Orchid Beach hb-1

by Stuart Woods

  “What’s going on out at Palmetto Gardens, Bob?”

  “I don’t have the slightest fucking idea, and that’s the truth. Barney never told me anything, and I sure wasn’t going to start asking questions, after seeing what happened to the accountant and Chet and Hank.”

  “Who else was giving Barney information about Chet and the department?”

  “I don’t know, I swear it. I’d tell you if I knew.”

  “And that’s all of it?”

  “That’s everything I know from day one, I swear to God. I mean, shit, Holly, what could I have done? I didn’t know he was going to kill Chet.”

  “You could have arrested him as soon as you heard the shot,” Holly said. “If you’d done that, Hank Doherty would still be alive.”

  Holly switched off the recorder. Bob Hurst began to cry.

  CHAPTER

  57

  H olly, Daisy, Hurd, Jackson, and Ham all arrived at the Community College gymnasium as the sun set. There were at least forty vehicles in the parking lot, mostly plain sedans and vans, some of them towing boats. Holly could see why Harry had wanted a quiet place to assemble.

  The gym was a hive of activity. Piles of duffel bags lay around the polished wood floor, and weapons were everywhere. Men were checking assault rifles and small submachine guns. Everyone was dressed in black.

  Harry waved Holly’s group over to a folding table that had been set up on the gym floor. “Everybody have a seat,” he said. He had a sheet of paper in his hand. “I’ve just heard from the National Security Agency,” he said. “They’ve decoded the microbursts on the transmissions from the Palmetto Gardens com center.”

  Holly leaned forward in anticipation. “Do they shed any light on what’s going on out there?”

  Harry looked at the sheet of paper in his hand. “Apparently, they’re having a golf tournament.”

  Nobody said a word.

  “This is a list of the entrants,” Harry said, and started to read. “Ben Hogan, Bobby Jones, Gene Sarazen, Walter Hagen, Harvey Pennick…” He read off another fifteen names. “Anybody got any ideas about this?”

  Ham spoke up. “Harry, are you a golfer?”

  “No.”

  “You know anything at all about the game?”

  “No.”

  “Then you don’t know that all the people whose names you just read out are either dead or very, very old?”

  “Oh,” Harry said. “Anybody got any ideas?”

  “Harry,” Holly said, “why would they go to the trouble to encode into microbursts the names of twenty dead golfers? Is this some kind of cryptographic joke?”

  “Is there anything else in the microbursts?” someone asked.

  “Just stuff about the golf tournament,” Harry said. “‘Exciting news: Bobby Jones will be playing.’ That’s one. Here’s another. ‘Players will be glad to hear that the prize money has been increased.’” Harry looked around the table. “Any ideas? Anybody?”

  “Let me get this straight,” Holly said. “All the microbursts are about more golfers signing up and the prize money being increased?”

  “That’s it. None of it makes any sense.”

  “Maybe the names are a kind of code, too,” Hurd Wallace said. “Maybe they’re just substitutions for real names. You can’t crack that kind of code, can you? When one name is simply substituted for another?”

  “I guess not,” Harry said. “But why would they encode the names of players in a golf tournament?”

  Holly’s eyebrows went up. “Appalachin!” she said.

  “The mountains?” Harry asked.

  “Maybe the FBI would like to forget Appalachin, New York,” Holly said, laughing. “After all, it was a New York state police bust.”

  “Appalachin, New York?” Harry said. “Why does that sound familiar?”

  “Because it was the biggest Mafia meeting of all time—back in the fifties. The commission—the heads of all the families—had a big meeting at a country house in Appalachin, New York, somewhere upstate. The New York state police got wind of it and raided the place. There were guys in silk suits running through the woods like deer, with state patrolmen chasing them. It was a huge embarrassment for the mafiosi and a major coup for the New York cops. I think J. Edgar Hoover was still denying there was a Mafia at the time.”

