Below the Belt

by Stuart Woods

“I’ll get it done.” He gave Stone an address in Cape May, New Jersey.

  “Tell them the car will be there at six AM. They’ll be going to the Strategic Services hangar at Jet Aviation, Teterboro.”

  “Right.”

  “What are their names?”

  “Henry and Martha Parker. The boy’s name is Thomas. They’re known as Hank, Marty, and Tommy.”

  “Got it. Text me when they’ve been briefed, and tell them they’ll have security at my house when they get there.” Stone hung up and called Major Bugg, his estate manager.

  “How are you, sir?”

  “Very well. I’m sending you some guests, a family of three. They’ll be there in the evening, day after tomorrow.”

  “Where would you like them?”

  “Where do you suggest?”

  “We’ve finished renovating Sir Charles’s cottage. They’d be very comfortable there, and we can feed them from the main kitchen, unless they’d like to do their own cooking.” Sir Charles was the previous owner, from whom Stone had bought the property.

  “Sounds ideal.” Stone gave him the names. “And give them a car to use for sightseeing and shopping.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Have you got a dog that could stay in the cottage? I’ll bet the boy would like that.”

  “Of course. We’re never short of dogs.”

  “Thank you, Major.”

  Stone hung up, satisfied that all was well.

  49

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Joan buzzed Stone. “There’s a Mr. Henry Parker to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment.”

  “Send him in.”

  A large African-American man in a business suit came into his office, and Stone rose to greet him. He was a good six-three and something over two hundred pounds, fit-looking.

  “Good morning, Mr. Parker,” Stone said.

  “Please call me Hank.”

  “And I’m Stone.” He pointed the man to a chair. “Coffee?”

  “Thank you. I got up early this morning and missed mine.”

  Stone poured him a mugful and set it on his side of the desk. “Tell me what I can do for you.”

  “You’ve already done plenty for us,” Parker said. “I want to thank you for that.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “I just need to know something about the place we’re going. I don’t want it to be too big a surprise to my family.”

  “I have a house in the south of England, not far from the English Channel. It’s on about a hundred and twenty acres of land. There’s the main house and half a dozen cottages. I’ve asked the estate manager, Major Bugg, with two g’s, to put you in the recently updated cottage where the previous owner lived while the main house underwent a renovation. I thought you might be more comfortable in something smaller than the big house, but when you see it, if you don’t think it’s the thing, speak to Major Bugg and ask him to put you in the main house.”

  “A cottage sounds better for us.”

  “They can bring your meals from the main kitchen, or you can cook your own, or some combination of the two. I’ve asked Major Bugg to make a car available to you for shopping or sightseeing.”

  “Wonderful. How far is it from London?”

  “About ninety miles. It’s an hour and a half’s drive, but it might be easier to take the train.”

  “I’d like for Marty and Tommy to see London. I was stationed there some years ago.”

  “What did you do in the army?”

  “Special ops. I retired two years ago, after thirty years.”

  “How do you feel about dogs?”

  “Love ’em—we all do. Ours is staying with friends while we’re gone.”

  “I thought Tommy might like to have a dog as a friend while you’re there, so he will. By the way, there are a pool and a tennis court behind the main house, and there are bicycles and horses for riding, if you’re so inclined.”

  “Wow! Tommy will be very excited.” Parker arranged his features to something more serious. “How long will we be there?”

  “Hard to say. It might be best for you to stay until the election, in November.”

  “Then Tommy will miss some school.”

  “I’ll ask Major Bugg to arrange a tutor for him. I expect it would be helpful if you can get a curriculum from his school.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  Stone buzzed Joan. “Please bring me a thousand pounds sterling.”

  Joan came in with an envelope and Stone handed it to Parker.

  “You’ll need some local currency. If you want to open a bank account while you’re there, Major Bugg can arrange it.”

  “Thank you. I’d like to take a couple of guns with me. We’ve been warned these people have already committed murder.”

  “You can’t do that. The firearms laws are much stricter in Britain than here, but you’ll have two armed security people watching over you at all times. They work for the London office of a company called Strategic Services. It’s their airplane you’ll be flying on, and the CEO of the company, Mike Freeman, will be aboard. He’s flying to Brussels, and he’ll drop you on my private landing strip on the way.”

  “Private landing strip?”

  “It was a bomber base during World War Two. Customs and Immigration people will meet you there and clear you in.”

  “What’s the weather like this time of year?”

  “Cooler than here, and with more rain. You might take sweaters and a raincoat. There’ll be umbrellas in the cottage. If you’re there until November, you might need a warmer coat, or a liner for your raincoat.”

  “Is there any sailing available?”

  “The property is on the Bewley River, spelled B-e-a-u-l-i-e-u, and you can probably rent a sailing dinghy in the village of the same name. There’s a rubber dinghy with an outboard on my dock, and you’re welcome to use that on the river. It’s quite a beautiful place.”

