“Rise and shine at 9:15 p.m.,” she muttered setting her internal alarm clock. “You need to pack.”
Brovinski was watching from the control room, and satisfied with what he’d seen he headed back into the house. There was a thicket of trees that hid him from eyes in the sky, but the night was quiet so he took the shorter route across the back lawn.
Theo was still with Barrett, and he’d leave him there for the moment. Walking up the stairs he roused the six men who had left the control room a short time before.
The upstairs area had four large bedrooms and a lounging area. The six men he called to attention rotated their schedule with the six men who were currently in the control center. They were his soldiers, and the upstairs area was where they lived.
As well as Theo, two other men had bedrooms downstairs, and they were finishing up at the new location, making the sure the rooms were properly wired for sound and video. Brovinksi had decided on the last minute change after he’d seen the helicopter early that afternoon. It had lingered too long and too close for his liking, and while he believed it was just paparazzi, he wasn’t a man to leave things to chance. Adding to that the unexpected news that an important shipment would be arriving early, and he’d have to have the girl out of the way when it did, contributed to the change in plans.
“Oleg, Max and Bruno, go to the new location and take over for Pavel and Mark. Once Barrett and the girl arrive no one goes in or out. Boris, Andrei, you’ll be following when we leave. Vasily, you’ll stay here with Theo and keep watch for reporters. We’ll head out at 10 p.m.”
The men nodded silently, and Brovinsky marched away and trotted back down the stairs.
As he strode through the house, confident that Belinda posed no threat, he marveled at what a lucky break it had been it find her. He’d needed a nurse, and when her visits to Barrett became regular he’d had her checked out. She was single, no children, no pets. She was perfect.
Hurrying into his office, the one Barrett once called his Cave of Creation, Brovinski started working. He had several deals going at one time, and now having a worry-free mind about Belinda Harris, and the safety of Barrett being in a new, hidden location, he could concentrate.
Things had turned hot for him in Europe, and it occurred to him he could probably find a patsy in the Hollywood crowd, someone who lived in a mansion and was a sniveling boy inside a man’s body. He’d been right. Hijacking Barrett was child’s play, and now he was enjoying his anonymity, running his vast criminal network totally under the radar.
He’d created Fred Simons as his cover, a rehab specialist, and his successful, supposedly drug-addicted patient relied on him to keep him clean. It was shocking to Brovinski how effortless it had been to fool the people in Barrett’s life. One by one they had dropped away, and as long as Barrett continued to produce the scripts, no one seemed to care where he was.
* * *
It was a ninety minutes later that a helicopter lowered eight men into the rugged brush halfway up the hill that sat behind the guest house on George Barrett’s property. One by one they slid down the rope and dropped almost silently into the undergrowth. They were dressed in black, their faces were painted, and they were carrying a variety of weapons and supplies. Stealthily they began their climb.
As the men ascended, a panel van sporting the name of a florist was driving up Pacific Coast Highway. The driver was a young man with longish hair, and he had a large bouquet of flowers sitting next to him on the passenger seat. In the back of the van were five men. They had guns and smoke bombs, and there was little conversation as the van rolled along. Four of them were FBI field agents, the other, of course, was Blake.
Back at his house, Dean and Brian were watching the operation unfold on the monitors. They were in touch with the group scaling the back of the hill, and all six men in the van.
“Blake’s a pro,” Brian said seeing the worry on Dean’s face. “He can probably outshoot and outfight anyone he comes up against.”
“I don’t doubt it, but he hasn’t been out in the field with other operatives,” Dean said grimly, “and I’m still worried about that injury.”
“He’s had worse injuries and gone to work, I know, I’ve seen it, and he works with teams all the time. It’s his job. Believe me, when this is over you’ll want to hire him,” Brian declared.
“I hope you’re right. I hope I didn’t just make a big mistake.”
* * *
In her bedroom, Belinda was keeping up the pretense and packing her suitcase. It was 9:20. In ten short minutes a delivery van would roll up the driveway. Her nerves beginning to get the better of her, so she moved into the bathroom, turned on the faucets, and removing the phone from the rock she punched in a message.
Is everything still on schedule?
She hit send and waited.
Yes. Stay calm. It should be over very quickly.
She punched in a thank you, then powered off the phone and returned it to its hiding place. Moving back into her bedroom she continued fussing with her suitcase, waiting anxiously for the 3-2-1 knock that would signal Blake’s arrival.
Deep breaths, deep breaths, just do whatever Blake tells you when he gets here. Deep breaths. God I wish this was over.
* * *
Outside the gates of Barrett’s house, the driver of the van pushed the intercom button on the keypad.
“Yes?”
“This is Fond Memories Florist. I have a delivery for a, hold-on, I can’t read this writing. Someone named, G. Barrett.”
The gate swung open, and as the van began to roll forward, Blake looked across at the man opposite him who had been introduced simply as Howard.
“Nice touch, that, I can’t read this writing,” Blake muttered.
“You’re not the only one who works with actors,” Howard grinned. “How are you feeling?”
“Great. Like I’m about to be hit by a car. Total adrenalin rush.”
