell you everything in the car. As soon as we figured out who Shine was, Harry went into action, getting warrants and marshaling resources.”

  “You think he got your signal?”

  “I was yelling loud enough, wasn’t I?”

  Then came the sound of running water.

  “What’s that?” Grant asked.

  “The sound of running water,” Holly replied. “Do you think that was what Ed meant by ‘emergency mode’?”

  “Oh, shit,” Grant said, and as he spoke a sheet of water made its way across the floor of the vault. They heard the sound of another valve opening, and more water began to pour in.

  “Why the hell would anybody want to put water into a vault?” Holly asked. “Apart from drowning us, I mean?”

  “I think the vaults at Fort Knox can be flooded. Maybe that’s where they got the notion. Any ideas?” Grant asked.

  Holly stepped around him and nuzzled close. “Put your hand in my pocket,” she said.

  “Is sex all you can think about at a time like this?”

  “The left-hand pocket,” she said. “Get ahold of my car keys.”

  “You want to drive somewhere? That’s okay with me.”

  The water was up to their shins now, and rising fast.

  “There’s a handcuff key on my key ring,” Holly said.

  “Oh,” Grant replied, groping in her pocket. “Got them.”

  Holly turned around and backed up to him. “Now, unlock my cuffs and don’t drop the keys.”

  Grant dropped the keys.

  “I told you not to drop them!” Holly moaned.

  “I’m sorry, they were slippery.”

  She put her back against the wall and slid down into a sitting position, then began groping around the floor for the keys. Sitting down, the water was up to her chin. “Don’t just stand there, help me!”

  Grant sat down beside her and joined the effort.

  “Got them!” Holly said, and her mouth filled with water. Leaning against Grant, she struggled to her feet. “Can you stand up?”

  “I’m trying,” he said.

  “Lean against me.”

  He managed to get to his feet.

  “This time, I’ll do the unlocking,” she said, feeling for Grant’s wrists. After a moment she got one of his cuffs off.

  He took the key and unlocked her cuffs and his other wrist. “There,” he said, “that’s better.”

  “Not much,” Holly said. “What do we do now, the backstroke?” The water was waist deep and rising.

  “Brackish,” Grant said, tasting a finger. “River water.”

  “What is this, a tasting? Or do you want to get us out of here?”

  “My cellphone’s in the van; how about yours?”

  “Dead battery; I tried it in the ladies’. I doubt if we could get a signal inside a steel basement room, anyway.”

  “You have a point,” Grant said, then he ducked under the water and started feeling the vault door.

  Holly watched him, wondering what the hell he was doing.

  Grant came up for air. “There’s got to be some sort of safety feature in this thing. Surely they can’t let people get locked into vaults these days without having a way out.”

  “Let’s both look,” Holly said “At least the lights are on.”

  The lights went off.

  “We’ll just have to feel,” Grant said.

  Holly took a couple of deep breaths and began running her hands over the inside of the vault door. Her air gave out, and she came up. The water was up to her neck.

  Grant surfaced. “I don’t think this is going to work,” he said. “Anything you want to say to me before we drown?”

  “Yes,” Holly replied, “what are you working on in Orchid Beach? What’s your assignment?”

  “I can’t tell you that,” Grant replied. “It’s a secret.”

  Holly burst out laughing. The water was up to her nose now, and she was forced to tread water.

  “Come on, let’s keep trying,” Grant said, and went under again.

  Holly dove after him, wondering if there would be any air left in the vault when she came up.

  63

  Holly came up for air again, and her head bumped against the ceiling before her nose cleared the water. She leaned back and sucked in air, trying to pack it into her lungs. She heard Grant doing the same thing. Then she dove under again.

  She swam to the bottom of the door, running her hands desperately over the smooth surface. Then she came to a handle, like that on a cupboard. She turned it and a door opened. Inside was another handle, like a lever. She pulled hard on the lever. Grant was above her, doing something.

  Then, in the darkness, three green lights began to flash in sequence. She watched them, her lungs bursting, and then she heard a mechanical noise.

  She didn’t even have to push the door; the pressure of eight feet of water did that. Light streamed in from the hallway as Holly and Grant poured out of the vault along with the water.