  “This sounds like it’s going to be a wonderful vacation.”

  “I hope so. You can stay as long as you like, even after we get the all-clear.”

  “Once again, I’m very grateful to you.”

  “Hank, you’re right to take this seriously. As you say, these people have already committed kidnapping and murder. Listen to your security people. They know the territory, and they know what they’re doing.”

  Parker stood and offered his hand. “I won’t keep you any longer.”

  “Enjoy the flight. It’s a comfortable airplane. Oh, after you arrive, if you make any calls to the States, use the landline in the cottage, instead of your cell phones, and be circumspect about your location. Don’t even mention the country.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “Does your house have a garage?” Stone asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Open it tomorrow morning to let in the car that’s picking you up. Strategic Services is providing an SUV and armed men up front. Load the car in the garage.”

  “Got it.” Hank Parker left.

  Stone called Ed Rawls and told him about his meeting with Parker. “He’s thoroughly briefed about what to expect, and there will be two security people with them at all times.”

  “That’s a relief,” Ed said.

  “Have you had any further contact with St. Clair’s people?”

  “No, but I’m ready if they show up.”

  “Don’t kill anybody if you can help it. That would be a lot more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “I expect they won’t bother you again, but if they do, they’ll send more than two people.”

  “I’ve still got their shotgun, and a little arsenal of my own. You might think about going armed yourself, Stone, until this is over.”

 
“That’s good advice.”

  “My house in Islesboro is already framed. They’re moving fast.”

  “When you go back, use my place until you get yours in shape.”

  “Thank you, I’ll take you up on that. Now, if we can just get the Parkers out of the country, we’ll be in good shape.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  50

  ERIK MACHER ARRIVED in Cape May, New Jersey, late in the evening and spent the night in a motel. At dawn the following morning he got a call on his cell phone.

  “Yes?”

  “They’re stirring in the house.”

  Macher had had the Parker residence under surveillance since noon the previous day, shortly after his search had proved fruitful. “I’ll be over there in a few minutes. Call me if anybody goes out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Macher cleaned up and got dressed, then drove to the quiet neighborhood where the Parker family lived in a small Victorian house. He pulled up behind the surveillance van half a block away and got inside. “What’s going on?” he asked the two men.

  “Nothing yet. The boy came outside and got the newspaper, then went back inside.

  “Was he dressed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then they’re moving,” Macher said. “Why else would a man who’s retired get his family up this early?” He looked at his watch: five-fifty. Then, as he watched, a black SUV with tinted windows approached the house and turned into the driveway. A garage door opened, the vehicle drove inside, and the door closed.

  “That’s pretty weird,” one of his agents said. “Is something being delivered, do you think?”

  Ten minutes later the lights went off in the house, the garage door opened again, the SUV backed out, and the door closed. The vehicle drove away.

  “I’ll get my car,” Macher said. “You keep that SUV in sight.” He ran back to his car, the van made a U-turn, and Macher followed. His cell phone rang. “Yes?”

  “We’ve got the vehicle.”

  “We’ll change places from time to time.”

  The SUV turned north, and the two cars followed. Macher was getting hungry. They drove north for more than an hour, and the SUV made a few turns, ending up on Highway 17 North. Shortly, it turned off the four-lane road and headed east. A mile later, it turned into the entrance of Teterboro Airport. The van and Macher followed. They were both stopped at a security guard’s booth.

  “Destination?” the guard asked Macher.

  “We’re following the SUV ahead.”

  “Let me see some ID, please.”

  Macher showed him a driver’s license. Up ahead he saw the SUV turn right.

  “Go ahead.”

  Macher made the same turn the SUV had, just in time to see the vehicle drive through a security gate. From his knowledge of Teterboro, that was unusual; cars weren’t allowed on the ramp. He parked his car and ran inside and through Jet Aviation in time to see the SUV drive past on the ramp. He stood at the rear windows and watched as the vehicle drove behind a hangar. He walked out to the ramp, where a shuttle bus was waiting, its door open. A driver sat inside.

  “Excuse me,” Macher said, “do you know whose hangar that is?” He pointed. “The biggest one.”

  “Yeah, that belongs to Strategic Services.”

  What the hell? Macher thought. He stood on the ramp and watched. Shortly, the main door opened, and a tug arrived and pulled a Gulfstream jet out onto the ramp. Macher jotted down the tail number, got out his cell phone, and called his office.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I’m at Teterboro. A Gulfstream is on the ramp, starting its engines.” He gave the man the tail number. “Check the system and see what destination that airplane has filed a flight plan for. I’ll hold.”

  A couple of minutes later the man came back on the line. “The aircraft has filed for Brussels, nonstop.”

  “Track it.” Macher hung up and walked quickly toward the hangar. As he approached he could see the black SUV inside with the doors open. The Parkers had to be on that airplane. What the hell? He glanced at his wristwatch: 7:55. He went to his contacts and dialed a number.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Erik, sir. I’m at Teterboro Airport.”