  “Palmetto Gardens isn’t Mafia,” Harry said. “This is way too slick for those guys—too classy and too rich, as well. The Mafia could never muster the kind of money it took to build that place.”

  “It’s got to be a meeting,” Holly said. “So, it’s not Mafia—it’s whoever is behind Palmetto Gardens. They’re getting together.”

  Harry turned to one of his men. “Ed, call Miami Center and find out what flights have been coming into Palmetto Gardens, starting a week ago and going right up to now.”

  The man disappeared to find a phone.

  “Okay, Holly, we’ll check that out. Now, before I start spouting off, I’d like to hear from you, Ham. You’re the only one we’ve got who’s been inside with any kind of effect. I’ve read your military record, and I want you in on this. There are some U.S. marshals here, and they can deputize you. You game?”

  “I’m game,” Ham replied. He turned to Holly. “And don’t you say a word.”

  Holly looked at the ceiling.

  “Okay, Ham,” Harry said, “here’s the situation: we’ve got a large, residential community spread over hundreds of acres, set down among lots of other residential communities, so we don’t want stray rounds flying around the barrier island. How would you take this place with the least fuss, the fewest casualties and the fewest rounds expended?”

  Ham stood up, leaned over the table and pointed. “They’re vulnerable here, at the marsh north of the marina, where I went in; otherwise, I wouldn’t have gotten in. I think what we’ve got to do is first, put a team in through the marsh to knock out their backup electrical generator, then cut their outside power supply. There’s also a battery backup wired to the Jungle Trail back gate, and that should be taken out, because that would alert the security center if the back gate were opened. Once the power’s out, we hit the main and service gates, break down the Jungle Trail gate, and we’re in. Then, pretty much simultaneously, we’ve got to hit ten or eleven spots all at the same time. Those spots are: the security station, the com center, the airfield, the six camouflaged gun emplacements and the other two gates.” He pointed them out.

  “Thanks, Ham,” Harry said. “That makes perfect sense to me. Will you lead the team in through the marsh?”

  “Glad to.”

  “How many men you want?”

  Ham did some counting. “Two each for the generator, the back gate battery backup and the back gate; four men right here to lay down covering fire, if we’re detected. That’s ten, plus me, in three boats. You’ll want flat-bottomed boats, like Boston Whalers, either paddled the last half-mile or with trolling motors.”

  “We can do that. I’ll pick some men, and you can brief them.”

  “Good.”

  “How many men to take the gun emplacements?” Harry asked.

  “There was only one man in the one I checked out, but I think I’d count on two in each emplacement. However many feds you reckon it takes to deal with two men in each one.”

  “I think two each will do it.”

  “I wouldn’t send in any choppers until the gun emplacements are out.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Maybe on the other two gates you could do this: You’re going to need power to open the gates and lower the tire barriers, so after you get word that the preliminary infiltration is complete, cut the main power. Then, during the five seconds before the generator comes on, take the two guards. Say thirty seconds later, after the two gates are open, kill the generator. Then you can run as many vehicles as you want into the place.”

  “What about the marina?” Harry asked.

  “Jesus, I forgot about that. You don’t want people escaping b
y boat, do you? I think I’d take it from the shore side; the guards won’t be expecting that. Do it first thing, along with the airfield.”

  “All right. Ham, do you think you could take the com center with your group? I’d be very surprised if the man on duty there didn’t have some way to wreck the computers in the event of a raid.”

  “I bet he doesn’t have the authority to do that without orders,” Ham said, “and if there’s no power, he’s not going to get any orders.”

  “There’s radio, but we can jam all the frequencies they use. Still, I’d like him taken out first thing after the power goes.”

  “We can do that. I’ll give you odds that when the power goes and his radio doesn’t work, he’ll walk outside for a look around, to see what’s going on.”

  “I hope it’s that easy.”

  “If it isn’t, we can do it the hard way.”

  “Use your own judgment, but take him alive, if you can. I want all the witnesses I can get.”

  “Right. You got stun grenades?”

