Below the Belt

by Stuart Woods

  “Why?”

  “Because he alluded to Joe Adams’s illness in the letter.”

  Stone sat up straight. “But you had only learned about it that morning, right? And you and Kate were supposed to be the only ones who knew.”

  “Right again. You can see why she went to see him.”

  “I guess I can. How the hell could somebody in a federal prison know about this almost as soon as you did?”

  “We never learned how he knew, but Ed was a brilliant intelligence agent, and he knew an awful lot of people, even if most of them weren’t speaking to him anymore.”

  “I guess not. Why did he want to see Kate?”

  “Because he wanted a presidential pardon, and he figured that if he helped get me elected, I might give him one.”

  “That must have seemed pretty breathtaking.”

  “It certainly took mine away when I finally heard about it. So, let’s skip ahead a few months: I got the nomination, largely because Joe Adams called in some favors that helped us swing the California delegation at the last moment.”

  “I remember. I was at the convention, and it was a squeaker.”

  “Right. I was losing the battle for the nomination because I had sworn to accept the recommendations of a study committee on whether to close a huge base in California. George Kiel had made the same pledge, but he told a lot of California delegates that he would renege on that promise if elected, and keep the base open. Joe managed to find out that the committee was going to recommend that the base remain open, so George’s promise became meaningless.”

  “How’d Adams find out about the committee report?”

  “Ed Rawls found out and told Joe.”

  “Did you know about this?”

  “Not at the time. All I knew was that everybody, including myself, wanted me to take George’s offer to run with him on the ticket—everybody but Joe Adams. He urged me to turn down George’s offer and go for the nomination, but he wouldn’t tell me why. I took his advice. Then word somehow got out that the base would not be closed. Most of George’s delegates from California swung to me, and I got the nomination.”

  “And, in due course, the presidency.”

  “Right.”

  “All because of inside information from a traitor to his country?”

  “Right, though I didn’t know it for a long time.”

  “Wait a minute,” Stone said. “A while after you were nominated, the President had a stroke and died a few days later.”

  “Correct.”

  “And the vice president, Joe Adams, became President.”

  “Correct again.”

  “But he had Alzheimer’s? And you knew that?”

  “I did. I had a very difficult time with the decision, but for a lot of reasons I kept my mouth shut, and Joe served out the term with distinction.”

  “I never heard any rumors.”

  “Few people did, because Ed Rawls had a hand in keeping Joe’s secret from becoming public.”

  Stone sucked in a breath. “And when did you find out about that, Will?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Joe Adams.”

  3

  STONE SAT BACK in his seat. “I don’t know if you knew this, but I know Ed Rawls from Islesboro, where my Maine house is. We sort of worked together in solving a series of murders on the island.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Will said, “but that could actually be helpful in all this.”

  “All what? Let’s get back to your story.”

  “Did you know that Ed Rawls was Kate’s mentor at the Agency?”

  “I may have read that somewhere at the time she exposed him.”

  “They were very close, and she was devastated when she found out what he’d been doing.”

  “What, exactly, had Ed been doing?”

  “He got caught in a honey trap—photographs and all—and the honey turned out to be a Soviet agent. He was near retirement, and the Soviets blackmailed him into giving them CIA secrets. Ed was smart enough not to give them anything damaging, but they kept a close rein on him, and one evening when two of our people who had become suspicious were following him, they rumbled his Soviet watchers, shots were exchanged, and our two people died. That, in the end, is what sent Ed to prison, even though he had no knowledge of either the Soviets or Americans following him. Except for that, he might never have been prosecuted. When I learned of the circumstances, it made it easier for me to pardon him.”

  “I understand. How does all this affect what’s going on now?”

  “While Ed was in prison he wrote an account of his years at the Agency, including the end of his career and how he surreptitiously helped Kate’s campaign. Apparently, he held nothing back, and his revelations could be explosive.”

  “How explosive?”

  “In the worst case, think nuclear. He named names—government officials, military commanders, top journalists, senators and congressmen on both sides of the aisle, Agency personnel—and he related everything in intricate detail and backed it up with documentation.”

  “How’d he do that in prison?”

  “He wrote the book from memory and hid the manuscript on a computer disc in the prison library, where he worked. Then, after he was pardoned, he went back to his retreat in Maine, where he had cached thousands of documents, and finished it there.”

  “I guess it wasn’t published, or I would have heard about it,” Stone said. “What happened to his work?”

  “He gave the manuscript and all the backup documents to Joe Adams on computer discs.”

  “And what did Joe do with it?”

  “Nothing. He still has it.”

  “Is he threatening to publish it?”

  “Certainly not. Joe’s Alzheimer’s has progressed slowly, and I’m told by Sue, his wife, that he still has lucid intervals—hours or even days. During one of those, he told Sue he wants to give Ed’s documents to me, and Sue wants them out of the house.”

  “Why you?”

  “Joe appears to believe that some of Ed’s revelations might hurt my legacy—or worse, damage Kate’s chances of reelection. I’m not worried about my legacy, but Kate needs a second term to finish what she started, and that’s very important to both of us.”

