Ivy enjoyed observing how Mathew and Steve worked when they set an objective. Through cajoling, tough stances, and persistence, they scheduled the closing on both properties far faster than she would have expected. They went out one afternoon and bought a big metallic charcoal Suburban to use as their vineyard vehicle. With Mathew now able to drive, he and Steve spent their days meeting with various folks to evaluate the land, run tests on the soil, verify the presence of a good underground water supply, have perk tests performed for two septic systems, work with their attorney to ensure the land was unencumbered, and so on. For several weeks, every day they would drop Ivy at the office and then run down to Dundee for one reason or another. Sometimes Ivy thought they simply wanted to make sure the land was still there.
The third Sunday in February, after days of work on acquiring the land for their vineyard and pursuing building permits, Steve pushed his chair back, put his feet up on the desk and sat staring out into Ivy's perennial garden that was already displaying some spring flowers. Steve knew he was very fortunate. He had a new venture to learn about wine, farming and viniculture with a partner who was like a son to him. He would receive a nice pension from the government. He had the most marvelous woman to share his life and now he was designing the house that they would live in for the rest of their days. He wanted it to be a house that Ivy would treasure and where they would be comfortable. The spot he picked for it was on the top of a knoll on the property he was buying, a little downhill from the walnut grove. The very fact that he would own some land made him proud and excited. He jotted down a list of features from this house of Ivy's in Portland to include in the new house, such as a little deck for morning coffee and a library nook. He wanted to surround the house with rambling gardens, the way the Portland house was. They would need big closets and lots of storage. Ivy had more stuff stashed away in this Portland house than Steve thought one person could accumulate. From what he could tell, she actually used it all now and then throughout the year.
Funny that Mathew, Ivy and he were each only children. His parents were good to him, yet they strict too. Even though Ivy had grown accustomed to spoiling herself, her heart was so generous that he could handle her little peccadilloes like over-shopping. Mathew could be somewhat persnickety. He made fun of Steve for his obsession with what he called the three 'nesses -- cleanliness, neatness and crispness. However Mathew was a dilettante about food, cocktails and wine. On the other hand when out with the team, Mathew used to chow down Big Macs or sub sandwiches like any of the other agents. Each of them had their little oddities.
Steve's thoughts turned back to the house. After being cooped up in office buildings all their lives, he wanted lots of windows on every exterior wall, along with multiple outdoor spaces with decks and patios. The windows had to open to catch the fresh country breezes. Sometime if things went well on the vineyard, Steve would add a narrow indoor lap pool where he could swim to keep in shape and sometimes skinny-dip with Ivy when the water would reflect the resplendence of the moonlight or the magic of a rare snowy night. He bet the night skies would be expansive and filled with stars at the farm away from city lights.
While Ivy would select all the finishes, Steve wanted to surprise her with the overall design. What a delight he was finding it to have a wonderful woman to indulge! Back when Mathew told him he had to believe someone was out there for him, Steve had been skeptical. Time had proved Mathew right. Taking those years to find his personal values again had paid off big time. Steve was no longer the desperado that Mathew once called him.
Sometimes he still worried about the Bureau. Not having caught Astuto bothered him. The perp had setup elaborate traps sacrificing two trained actors to act as his doubles, two expensive yachts and one cocaine operation. He continued to worry that the tail they had in D.C. might show up in Portland like those other thugs had who followed Ivy. Weeks went by and no one appeared who seemed out of place. Still it was troubling. As time went on without any incidents, Steve could feel his vigilance slipping. He often had to remind Ivy to carry her roscoe and Mathew had become so absorbed in the vineyard startup that he was losing his agent's edge. Could they simply walk away from those perps? Was he no longer considered a threat now that he was retired?
***
On the last day of February, Ivy was waiting in the Suburban with the two corgis and watching for Steve and Mathew to emerge from the title company's offices. Suddenly the door burst open and the two men came out, grinning as happily as two boys who had found new bikes by the Christmas tree, making her glad that she had packed a celebratory picnic complete with iced champagne.