  “Yep.”

  “That should do it, in a pinch.”

  Harry turned to Bill, who was standing behind him. “Pick twelve men and assign them to Ham. Make sure they understand that he’s in complete charge, then have them get the necessary equipment together. Ham can brief them on what he wants to do.”

  Bill left the group.

  Ed returned, clutching a sheet of paper. “Harry, Miami Center said six international flights came in the day before yesterday, eleven yesterday, and thirty-three more today. They’re from all over everywhere—Europe, the Caymans, Mexico, the Dutch Antilles—you name it.”

  “Appalachin,” Holly said.

  Harry turned to Holly. “Where do you want to be in all this?”

  “At the security station,” Holly replied. “I want Barney, Harry. He killed Chet Marley and Hank Doherty. I can prove it, and I want him for that before you get your crack at him.”

  “He probably killed Rita Morales, too,” Harry said.

  “You might not be able to make that stick, but I’ve got a witness who can put Barney in the electric chair.”

  “I’ll talk to the U.S. attorney about it,” Harry said.

  “I want him in my custody from the moment he’s arrested,” Holly said. “In my jail.”

  “Okay, done.”

  “Then if the U.S. attorney wants him, he’ll have to sue me.”

  Harry grinned. “I can live with that. We’ll want to interrogate him at some length, though.”

  “In my jail,” Holly said.

  “All right.”

  “Something we’ve got to consider,” Holly said. “Whatever security people are on duty in the middle of the night are going to be patrolling, so they’ll be loose on the landscape and will have to be dealt with accordingly. I doubt if there will be more than one or two men at the security station, and Barney won’t be one of them. He’ll be at home in bed, and we don’t know where home is, yet.”

  “Good point,” Harry said.

  “I reckon we’ll find out at the security station where Barney lives, and then I want to go after him. If we’re lucky, if this goes well, he won’t know we’re on the grounds until we’re cuffing him.”

  “And if we’re not lucky?”

  “Then he may elect to shoot at us. I’m ready for that, I think.”

  “Right,” Harry said. He turned to Jackson. “You can hang out at the command post with me.”

  “Sounds fine,” Jackson said.

  “What about me?” Hurd Wallace said.

  “I’d like you with me,” Holly replied.

  “Good. I’d like a crack at Barney Noble, too.”

  “Okay,” Harry said. “Have some coffee and doughnuts, everybody. In a few minutes we’ll meet with the team that’s assigned to the security station, and you can be privy to all their planning.”

  Holly and Hurd wandered over to the coffee urn and helped themselves.

  “Jesus,” Hurd said, “this is really going to be something, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Holly agreed. “I just hope it goes the way Harry wants it to.”

  CHAPTER

  58

  A t two A.M., after nearly eight hours of briefings and planning, Holly, with Daisy by her side, sat sweating in the front seat of an FBI van, half a mile north of the main gate of Palmetto Gardens. She was armed with a silenced pistol, four stun grenades, a truncheon and pepper spray, and she was wearing a black jumpsuit with FBI stamped on the back, full body armor and a black Kevlar helmet. Behind her were a dozen more vehicles filled with men and equipment, and half a mile south of the main gate sat another dozen vehicles, their engines idling. Another group waited on Jungle Trail, near the back gate. Holly had pulled all her OBPD patrol cars off the north end of the island, to avoid any confusion. She knew that two men had worked their way on foot to within yards of the front-gate guard shack, and similar preparations had been made at the rear service gate.

  At the same hour, Harry Crisp sat at a table in the gymnasium, a radio operator and Jackson Oxenhandler seated on either side of him. Jackson held a telephone in his hand, with an open line to the power company, which was standing by to cut the electricity supply to the whole of Palmetto Gardens.

  “Don’t tell them until I tell you,” Harry said to Jackson.

  Jackson nodded.