  “And how did you hear about all this?”

  “Sue got a message to me to get in touch with Joe, but carefully. I used someone else’s cell phone to make the call. That remains my only connection with Joe since he left office, and I want to keep it that way.”

  “What do you want me to do, Will?”

  “I want you to visit Joe and Sue, accept the package from them, and hang on to it until I let you know different. That could be after Kate is out of office, one way or the other. I can’t send a staffer for it or anyone the press might pay attention to.”

  “All right, I’d be happy to do that for you. Where does Joe live?”

  “He’s at his Santa Fe home, half an hour’s drive from where we sit. He moves among his three homes seasonally. As a former President, he has access to government business jets.” Will handed him a card with an address on it. “He’s high up on the road to the Santa Fe ski area.”

  “When shall I do this?”

  “Tonight. Stay at the party until we leave for the opera, then go to Joe’s house. I’ll meet you on the south side of the opera parking lot at, say, midnight. I’ll be in this car. I won’t be able to wait long—Air Force One will be on the ramp and ready to go.”

  “All right.”

  “You’ve met Joe, haven’t you?”

  “At the convention where Kate was nominated I sat in a skybox belonging to Strategic Services, and Joe and Sue were there, too. As I recall, Joe and I drank some bourbon. Sue, too.”

  “They both remember you
fondly, and agreed to have you pick up the package. They’ll be expecting you.”

  “Can you see that somebody takes Holly back to my house after the opera?”

  “Of course.”

  Stone scribbled the address on the back of his business card and gave it to Will. “I’d better get inside and speak to Holly.”

  “She can ride to the opera with Kate and me and sit in our box, and an agent will take her home afterward.” Will shook his hand. “Thank you, Stone. You’re our good friend, and I don’t know who else I could have entrusted this job to.”

  Stone got out of the car, pocketed Joe Adams’s address, and was escorted to the front door of the house and admitted by an agent. He saw Kate Lee on one side of the room and Holly on the other. He went to the President first.

  She greeted him with a hug and a kiss and whispered in his ear, “Thank you so much, Stone. Will and I both appreciate it. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Be nice to Holly tonight,” he said, laughing. “She’s miserable from being shut out of the White House.”

  “I will be nice to her, but remember, it’s for her own good, and yours. She needs the break, and you need to keep her . . . entertained.”

  “I will take it as a sacred duty,” Stone said, then moved on so she could greet others. He went and found Holly leaning on the bar.

  “Don’t ask how many I’ve had,” Holly said. “What was that all about with Will?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” he said. “You’re going to ride to the opera with the Lees and sit in their box. While you’re doing that, I have to run an errand, and I’ll see you back at the house. Will Lee will send you home with an agent.”

  “So, at least I’ll have a date. Shall I ask him in?”

  “Let’s just say that, when I get home, I will fulfill any duties he might have dreamed of.”

  “All right,” Holly said, “and I won’t have my third drink. You got here just in time.”

  4

  STONE SET THE ADAMS ADDRESS into his GPS and followed instructions to the road up to the Santa Fe Ski Basin. As he ascended his ears began to pop, then, half an hour later, nearing the twelve-thousand-foot elevation, he saw the road sign and turned left.

  He followed the unpopulated lane to an open gate at its end, and as he drove through it the front of the house was suddenly floodlit. A man in a suit appeared and tapped on his window. “May I see some ID, please?”

  Stone showed him both his driver’s and pilot’s licenses.

  “This way, Mr. Barrington.” He opened the car door, led Stone to the front door, and opened it for him. “Mrs. Adams is waiting for you in the library, to your right.”

  Stone rapped on the door, and a woman’s voice invited him in.

  “Hello, Stone,” Sue Adams said, rising from a wing chair before the fireplace and greeting him with a handshake and a kiss. “Thank you so much for helping us.”

  “I’m happy to do whatever I can,” Stone replied, taking the chair she indicated.

  The library doors opened, and Joe Adams rode in on an electric scooter. “Stone!” he cried. “It’s so good to see you!” The two men shook hands, and Joe motioned him to sit again. “We really appreciate your taking this thing off our hands.”

  “I’m glad to help, Mr. President,” Stone said.

  “It’s still Joe. I fondly remember our little party in the skybox at the convention,” Joe said. “I think I may still have a hangover.”

  “That was a great evening,” Stone replied.

  “Stone,” Sue said, “are you right- or left-handed?”

  “I’m right-handed,” Stone replied.

  She reached behind her chair and brought out a thick briefcase, then got up, walked around Stone, and snapped a handcuff shut on his left wrist.

  Stone had never been handcuffed to anything before, and he was uncomfortable with it.

  “Don’t worry,” Sue said, “Will has the key.”

  “David, can you stay for a drink?” Joe asked.

  It took Stone a moment to realize that he was being addressed.

  “I’m afraid I have a date with Will,” Stone said, “and if he has the key to the handcuff, I don’t want to be late.” He stood up and shook hands with both of them.