On that dewy afternoon, they wandered around their new properties, sampling the picnic, sipping wine and talking. Mathew mapped out his plan for the fields of grapes, with trial plantings to go in as soon as possible. They paced the fields, talking about which direction the rows were to go and how to contour the rows to the land. On the steeper slopes, they intended to plant grass between the rows to help with soil retention. They talked about doing that with all of the fields, although Mathew wanted to consider certain cover crops, like a short variety of sunflowers.
With a fresh bottle of champagne in hand, Steve led Ivy to the knoll he had chosen for their new house. She listened intently to his plan to build it into the bank of the hill. He pulled out the sketches of the house and preliminary copies of the blueprints. She stared in amazement at the plans. The back would be mostly windows facing southwest to catch the sunsets, as well as views of the Coastal Mountain Range. The vistas were nothing short of stunning even on that misty afternoon. That day the low mountains had lingering snow at the upper elevations where they ran in a line of curves and sudden sharp outcroppings, blocking some of the excessively wet and windy weather from the coast.
Since Ivy had advanced her retirement date at work and was now a full time retiree, she was looking forward to working on the vineyard. They planned to lease a couple of trailers to live in at Spook Hills until Steve's house was built, although they would commute on weekends to the Portland house. Ivy envisioned a peaceful year, filled with hard work and the satisfaction of having portions of the land cleared, plowed and planted. It was exactly what she needed to heal her overwrought nerves and work the stress out of her body.
The day their first tractor arrived, Ivy found the two men to be quite comical -- a new sports car would hardly have been as thrilling to them. They took turns driving it, playing with the bucket and using the attached post-hole digger. Ivy was afraid Steve would tip the big tractor over as he headed off up the hill grinning in that boyish way he had. Thankfully the tractor was well balanced and he made the round trip without incident.
Spring was passing actively and happily. They went to bed each night tired in a good way. Neighbors and wine growers stopped by to see what they were doing and offer suggestions. Once a week, they visited one of the nearby tasting rooms to sample the wines, talk to the staff and learn about making wines. Mathew also took a few hours each week to visit other growers, seeking leads on vines, suppliers, methods and approaches. He was a great listener and with his genial manner, he quickly made himself welcome.
Mathew was excited to receive the first small shipment of potted pinot vines from Sonoma and he was expecting a second small delivery of bareroot plants from a vineyard in the Burgundy region. He was like an anxious parent worrying over those plants, eager to finish prepping the fields where they would be planted. While the soil had been too wet to work completely by tractor, with a combination of machine and handwork, they managed to do the early planting.
The night after the vines were planted, a heavy rain came in around midnight. Mathew was up and out of his trailer with a big flashlight, checking to be sure his fledgling vines were not washing away down the hill. Steve and Ivy heard him leave his trailer and pulled on their rain gear to join him. The first growth on the potted vines drooped pathetically in their rain-drenched, muddy environment. Nevertheless they were clinging tenaciously to t
he hillside, taking the worst the rain was giving them. All three of them were up at first light to check the vines again. They had an area eroding down near the bottom of a field where they needed to improve the drainage, but other than that, the field and the vines were holding up. The heavy rains had passed on, leaving only a characteristic Oregon misting dampness. For the first time, Mathew understood the satisfaction of working with live plants, creating an environment where they could thrive, and then nurturing them through the early weeks of rooting and growth.
As April progressed, construction began on the new house. Steve was bursting with excitement over this new project. He had gone from being a man with little to lose to a man who had a bounty to live for, and yet his sixth sense refused to stay quiet. He would be working at the house construction site with the contractor and suddenly feel eyes on his back. He would whip around, check the neighboring hills, look down at the road and scan the land in the valley. Once he caught a glint of sun on glass in the distance. While it was most likely a passing car going up to a neighbor's house, the glint could have been light bouncing off a pair of strong binoculars or even a high-powered riflescope. His sixth sense had never failed him. Why was it sending him danger signals here in their bucolic setting? Was he turning into one of those aging ex-agents who sometimes plagued the Bureau with false reports of some perp hunting them? He sighed, willing to take neurosis over the actuality of someone spying on them.
