Hothouse Orchid (2 page)

2

H
olly packed her Cayenne Turbo as lightly as she could and spoke to Daisy, her Doberman pinscher. “All right, Daisy, you can get in now.” Daisy, who had been sitting by the car, waiting for instructions, leapt lightly into the front passenger seat of the SUV.

Daisy had been beautifully trained by an old army buddy of her father’s who had met an untimely end. Holly had bought her from the man’s daughter, and she and Daisy had bonded at once.

Holly got onto I-95 south, set the speed control at eighty and switched on the radar detector. The device was illegal in Virginia, but what the hell, it was cleverly concealed, and it looked for cops both ahead and behind while jamming their lasers long enough for her to slow down.

T
hey spent the first night in a motel near Charleston and got moving early the next morning. She called her father, Hamilton Barker, from there and told him she was on the way. By late afternoon she was at the bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway, then she turned onto the side road that led to her father’s house, on a little island, where he lived with his longtime girlfriend and recent wife, Virginia.

She pulled into the yard and let Daisy out of the car. Daisy ran through the open door and came back with Ham and Ginny, and hugs and kisses were exchanged, not least by Daisy.

“You want a drink?” Ham asked.

“No, I want to get to the house and settle in,” Holly said. “I just wanted to say hello on the way. How about dinner tomorrow night?”

“Sure,” Ginny said. “Come here, and I’ll cook.”

“You’re on,” Holly replied.

“I went to take a look at your place a few weeks ago,” Ham said, “but I was met by some grim-faced guy packing a handgun and told to go away. I figured he was one of yours.”

“Yeah, he was,” Holly said. “The Agency did some work on the house.”

Ham made a grunting noise. “I never knew they were building contractors,” he said.

“You’d be surprised at some of the things the Agency does,” Holly replied. “Come on, Daisy, let’s go home.” Daisy jumped back into the car. “See you tomorrow night,” Holly said, and drove away.

She crossed the bridge and turned south on A-1A, the road that ran the length of the state’s barrier islands. She drove through the little community of Orchid Beach and a couple of miles south turned into her driveway. She was immediately brought up short by a heavy wrought-iron gate hanging on reinforced concrete posts. “What the hell?” she muttered.

She opened her briefcase and took out the envelope Lance Cabot had given her. There were some papers, some keys and a remote control. She pressed the remote’s button, and the gate swung open, closing behind her automatically as she drove through.

Holly stopped at the front door and got out of the car with Daisy, who was obviously glad to be home. She fumbled with the new keys, noticing that they had none of the usual teeth, just what seemed to be a row of magnets. The door, of painted steel, was new. She got a key into the lock, and it took two complete turns to open the door. She checked the door’s edge, and when she turned the key again, not one but three six-inch steel bolts emerged that would slide into the steel door frame. Impressive. She heard the security system beeping and found a new keypad next to the door. The papers in the envelope Lance had given her revealed her new entry code, and she used it to disarm the system. She noted in the instructions that any breach of security would be sent electronically, not to a local security company but directly to Langley.

She unloaded her things while Daisy ran around sniffing at everything in the house. Holly walked into the living room and looked around. Everything seemed exactly the same, even the old magazines on the coffee table. Then she noticed that her view of the beach and ocean through the picture windows and sliding doors had a slightly greenish cast. She inspected them and found that the glass in the windows and doors was now an inch and a half thick. Good for hurricanes, she reckoned.

She slid open a heavy door and smelled the ocean air. Daisy raced outside and around the dunes, inspecting everything. Holly took her bags upstairs, unpacked them and came back down. Near the bottom of the stairs she saw a new interior door that had not been there before, with a keypad next to it. Checking the paperwork for a code, she opened the door and found a neat little office with an ordinary desktop PC alongside an Agency computer and printer, secure fax machine and plenty of cupboards and shelves. She opened one cupboard to find weapons racks containing a 12-gauge Remington riot gun and two handguns: a custom model 1911 .45 and a SigArms P239, a compact 9-mm with holsters. In another cupboard she found set into the wall a safe with a capacity of about 2 cubic feet. She memorized the combination, left the room, closed the door and heard the locks operate. Home Sweet Home, she thought.

Holly fixed dinner for herself and Daisy and fell asleep in bed with the new, flat-screen TV on. She was awakened early the next morning by a ringing telephone and groped for it. “Hello,” she croaked.

“Good morning,” Lance said. “I knew you’d be up early.”

Holly sat up in bed and noticed that the TV was still on. Then she noticed that Lance’s face had appeared on the screen.

“I didn’t know you slept naked,” Lance said.

“Beast,” she said, pulling the covers up to her chin. “What do you want?”

