Stuart Woods Holly Barker Collection

by Stuart Woods

  The box also held a sheet of folded paper. She opened it to find six photographs. A title read: “Six most widely used electronic locks,” and there were arrows drawn, showing where the wires should be connected. Also in the box was a small pair of wire stripper/cutters.

  She put everything back in the box, closed it and locked it in her small office, then went back to the kitchen, put the coffeepot on and began making breakfast.

  She had gotten lucky the day before; was she going to be lucky enough again to find Jack Smithson out of his house? She had a feeling this was going to take a stakeout, and she hated stakeouts.

  She ate her breakfast while glancing through the paper, then showered and dressed, slipping on a pair of rubber-soled loafers. Then she took the box from her office, called Daisy, got into her car and drove to Vero Beach.

  Teddy Fay packed and sealed the two cardboard boxes, put them into the trunk of his car and locked the front door to his house. He got into the car and drove out from the driveway, turning north on A-1A, headed for the airport.

  Holly had been sitting in her car, a block to the south, for less than an hour when she saw Smithson’s silver Toyota pull out of the driveway. She waited for a while, until he had driven away from her, then started her car and turned into his driveway. She had been here before, for dinner, and she remembered seeing the driveway sensor planted just inside the entrance. She checked again to be sure that it was still there. It would give her a warning if he returned.

  She checked the second hand on her Rolex as she passed the entrance, then drove down the narrow road to the guesthouse at a normal pace. She drove past the little house, checking her watch; just over a minute. She drove behind the house and parked so that the car was headed toward the beach but concealed from the drive by the house.

  She left the engine running, tucked the box under her arm, then went to the front door and picked the lock. Leaving her shoes on the porch, she went directly to the study and opened the closet door that concealed the big safe. Using the sharp end of the wire stripper/ cutter, she popped off the cover of the electronic lock, exposing the battery and the electronics, then she opened the box, retrieved the combination resolver and unfolded the sheet of photographs.

  She compared the photos to the lock on the safe and immediately saw the correct one. Then she took the wire strippers and cut through the insulation on the two wires indicated on the photograph. She pushed back the insulation an eighth of an inch and attached an alligator clip, then did the same on the other wire. That done, she switched on the resolver. A message appeared: “How many digits?”

  She looked on top of the safe, saw a yellow pamphlet and picked it up. It was the instructions for changing the combination for the safe. Of course, one needed the original, five-digit combination to change it, but all she needed was the number of digits. She entered 5 into the resolver.

  A stream of numbers began scrolling up the LCD display, and at the top, a clock, indicating the time required to try all possible six-digit combinations for the lock: an hour and six minutes, and counting. That was the maximum length of time; the resolver might hit the right combination at any moment.

  She set the instrument on top of the safe and had another look around the study. She tried the computer again, hoping he had left it on, but as it booted up, it required a password again. She shut it off and began going through the desk drawers again, finding only a telephone book. She imagined that Smithson kept his personal phone book on the computer.

  Teddy was admitted through the airport gate and drove out to his airplane. He stowed the two boxes in the luggage compartment, then, using a 12-volt hair dryer, stripped the old registration numbers from the aircraft and affixed the new ones. The task had taken less than half an hour. He got back into the car and headed home.

  Holly was startled by a sudden, electronic beep. The driveway sensor! She went to grab the resolver and heard a noise from the safe, the bolts opening. The beep had signaled only that the resolver had found the combination. She checked the clock: it had stopped on 83220 after fifty-one minutes.

  Holly detached the alligator clips from the lock and replaced the cover, then she packed the resolver, instructions and wire strippers back into the box. Finally, she turned the wheel that opened the safe; the final bolt retracted smoothly, and swung the door open. As she did, lights came on inside the safe. On the top shelf was a stack of money about two inches high. There was nothing else in the safe.

  She picked up the stack of bills and riffed through it: hundreds, fifties, twenties and tens—several thousand dollars, she guessed. Then she noticed that behind the stack of bills was a single bullet: she picked it up and looked at it. A military-issue, .223 cartridge. She replaced it on the shelf, put the stack of bills in front of it again, just as she had found it, then closed the door of the safe and turned the wheel to relock it.

  She tucked her box under her arm again and closed the closet door, then left the house and locked the front door behind her. As she did, she heard an electronic chime from inside the house: the driveway sensor. She glanced at her watch.

  She grabbed her shoes and ran down the porch toward her car. She vaulted over the railing, landing as far as she could from the porch, since there was no time to brush away her tracks.

  She leapt into the idling car, slammed it into gear and eased her way through the sand. The four-wheel-drive Cayenne managed nicely, and when the sand firmed up a bit, she accelerated toward the ocean. As soon as she crossed the high-water mark and reached the damp, firm sand, she turned right and raced south along the beach. She looked over her shoulder, back toward the guesthouse, and found it obscured by trees on the property next door.