  “You take care of yourself, Tom,” Joe called as Stone was escorted out by the agent. Stone gave a little wave and followed the man to his car. It cost him some effort to get the case into the car next to his left leg, but he discovered the chain was long enough to allow him to use his left hand on the wheel. He started the car, turned around, and retraced his route to the main road, then turned right and started the descent to Santa Fe.

  He had gone perhaps three miles when suddenly a flying boulder appeared in his path and bounced across the road. Before he could recover from that, his car ran into a field of smaller rocks in his way, and he heard two loud noises and felt heavy jolts. The car came to a stop, and Stone got out.

  There was still patchy snow at this elevation, and the moon was reflected off it enough to allow him to see that two of his tires had been destroyed, and the front rim was bent. He got the keys out of the car and opened the trunk. One spare.

  Stone got out his iPhone and switched it on: no service, and his battery was low. He considered his options. He could wait around for a car that might not arrive before dawn; he could walk back up the steep road to the Adams house, but he didn’t relish carrying the heavy case that far; or he could walk downhill several miles to Santa Fe. It was cold up here, and he chose to wait in the car for someone to pass. He had three-quarters of a tank of fuel, so he started the car and turned up the temperature. He switched on the satellite radio, found some jazz, and made himself as comfortable as he could. Warmth flooded into the car. He checked the time: 10:35 PM. He switched on the emergency flashers, then he nodded and dozed.

  —

  HE WAS AWAKENED by the slamming of a vehicle door and a man rapping on the passenger window. “Hello?”

  Stone checked the clock: 12:10 AM. He pressed the down button for the window. “Hello, thanks for stopping. I’m afraid I’ve run into a rock slide and ruined two tires, and I have only one spare.”

  “Well, my truck spare will be too big for your car. Can I give you a lift into town?”

  “Thank you, yes.” Stone got out and got into the passenger side of the heavy pickup. He noticed a National Forest Service sticker on the door. “I’m Stone Barrington,” he said.

  The man offered his hand. “I’m Tim Heard, the ranger up here. Lucky for you I worked late tonight to finish up my monthly report.” He started the truck. “Where can I drop you?”

  “Would it be inconvenient for you to leave me at the Santa Fe opera house?”

  “I guess I can do that.” He nodded at the case in Stone’s lap. “What you got there?”

  “I’m a jewelry salesman, and I’ve just made a house call. My boss makes me handcuff myself to it,” Stone replied.

  The man didn’t speak again for the half hour it took them to get to the opera. “There you go,” he said finally. “Looks like everybody’s gone home.”

  “There’s someone expecting me,” Stone said. He thanked the ranger and got out and waved him off. He walked into the parking lot and halfway across it before it dawned on him that it was empty of vehicles. “Shit!” he hollered. He tried his cell phone: dead. He’d have to walk home, but it wasn’t much more than a mile. He got started.

  —

  FORTY MINUTES LATER he let himself in his front gate and trudged up the driveway to the house. He walked up the front steps and turned toward the front door. Holly was huddled on the doormat, her shawl wrapped around her.

  “It’s about fucking time,” she said, struggling to her feet. “I’m freezing out here, and you didn’t give me a key.”

  “I’m so sorry, Holly. I had an acci
dent on the mountain road and ruined two tires. It was a long time before a forest ranger came by and gave me a lift to the opera, then I had to walk home from there.” He got out his key, opened the front door, and they walked into the warm hallway and to the master suite. He poured them both a neat Knob Creek. “This’ll warm us up.” They both tossed it down. He held up his left hand. “Did Will give you the key for this?”

  “Not that I recall,” she said. “Hold on, that’s an Agency strong case you’ve got there. It’s made out of layers of Kevlar, carbon fiber, lead, and titanium, and it’s equipped with a handy incendiary explosive device inside that will detonate if you mess with it. It will blow you to pieces and set fire to whatever’s left.”

  “Swell,” Stone said. “Now I’d really like to get this cuff off, but we’ve no key and no bolt cutters.”

  “Well, there’s a quick way out of this,” she said. “I can amputate your hand, and it will come right off. Hang on, I’ll see if I can find a sharp knife.”

  5

  STONE OPENED HIS EYES SLOWLY. Sunlight was streaming through the bedroom window, backlighting an empty Knob Creek bottle. He lifted his head, then let it fall back to the pillow, and his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten last night.

  He found the bed’s remote control and sat himself up. Holly was sleeping soundly beside him. He found that he was naked from the waist down but still wearing his suit jacket and shirt—because he was still handcuffed to the strong case.

  Then he noticed a small envelope leaning against the lamp on his bedside table; his name was written on it. As he opened it he noted the address on the flap: The White House, Washington, D.C. He read the note inside:

  Stone,

  I don’t know what happened to you. We tried calling repeatedly, and the Adamses’ Secret Service agent said you had been there and gone. I sent an agent looking for you, and he found your car abandoned on the mountain road with two bad tires. I guess that explains why you didn’t turn up. Enclosed is what you need. Hang on to that package, as we discussed. Hope you made it home all right.