Chapter 13
On Saturday the fourth of May, they were having a quiet afternoon at the Portland house. Ivy was in the kitchen preparing a bone-in pork roast for the oven before prepping a carrot cake. Down the hall in the office, Steve and Mathew were batting around plans for next steps on the vineyard. From what Ivy could hear, they were outlining the sequence of fields to be prepared and planted. True to their analytical mindsets, they had divided the land into strips laid out on a blown-up plot map that showed contours and elevations. Each field was numbered. They planned later to rename them by the date, source and variety planted, such as "2013 French Gamay”. She could hear them arguing over whether to include the name of the source vineyard or grower. Steve wanted to include it; Mathew wanted the grapes to become Spook Hills varieties, since much of the character of their wines would be attributable to their terroir.
When Ivy turned to get the flour and other dry ingredients for the cake out of the pantry, through the glass door to the big deck, she caught sight of a man dressed in black climbing over the deck railing. The deck was elevated on the second story. He must have shimmied up one of the posts that held up the deck. She froze as she watched him swing his second leg onto the deck. He turned, saw her and pulled a gun. It took all of her survival instincts to force herself into action. She grabbed her gun off the counter, dove for the floor, landing hard against a cabinet, screaming for Steve.
She could hear him pounding down the hall, yelling for Mathew to cover the stairs. A shot rang out by the deck and the door crashed open. Gunshots sounded from the front of the house; glass shattered. Ivy could hear the corgis barking as they raced out to the kitchen. Two more shots rang out when Steve flew in. Ivy heard a crash in the cozy room. More shots came from out front and then a car screeched away.
Mathew raced into the kitchen moving fast despite the limp from his damaged leg. Steve ran past Ivy into the cozy room with blood dripping from his arm.
"What the hell?" Ivy scrambled up, grabbed a dishtowel and ran after Steve to press it on his wound. Mathew scooped up her keys, yelling “Corners Better” and flew downstairs to the garage. Steve was fumbling with his cell phone one-handed, then hitting speed dial.
"Retired Agent Steve Nielsen. Shooting at 1279 Council Peak Lane. Call the local police. One intruder dead." He stopped and listened.
"Former Agent Heylen in pursuit of the other perps. Get out on Council Crest Drive, Fairway Drive, Vista, and so on. Get a fucking chopper in the air if you can. Yeah, I'll hold."
He turned and said. "Ivy, call Mathew on his cell. Stay on the line with him no matter what."
"Your arm!"
"Tie the damn towel on and leave it – it’s only a scratch. Find out if Mathew saw which way they went."
Ivy grabbed her cell phone and hit Mathew’s number on speed dial. She was shaking so much she doubted she could have dialed his full number.
"Mathew, have you seen them?"
"Yeah. Kind of dumb shits at driving. Skidding around so much it slows them down. Black Toyota FJ Cruiser -- again. They headed down Council Crest, and then took that road toward Vista -- I hope they stay away from Fairmount Drive with all the people who walk and bike there. Great, they turned left onto Vista and now, dammit, left again onto Dosch."
Steve grabbed the phone and relayed messages back and forth until the FBI had them all patched into one line with the local police connected as well.
"Chopper in the air. Portland and Beaverton police setting up roadblocks. Agents coming quickly from Portland."
"Confirmed."
"Agent Heylen, are you armed?"
"Handgun."
"Keep your distance but don't lose them. If they go anywhere near ordinary citizens, you may have to jump in. Local squad cars are coming as fast as they can behind you and in front of you. Once they catch up, they will pass and you are to stand down. Understood? We want you live at five for testimony."
"Got it. Police car in sight. Pulling over."