  She checked her watch again: thirty-five seconds. He would not have seen her as he drove up to the house. She had been very lucky.

  55

  As soon as Holly got home, she taped up the resolver in its box, then let herself into her office, fired up her computer and called Lance.

  “Yes?” he said, as his face appeared on the screen.

  “It’s Holly. I did the job on the safe, and it was empty, except for a stack of money—several thousand dollars—and a single .223 cartridge.”

  “Why would anyone own a large safe and have only that in it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’s clearing out.”

  “Has he given you any indication of that?”

  “No.”

  “You say he owns an airplane?”

  “Yes.”

  “Look him up in the federal aircraft registry, then check the airplane to see if it has the correct tail number. If he has changed it in the computer, it might not match the numbers on the airplane.”

  “Oh, all right, Lance. By the way, I’m supposed to report any large purchase to you, am I not?”

  “Yes. What are you buying?”

  “I’ve bought an airplane, and I’ll be flying it back to Manassas.”

  “What sort of airplane?”

  “A Piper Malibu Mirage.”

  “How much did you pay for it?”

  She told him.

  “Would an investigation of your financial condition reveal enough substantiated funds to cover that?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll note it in your personnel file. You may be sure that such a large purchase will raise a flag, and someone will get on the mainframe and check out your assets, perhaps want to question you.”

  “I expected that.”

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Anything else you want done on the subject of our friend?”

  “I can’t think of anything else, can you?”

  “No.”

  “Then let’s let it rest for the time being.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” Holly said.

  “You’ll be back next week?”

  “Yes. Thanks for the time off; I’ve enjoyed it.”

  “Oh,” Lance said, “you probably know that your name was given as a reference by an
employment applicant.”

  Holly was puzzled. “And who might that be?”

  Lance picked up a sheet of paper and looked at it. “One Joshua Harmon, M.D. He’s applied to the medical division as a surgeon and emergency physician.”

  “Yes, I know him.”

  “Do you recommend him?”

  “Yes, unreservedly.”

  “I’ll note that on his application.”

  “Will he be hired?”

  “With your recommendation, I should think so, unless his background check turns up something that contradicts your opinion. He’s already passed the basic computer check; the interviews of his friends and past employers are being conducted now.”

  “When did he apply?” Holly asked.

  “Ten days ago,” Lance replied. “What is your connection with him?”

  “Purely social.”

  “Is he the lump I saw in your bed once, when I phoned you?”

  “Goodbye, Lance,” Holly said, then hung up. Lance’s face disappeared from the screen.

  That night Holly and Josh went to dinner at the Yellow Dog Café, up near Melbourne. They got drinks and then ordered.

  “How was your day?” Josh asked.

  “Passable,” she replied. “And yours?”

  “Fairly dreary. Setting a femur broken in a skateboarding accident was the highlight of my day.”

  “That must mean that most of this part of the world is healthy, then.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Tell me, Josh, are you happy in your work?”

  “I’m bored with it,” Josh replied.

  “Were you thinking of changing your employment?”

  “Well, I’ve been here over four years, and a change would be . . .” He stopped talking and looked at her. “You know,” he said.

  “I’m CIA,” Holly replied. “I know everything.”

  “I shouldn’t have given you as a reference,” he said.

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “I was going to surprise you.”

  “You did.”

  “Pleasantly, I hope.”

  “I was surprised. You didn’t tell me what you were doing.”

  “Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise.”

  “I guess not.”

  “Look, I can always withdraw my application, if you don’t want me around, but I have to say, I thought you’d be pleased.”

  “I am,” she admitted. “My life at Langley has been all about work since I’ve been there. It’ll be nice to change that a little.”

  “I’ll do what I can to help,” Josh said, squeezing her thigh.

  “How did you even know there was a medical division at the Agency?” she asked.

  “They tried to recruit me near the end of my surgical residency,” he said.

  “Why didn’t you accept?”

  “I wanted to make some money before I went into . . . public service.”

  “And why did you reapply now?”

  “You have to ask?” Josh asked.

  Holly smiled. “You’re sweet.”

  “Do you think I’ll be accepted?”

  “If they don’t find out that you’ve been a North Korean sleeper since grade school.”

  “Oh, God, I didn’t think they would check on that!”

  She laughed. “My recommendation won’t hurt.”

  “You recommended me?”

  “I did, just this afternoon.”

  “I guess that must mean you want me around.”

  She took his hand. “It does.”

  He smiled.

  “Something you should know, though,” Holly said.

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re going to have to work hard at the Agency; you may not have much time to see me.”

  “I’ll figure something out,” he said.

  “And, if you don’t, I will,” she replied.

  56

  Hurd Wallace telephoned his nominal superior, Colonel Timothy Wyatt, who was head of the state police. Hurd effectively reported only to the governor, but he made a point of making equipment and personnel requests through Wyatt, as a courtesy and to maintain good relations for situations like the one he now faced.