  Holly landed on top of Grant as they both sucked in lungfuls of air.

  “What happened?” Grant asked.

  “I found a door and a lever, and I pulled it.”

  “I knew something had to be there.”

  “I’ll remember that if I’m ever locked in a flooded vault again.”

  They sat on the floor, leaning against the wall.

  “I don’t know if I can stand up,” Holly said.

  “If you can do that, help me.”

  Together they struggled to their feet. “Let’s get out of here before somebody comes,” Grant said.

  “Not the elevator,” Holly said. “The electrics may have gotten wet.” They were splashing around in a couple of feet of water. She pointed at a lighted exit sign. “There, the stairs.”

  A moment later, they emerged one floor up into the upstairs lobby. The front doors were locked.

  There was a small steel table and a chair in the lobby, as if for a guard to use. Grant picked up the table and hurled it at one of the glass doors, which shattered. A siren went off, and lights began to flash.

  “Follow me,” Holly said. “I know how to get out of here.” She ran around the building and into the woods. There was a moon, and after her eyes had become accustomed to the dim light, she could see her way. “You with me?”

  “Right behind you. Where are we going?”

  Holly stopped. “What was the plan?”

  “What plan?”

  “The plan for Harry and his people to take this place? Where were they going to come from?”

  “From all sides,” Grant said.

  “Let’s head for the airfield. When the balloon goes up, Ed might try to get out that way.”

  “Whatever you say,” Grant replied.

  Holly set off at a trot, with Grant close behind. After two or three minutes, she stopped.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Holly looked above her. “I’m looking for something.”

  “What?”

  “Just something. Hang on for a minute.” She knew she was somewhere close by.

  “Holly, we’re in the middle of the woods. What are you looking for?”

  “There; this is the tree. I don’t have a knife. Have you got one?”

  Grant fished in his pockets and came up with a pocketknife.

  Holly took it and began carving something in the tree trunk.

  “That’s sweet of you, Holly, but I don’t think this is the time for you to carve our initials into a tree.”

  “Not yours, just mine,” she said, pointing at an H. “Okay, we can go now. I want to go back to the guest cottage.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s on the way to the airfield, and I want Daisy with me. Come to think of it, my gun is there, too.”

  “You take Daisy, I’ll take the gun.”

  “We’ll see.” She stopped him at the road’s edge and looked around. “Come on!”
She sprinted across the road and onto the golf course. It took her less than a minute to cross the course to the trees on the other side, and she stopped to get her breath.

  Grant pulled up beside her. “Jesus, I haven’t run that fast in years.”

  “It’s not much farther. Come on.” She jogged off in the direction of the cottage. There was still a light on in the living room, and she looked through a window before opening the door. Daisy was on her feet, alert.

  Holly rushed into the room and hugged the dog.

  “Hi, Daisy,” Grant said. “Holly, where’s the gun?”

  Holly went into the bedroom and came back with her Beretta and two clips. “You think we can risk using the phone to call Harry?”

  “We can’t,” Grant said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I can’t remember his cellphone number. I had it programmed into mine, and that’s in the back of the van now. Where’s yours?”

  “In my purse, back at the clubhouse.”

  Holly picked up the phone, dialed nine, and got a dial tone. She dialed a number she knew by heart.

  “Hi, this is Hurd,” the machine said, “leave a message.” Holly hung up and dialed another number.

  “Wallace,” he said.

  “Thank God you’ve got your cellphone.”

  “What’s up, Holly?”

  “Everything.” Then she stopped herself. If someone was listening, she couldn’t blow the imminent arrival of the FBI. “Call your former workplace,” she said. “And order a six-six-six.”

  “Where?”

  “You know where. I’m heading for where you found the shell casing.”

  “Got it.”

  Holly hung up.

  “What’s a six-six-six?” Grant asked.

  “Doesn’t the FBI have a six-six-six?”

  “No. What is it?”

  “It means everybody converge with everything they’ve got. Devil’s drill.”

  “I hope they don’t think it’s a drill.”

  “I hope they don’t start shooting at the FBI,” Holly said, “but we’ve got to get somebody here.”

  A car’s lights flashed across the windows, and there was the crunch of gravel in the driveway.