“I’d like to try that sometime,” Howard replied.
Blake wanted to perform his ritual, and though he couldn’t stand up he could still visualize his erotic fantasy. Closing his eyes he imagined Belinda, wrapped in leather straps, laying helpless on his coffee table, her beautiful backside a gorgeous crimson from his flogger. It was working. Blake could feel himself sink into the imagery, and he knew he’d come out of it completely focused.
* * *
The eight men who had been dropped by the helicopter were staring at the back of the guest house. They had cut the cables to three of the exterior cameras that surveilled the surrounding area, and a tall, lanky man had stepped outside to find the cause of the trouble. He had a rope around his neck and was unconscious in thirty seconds.
The commander of the elite FBI group, a man everyone called Hal, gave a signal and the eight agents crept towards the door. Hal inserted the key he’d lifted from the scout, but inside the control room concern was mounting; the scout had not returned, nor had he checked in.
“Something’s wrong. Call Nicolai,” one man shouted. “Quick.”
His order came too late. The door burst open and Hal commanded everyone to raise their arms, move back from their posts, and lay on the ground.
One unfortunate soldier attempted to push an alarm button under his desk, but a loud pop echoed through the room, and the man fell dead in his chair.
Methodically and swiftly the agents had the remaining four men bound and gagged in less than a minute. Dean had seen the operation from a video camera attached to Hal’s vest, and with Brovinski’s men under control, Hal pressed a button on the camera so they could talk.
“Deliver the flowers.”
“Roger that,” Dean replied. “Sending flowers.”
* * *
The van had moved slowly up the driveway. Everything was synchronized, and by the time they reached the front door the control room should have been deactivated. As they approached, a man stepped through the front door to sign for the delivery. The young driver was nervous
. He hadn’t received the go call, then to his relief his cellphone rang. Placing it against his ear he heard the magic words.
“Deliver the flowers.”
Blake had just blinked open his eyes when the van came to a stop, and taking a deep breath he waited for the knock on the back door signaling him to open it. They’d move silently and rapidly into the front of the house, while Hal and his men moved in from the back. Somewhere, inside that house, one of them would find Nicolai Brovinski and take him alive
* * *
Standing on her balcony, heart racing, Belinda had seen the slow moving vehicle as it moved up the driveway.
Blake, be safe, be safe, please, be safe.
When it rolled up to the front door and came to a stop, she could only keep it in view by leaning over the rail of the patio. She watched a man she’d not seen before, walking from the house towards the van.
The driver stepped out, holding a bouquet of flowers and a clipboard. As the man approached, the driver placed the flowers on top of the hood, then handed him the clipboard. The man took it, and as he lowered his head to sign it, the driver landed a fast chop to the back of the man’s neck. Catching him as he fell, the driver dragged him to the back of the van and knocked on the back door.
Belinda couldn’t believe how fast it had happened. One minute the man was standing there, the next he had collapsed, and it had all be done without a sound. She was still staring when she heard a knock on her door.
Shit. It can’t be Blake, he hasn’t left the van.
Just as she finished her thought she saw the back doors of the van open, and to her joy she saw Blake jump out and drop into a crouch. He began running towards the house, and in seconds had disappeared from view.
The knock came again.
Shit.
Moving quickly back inside her room she hurried to the door, then stood, staring at it, not sure what to do.
“Who is it?”
“Miss Harris, it’s Mr. Simons. We’ve decided to leave a bit early. Are you almost ready?”
Taking a deep breath she reached for the door handle and slowly turned it.
“Sorry, Mr. Simons, I wasn’t dressed,” she said as she pulled the door open. “I’ll only be a minute,” but as she spoke, movement over the man’s shoulder caught her eye. Shifting her gaze, to her shock, she saw Blake. He was only a few feet away, and Fred Simons, aka Nicolai Brovinski, was standing between them.
Chapter Forty-Two
Blake froze. When he’d turned the corner to enter the hallway that would take him to Belinda’s room, the last thing he’d expected was to see her standing in an open doorway talking to Nicolai Brovinski. His mind flashed with ideas, but they would all put Belinda at risk.
If I hang back and he hears something he’ll be on guard. Fuck, he could use her as a shield. Fuck. I still have to make Belinda look as if I think she’s one of them. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Belinda knew she was supposed to be arrested and taken away. She knew Brovinski would hurt her, even kill her, to save his own skin, and she knew Blake was worried about making a move and putting her at risk. In the terror of the moment there was only one thing she could think of that might save her and help Blake. Praying it would work, she lifted her head, looked directly at him, and letting out an ear piercing scream she slammed the door.
Reaching into his inside jacket pocket for his gun, Brovinski began to spin around, but Blake was too fast. His foot landed on the small of Brovinski’s back and sent him flying to the ground. As Brovinksi hit the floor Blake pounced on top of him, trying to gain control of his arms.
With the look of a fierce animal Brovinski fought back with a crazed energy. He was starting to get the better of Blake when another agent came running to help, and it took both of them to finally get control of Brovinski and slap the cuffs on his wrists.
“There’s a woman in that room,” Blake declared. “I’ll deal with her.”