  “Good morning, Hurd,” Wyatt said without warmth.

  “Good morning, Colonel,” Hurd replied.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I want to request some equipment for a special operation,” Hurd said.

  “What is the nature of your operation?”

  “To obtain evidence against and arrest a suspect in the rapes and murders of several women in the Vero Beach area.”

  “Was the most recent of them named Patricia Terwilliger?”

  “Yes, Colonel.”

  “I was under the impression that the suicide and confession of one James Bruno cleared her case and the others.”

  “Did you have a particular interest in Ms. Terwilliger?”

  “She was my wife’s sister.”

  “Colonel, I apologize for not speaking to you directly about the case; I was unaware of the relationship.”

  “I would have thought that a crack investigator such as yourself would have known that, Captain.”

  “We made the family notification to her mother. One of my people visited her personally to break the news.”

  “My wife was grateful for that. You have not responded to my question: I thought Patricia’s murder had been committed by James Bruno.”

  “There is some question as to whether he acted alone,” Hurd half-lied.

  “You think he may have had an accomplice?”

  “It’s a distinct possibility. It’s also possible that the accomplice may have murdered Bruno and staged the suicide.”

  “Well, this case just gets more and more interesting,” Wyatt said.

  “I’ve made a practice of copying you on every report I’ve submitted, Colonel, and I will continue to do so.”

  “What equipment do you need to continue this investigation?”

  “I need GPS, audio and video equipment to be concealed in the suspect’s car by state technicians and a van equipped to conduct electronic surveillance on the car. I also need a helicopter, as a backup, to provide visual surveillance.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I can provide the two chase cars I’ll need, but should something arise on the technical front, I’d need in-depth advice and assistance from appropriate personnel.”

  “I see,” Wyatt replied. “When and for how long?”

  “From this Friday through the weekend plus a couple of more days. I’ll need the helicopter only on the day of the operation.”

  “I assume you will have the proper warrant.”

  “I will deal with that locally,” Hurd replied.

  “Please hold,” the colonel said.

  Hurd sat, the receiver to his ear, for eight minutes by his watch. It seemed like half an hour. Then there was a click.

  “I have my chief of technical services, Mike Green, on the line,” Wyatt said. “I have authorized him to supply your needs, so I’ll hang up and let you two work out the details. Goodbye and good luck, and I’d appreciate it if you would transmit to me any further details that emerge in the case we discussed.” Wyatt hung up.

  “Mike?”

  “I’m here, Captain. What can I do for you.”

  Hurd told him.

  Holly and Lauren Cade met for lunch at the Ocean Grill, as was becoming their habit.

  “Hurd has requisitioned the equipment we need for the operation,” Lauren said. “Now would be a good time for you to call Jane Grey and get her cooperation.”

  “When will you need Jimmy’s car?” Holly asked.

  “If she can get it Friday night and return it Monday morning, that would be ideal.”

  Holly produced her cell phone, looked up Jane’s direct line and called.

  “Orchid Beach Police Department, Jane Grey.”

  “Hi, Jane, it’s Holly.”

  “How yo
u doing, Holly?”

  “Real well, but I need your help on something.”

  “Anything I can do, sure.”

  “First I have to tell you some things that have to remain with you and no one else.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Jimmy Weathers has become a suspect in the rapes and murders.”

  “It wasn’t Bruno?”

  “Maybe. We’re not sure, but in order to find out, we’re going to have to place some equipment in Jimmy’s car, and we’ll need the weekend to do that.”

  “I see,” Jane replied.

  “Can you get him to use another car from Friday afternoon until Monday morning while his car is worked on?”

  “I think I can manage that,” Jane said.

  “Thank you, Jane. Would you call me back when that’s all set up?”

  “I will. Anything else?”

  “That’s all.”

  “I’ll call you later.” Jane hung up.

  “Jane is with us,” Holly said to Lauren. “I had to tell her those things, but she’s completely trustworthy.”

  “That’s all right,” Lauren said.

  “Anything else new in the case?”

  “Well, I’ve had all sorts of thoughts about it.”

  “What thoughts?”

  “Whether Jimmy and Bruno were in it together, and if they were, did Jimmy kill Bruno.”

  Holly thought about that. “I’m inclined to think that Bruno would want to work alone, but I certainly can’t discount your theory of their working together. I think it’s entirely possible, maybe even likely, that Jimmy killed Bruno, simply because the combination of drugs and alcohol found in Bruno’s system would have made it nearly impossible to wake him up. Anybody could have stuck a gun in his mouth and written a suicide note.”

  “That’s what I think,” Lauren said, “but I think Jimmy’s only motive for doing that would be the involvement of both of them in the rapes and murders.”

  “Jimmy would have Bruno’s job as a motive. Maybe when he went to wake Bruno, he couldn’t rouse him and took the opportunity to remove Bruno as an obstacle to his career.”