  “What are you doing at Teterboro?”

  “We were surveilling the Parker residence in Cape May when a large black SUV drove into their garage, apparently loaded them up, then departed. We followed the SUV to Jet Aviation at Teterboro, where it drove into a hangar owned by Strategic Services. The family apparently got aboard a large Gulfstream jet, which was towed out of the hangar and is taxiing as we speak. The jet has filed a flight plan for Brussels.”

  “Brussels? Why would they go to Brussels?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Are you sure the family is aboard?”

  “I haven’t had eyes on them, but all signs point to their presence. What are your instructions?”

  “Do you have contacts in Brussels?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have the airplane met and the family identified as being on board, then followed to their destination.”

  “Yes, sir.” Macher began looking up a Brussels number.

  —

  HANK PARKER LOOKED around the big airplane. He, his wife and son sat in a group of four seats, all buckled in.

  “This is fantastic, Dad!” Tommy said.

  “It sure is.”

  “Where are we going again?”

  “To England. I’ll show you on the map as soon as the seat belt sign goes off.”

  The airplane taxied onto a runway, and the engine noise increased. Hank was pressed into his seat from the acceleration, and a moment later they lifted off, and he heard the landing gear come up. Half an hour later the airplane was above the clouds and leveling off. The seat belt sign went off.

  Hank got out a map he’d taken from an atlas and unfolded it. “You see this town right here? It’s called Bewley, but it’s spelled the French way. We’re headed for a big estate just south of the town, and it has its own landing strip.”

  Mike Freeman, who had introduced himself when they boarded, walked over to their seats. “We’re at fifty-one thousand feet now, headed for England, with a hundred-and-fifty-knot tailwind. Would you folks like some breakfast?”

  “We ate at home,” Hank said, “but Marty and I could use some coffee.”

  “I’ll send it over.” He walked forward, toward the cockpit.

  A moment later a flight attendant appeared with coffee on a tray.

  When she had gone, Marty said, “I feel better now—there’s no way they could find us where we’re going.”

  “You’re right,” Hank said, but in his heart, he wasn’t sure about that.

  51

  STONE WATCHED THE TRACKING APP on his computer until the Gulfstream was at cruising altitude, then went back to work. Joan came in with a FedEx envelope.

  “This came for you from Cape May, New Jersey,” she said, setting it on his desk. “You open it.”

  “Getting nervous?” Stone asked.

  “You betcha.”

  Stone unzipped the envelope and removed an unlabeled DVD with a Post-it stuck to it. Thought this might come in useful. Hank.

  Stone slipped the disc into his computer and started it. An African-American woman sat on a chair in front of a white background, probably a sheet. She was fortyish, handsome, beautifully coifed. “My name is Martha Shivers,” she said. She gave the date and time. “I’m forty-one years old. When I was in my twenties I worked for Knott Industries in Washington, D.C. I started as a receptionist but was promoted over the seven years of my employment there, ending up as one of two executives to the chief executive officer, Mr. Nelson Knott. During the time I worked for him, Mr. Knott seemed to find me attractive, but he
was married, so I resisted his overtures. Finally, one night when I was working very late on a special project, Mr. Knott and I were alone in his office and he pressed himself upon me. I protested and struggled, but he pushed me down onto a sofa and raped me. Shortly after that he went to the studio to do his daily broadcast, and he told me not to leave, that he would come back and do it again. He said this as though I had consented to sex, which I had not.

  “As soon as he left the room I got my clothes back on and went home. Before leaving I typed a letter of resignation with immediate effect, signed it, and left it on his desk. I went home, and the next day I started looking for another job.

  “A couple of months later I found myself pregnant. Before my encounter with Mr. Knott in his office I had not had sex since my divorce, four years before that, and I had not had sex since my resignation.

  “I had lunch shortly thereafter with a former coworker at Knott Industries who told me that something similar had happened to another woman, Helen Trimble. She had a daughter from that experience. I was put in touch with her in New York City, where she had gone to live, and we compared our experiences. She had also been raped by Mr. Knott. She had received a monthly check for two thousand dollars from a New York bank since the birth of her child, but she had not seen or spoken to Mr. Knott since she had resigned from his employment, shortly after she became pregnant and revealed it to Mr. Knott.

  “She helped me find an apartment in New York, and I moved there, using up most of my savings. I found employment as a seamstress with a dress manufacturer. Shortly after I gave birth, I began receiving a monthly check from the same bank as Ms. Trimble had. She then told me that she had recently phoned Mr. Knott and asked for more money and an educational fund for her daughter, who was very bright and good in school. He told her to go to hell, and immediately after that the monthly checks stopped coming. She told me that Mr. Knott had threatened her, and that she was frightened.

  “Shortly after that she went to visit her parents in New Jersey and, driving back to New York, she collided with a bridge on the turnpike. The police said it was an accident, that she had fallen asleep at the wheel. She and her daughter were both killed instantly.