"Good work agent. Do not follow. Repeat. Do not follow. Turn around. Drive home. We have two squad cars heading to your house in case others are after you or these perps double back."
The squad cars pulled up and Ivy answered the door cautiously, pulling the two corgis away from the police officers. One joined Steve on the phone in the kitchen and three staked themselves out in the house. She grabbed leashes for the dogs to keep them out from underfoot. FBI agents also arrived.
Ivy called the head of the Neighborhood Watch on the landline, briefed her, and asked her to do a call down of their neighbors, telling them to stay put. With that done, Ivy grabbed the first aid kit and assessed how bad the scratch on Steve's arm was. While not deep, it was bloody. After cleaning it up and bandaging it, she checked on Druid who was awake and safe, watching the action from his favorite chair.
In a few minutes, Mathew returned, identified himself to the officers and joined them in the kitchen where Steve still had his cell on speaker. The perps made a sharp left turn into a little neighborhood called Dosch Estates and were winding their way back up towards Sunset Boulevard. The police were moving roadblocks into place, employing a device called an X-Net, which Steve explained to Ivy as having spikes and fibers to slow the vehicle down by puncturing its tires, then wrapping around the tires to impede forward motion.
"Chopper overhead. I'm going to drop down and try to scare them to a stop."
"Watch it. These guys are heavily armed."
They heard bullets hitting the helicopter.
"Bastards have submachine guns. Going back up."
"Approaching Sunset. Don't let them go around the X-Net."
"Ah fuck, they flew across Sunset and skidded onto a narrow neighborhood road heading uphill. Chopper stick with them. Lots of twists and turns ahead."
"Any outlet?"
"Yeah. They can drive up to Fairmont or double back to Sunset or Dosch."
"These guys are fucking crazy. Driving these streets way too fast. They clipped a parked car and bounced off a curb."
"Stick with them. We're getting roadblocks in place and clearing cars and pedestrians out."
"Holy Cow!"
"What?"
"They missed a turn, ploughed into a garage and went over the edge of a steep drop-off into the woods. Holy Shit! The car exploded. Those perps aren't going anywhere now. Man alive. It's a fireball."
"Damn," Steve muttered, "I really wanted those guys apprehended alive and held for questioning.”
They spent the next hour filling in the police and the FBI agents, giving them backg
round information on who Steve and Mathew suspected the perps were -- revenge drones from the elusive drug dealer. So far no one had reported any pedestrian injuries. The police got a contractor to come out to seal up the door to the deck and the shot-out windows with plywood. Ivy called the Neighborhood Watch woman again to give her an update. Agents guarded the house and a van was now visible in the driveway near the garage. Police officers were patrolling the neighborhood. Between the two forces, a 24-hour rotation schedule was established. Finally technicians wrapped the body of the dead perp in a white body bag and took it away.
As evening approached Steve, Mathew and Ivy with an agent trailing closely behind them, took the dogs out for a walk. When they rounded the second curve in the road, Steve began laughing.
"What on earth are you finding funny?" Mathew asked crossly.
"I may owe this Harry dog my life."
"What do you mean?"
"When I ran into the dining room and stopped to take aim, the perp who came in the back door just got into position to shoot me. Luckily as he went to pull the trigger, Harry flew up and went for his ankle. It was enough to throw off the perp's aim. Who would have thought that fun-loving fur-ball had it in him? Cleo was right behind Harry, only I shot the perp before she could get a piece of him too. I had no idea that those two corgis would ever do anything like that."
"They're small, but not stupid," Ivy said, her voice still shaky.
"I have a whole new respect for corgis." He grabbed Harry's leash, pulled him to a stop and bent down to give him a big hug. Harry gave him a slurp on the check with his soft pink tongue. Steve reached over and cuddled Cleo too when she came over for her share of the praise.
"That will raise some eyebrows in my deposition. Attack corgis to the rescue! What a pair of little protectors -- they have some bite behind their bark. Now I understand, Ivy, what you meant when you said they had big corgi hearts."
Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1) Page 16