  In the Indian River, half a mile north of the entrance to the Palmetto Gardens marina, Ham sat in the bottom of a Boston Whaler, paddling steadily. He led his little flotilla into the creek that meandered through the salt marsh, and they proceeded steadily toward the riverbank until the shallow-draft boats began to touch bottom. Ham held up a hand, a signal to sit still and be quiet. He waited several minutes, listening, and then, with his silenced pistol in hand, he stepped out of the whaler and waded slowly toward dry ground. It took him only a minute or so to find the break in the thick underbrush that he had used before, and a minute after that he was through to Palmetto Gardens. He stopped and listened for a time while he slipped on a pair of night goggles and looked around. Seeing nothing, he spoke into a handheld radio.

  “One,” he said, then held the radio to his ear.

  “One,” he heard Harry Crisp repeat.

  “Ham’s ashore,” Harry said to the people in the gym.

  The men waiting in the whalers heard the same transmission and began leaving the boats and wading toward shore.

  Ham stood and counted the men as they emerged from the brush. When he was sure they were all with him, he spoke into the radio again.

  “Two,” he said, then listened for Harry’s repetition of the number. He held up one finger, and two men stepped forward. He pointed in the direction of the Jungle Trail gate, and they trotted silently off in that direction. He held up two fingers, and two more men stepped forward. He started them toward the standby generator.

  Holly, in her van, heard the number two spoken. “They’re in,” she said. “We’ve got four to six minutes to wait.”

  The man at the wheel nodded and heaved a deep sigh.

  His men dispersed on their various errands, Ham beckoned for the two remaining to follow him. They set off toward the com center, following the deer trail Ham had used last time. When they reached the building’s parking lot, Ham pointed at the front door. His two men skirted the parking lot and approached the building from both sides, taking up positions on either side of the front door. Only the one desk light inside seemed to be burning, as had been the case the last time Ham had visited. When his two men were in position, Ham circled the building, found the big live oak and climbed onto the roof of the building. He located the metal box and inspected it carefully with his hooded flashlight. When he had found the wires he wanted, he took a set of short bolt cutters from his backpack and cut both wires, then he went back down the tree. By the time he had skirted the parking lot again, there were two men on either side of the building’s entrance.

  Ham looked at his watch, counting the minutes, as more o
f his men joined him. Two remained at the back gate, ready to cut the padlocks, and two were at the generator. He was waiting for only one more radio signal, from those two. He pressed the handheld to his ear. The silence continued.

  “Three,” a voice said, finally.

  “Three,” Harry repeated.

  “We’re ready,” Harry said to the command group. “Anybody got a reason not to proceed?” He looked around the group, but nobody said anything. Harry nodded at Jackson.

  “Cut the power,” Jackson said into the phone.

  After a moment, the answer came back. “All power cut.”

  “Here we go,” Harry said. No further commands were necessary.

  Holly watched the main-gate guardhouse through binoculars. Suddenly, the light inside the little structure went off. “Go!” she said to her driver. The man slammed the vehicle into gear and accelerated down A1A. Holly kept the binoculars to her eyes, counting, “…three, four, five.” The light in the guard shack flickered, then came on again. She could see a figure, dressed in black, waving both hands over his head. The guard was down, and the gates were opening. “We’re in,” Holly said.

  Ham watched as the desk lamp inside the main entrance of the com center went off, then, five seconds later, came back on. “Thirty seconds,” he whispered. He watched the seconds tick away on his wrist, and when the lights went out a second time, he stood up and sprinted for the front door. Just as he had predicted, the guard inside unlocked the door and stepped outside, looking around him. Immediately, two men were on his back, cuffing and gagging him.

  Ham raced through the front door and stopped for a moment, listening to the handheld radio on the desk. A shrill whistle came from it. “Their radio frequencies are jammed,” he said. He waved his men ahead of him; they were the experts in breaking into buildings, after all. He followed four of them upstairs, while others searched the ground-floor offices. They burst into the second-floor computer room, illuminating it with powerful flashlights while each office along the wall was searched.