“Gotcha,” the agent replied.
Moving to the door Blake pounded, then paused.
“Who are you?” Belinda’s voice called back.
“FBI. This place is swarming with agents. There’s no where to go. Open the door and raise your arms.”
“I haven’t done anything. I’m just a nurse.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about. Just do as I say.”
As Belinda opened her door and stepped back with her hands in the air, another agent appeared on the scene.
“The house is clear,” he announced. “We’ve got everyone. Who’s she?”
“I’m about to find out,” Blake replied. “All right, what’s your name?” he asked Belinda as Brovinski was pulled to his feet and bustled past them. “You say you’re a nurse?”
“I am, I swear,” she protested continuing the act.
As Brovinski disappeared, Blake moved into her room and shut the door behind them.
“Camera’s,” she whispered.
“We’re in control of that, but you’re right,” he smiled, and hurrying them into the bathroom he wrapped her into his arms.
* * *
Her scream had sent the house into chaos, but it had worked in their favor. As Nicolai’s soldiers had run from their rooms upstairs, they had been met by three of Hal’s men and were quickly taken down. Sitting in Barrett’s room, Theo had heard the scream, then a soft knock on the door, and he’d cautiously poked his head out, he was met by the smiling face, then closed fist, of an agent who had been waiting on the other side.
A few minutes later several black sedans arrived on the scene, and Brovinski and his men were handcuffed and placed in the vehicles to be driven to FBI headquarters. They all saw Belinda being bustled into a car by the agent who had arrested her, but the car she was in never left the house. The minute Brovinski and his men had been driven off, Belinda and Blake hurried back inside.
Belinda was anxious to see George, and she and Blake went directly to his room, but as they approached Hal stepped up and stopped them.
“How is he?” Belinda asked urgently.
“He claims to have an explosive tooth,” Hal said grimly.
“What?” Belinda exclaimed.
“That button you hid in his room worked great, and we knew they were placing something in his mouth that kept him quiet, but we thought it was some kind of pain device. When we got in there he gestured for something to write with, and that’s how he told us they’d placed a cap over one of his teeth that was a bomb. They told him it would blow off his face if he talked, that the vibration of speech would trigger it.”
“I’ve never heard of anything like that,” Blake exclaimed. “Do you think it’s possible?”
“Anything’s possible,” Hal replied.
“It may be possible, but they didn’t do it.”
Looking up they saw an agent standing in the doorway holding a white dental crown in a pair of small pliers.
“Come on in. It’s perfectly safe. Hi, you must be Belinda. Your name was the first thing he said.”
Moving quickly into the room and across to his bed, Belinda stared down at the man who had begged for her help.
“Belinda, there are no words,” he stammered, tears dripping from his eyes. “You’ve saved my life, I mean, my whole life. How can I ever thank you?”
“You poor man. I’m so glad this is over, and if you want to thank someone, thank this guy,” she said clinging to Blake’s arm, “and the FBI too, of course. They’ve been incredible.”
“Who are you?” George asked looking up at Blake.
“I’m just a guy,” he said. “Belinda’s guy.”
“He was going to try to get you out of here by himself, well, the two of us and a friend of his,” Belinda explained quickly, “but he thought he might be in over his head so he called a friend of his in the FBI.”
“I can’t believe it,” George said unable to stop his tears. “I just can’t believe it.”
“We’re going to transport you to a facility where you’ll be safe and
can get the help you need,” Hal said stepping forward. “An ambulance will be here soon. Tomorrow someone will be stopping by to see how you’re doing. We have many questions.”
“I have questions too,” George said. “I was at the center of it all, and I still don’t understand how any of it was able to happen.”
“Can I visit him?” Belinda asked Hal.
“Of course. Give us a few days. We’ll let you know where he is and when you can stop by.”
“Belinda,” George said reaching for her hand, “I promise you, I will find a way to repay you. I will. You and this man of yours.”
They said their goodbyes, then headed to Belinda’s room to pick up things. The suitcase was already packed, but when she stepped into the bathroom to make sure she had everything, she saw the potted plants.
“I have to take these,” she declared. “I gave them names.”
“You did?” Blake grinned.
“I was supposed to be attached to them so I thought I’d better.”
“Care to introduce me?”
“Sure. I was going to call them Romeo and Juliet, and Antony and Cleopatra, but those poor souls had such tragic ends, so I decided to name them after people who would live forever.”
“Who can live forever?”
“Please meet, Ringo, Paul, John and George.”
“You’re a Beatle fan?”
“Kind of. I mean, they were before my time, but they are legends.”
“Yes, they are legends. Let’s get them home.”
“Speaking of going home, how are we getting there?”
“We’ll be passengers in one of those sexy, dark, FBI SUV’s,” he replied.
“As Josh would say, cool!”
“And when I get you home, Miss Harris, I’m kicking those agents out of my house and taking you to bed, and not letting you go for a very long time.”
Chapter Forty-Three
As the large SUV drove up his driveway, the first thing Blake noticed was the lack of vehicles in his motor court, and as he Belinda stepped from the car, Josh came running down the steps to greet them.
The Stuntman Page 23