“Just checking to be sure you made it in all right. Do you like our improvements to your place?”

“Very impressive,” she said.

“We also did some strengthening of the structure and slated the roof with double fasteners. You have hurricanes down there, you know.”

“I seem to remember.”

“Go back to sleep,” he said. “All is well here.” The phone went dead, and the TV returned to CNN.

She was almost asleep when the phone rang again. She yanked the covers over her breasts, grabbed the phone and looked at the TV. This time, it was just CNN. “Hello?”

“Holly? It’s Hurd Wallace.”

Holly had retired from the army with the rank of major after twenty years and as the commander of a military police company. An old army buddy of Ham’s, Chet Marley, had been chief of police in Orchid Beach, and he had offered her a job as his deputy chief, which she had jumped at. Hurd Wallace had been the man she had displaced when she was hired.

Chet Marley had been murdered, and Holly had become chief, with Hurd as her deputy. After a rocky beginning they had established a good, even warm working relationship, and by the time she had left to join the CIA, they had become friends. Hurd was now chief of police in Orchid Beach.

“Hey, Hurd,” she said.

“Too early for you?”

“Nah, I’m wide awake,” she lied. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to welcome you back; Ham told me you were coming. Can I buy you some lunch today? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Sure.”

“Ocean Grill at one o’clock?”

“Sure. See you there.” She hung up, and by that time she was wide awake. She struggled out of bed and into a shower.

3

H
olly walked into the Ocean Grill in nearby Vero Beach, a barnlike, old-fashioned Florida seafood restaurant, and found Hurd Wallace waiting for her. Hurd was still tall and thin, but his black hair was half gray now. They hugged.

“Long time,” she said.

“Too long.”

They were shown to a table and given menus.

“What brings you back to Orchid Beach?” Hurd asked.

“Something really weird,” Holly replied. “A vacation.”

Hurd laughed. “You haven’t changed; you always worked too hard.”

“Well, there’s always too much work and never enough time to do it,” she said.

“Are you enjoying your work?”

“I really am.”

“I guess you have a bigger ocean to cast your net.”

“Bigger than you can imagine. I wish I could tell you about it.”

Hurd held up a hand. “I didn’t mean to fish; I know you folks never talk about anything.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

They ordered iced tea and lunch, and soon Holly was enjoying tiny bay scallops in a lot of butter. “So, how’s police work these days?”

“Much the same, but we do more drug work now.”

“Yeah, I still get the local paper, and I read about that.”

“Most of the officers you knew are still with us; a few new ones.”

“I’ll stop by and say hello.”

“I’m retiring,” Hurd said without preamble. “Today’s my last day.”

Holly was shocked. “I thought you’d never do that,” she said.

“I’ve been offered a job with the state police as head of a new investigative unit. The money and the pension are better, and I don’t have to move to Tallahassee. I can work out of the department’s offices here in Vero.”

“Well, congratulations, Hurd. Who’s replacing you? Anybody I know?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Hurd said. “I expect you recall the circumstances under which you left the army.”

“Of course.” Holly and another female officer had brought charges against their commanding officer for sexual harassment, attempted rape and rape. Holly had managed to fight him off, but the other woman, a young lieutenant, had not. When the man was acquitted by a board of his fellow officers, Holly realized that she had no place to go in the army, so she retired. The chief at Orchid Beach, Chet Marley, an old army buddy of Ham’s, had offered her the job as his deputy. When he had been killed, Holly had replaced him. “Why do you bring that up?” she asked.

Hurd unbuttoned his shirt pocket and took out a sheet of paper. “I Googled you,” he said. He unfolded it and handed it to her. It was a newspaper account of the trial and her testimony. “I wish I had done it sooner.”

Holly scanned it. “It’s accurate,” she said.

“The city council has hired Colonel James Bruno as the new chief,” Hurd said.

Holly felt as though someone had struck her. Bruno had been her commanding officer.

Hurd saw the shock on her face. “It was a fait accompli before I found out who Bruno was; there was nothing I could do.”

Holly recovered her voice. “How did this happen?”

“Ironically, the council’s experience with you had been such a good one that they decided to look for another MP officer. Bruno looked good on paper, so they interviewed him. Apparently, your name didn’t come up at the time.”

“Does the council know now who he is?”

“I wrote a memo to the chairman, so that it would be on the record.”

“Is it still Charlie Peterson?”

Hurd shook his head. “Charlie died last month: heart attack, at his desk. I’m surprised you didn’t see it in the paper.”

“I guess I’m behind a few issues,” she said. “Who is his replacement?”

Hurd sighed. “Irma Taggert.”

During and after Holly’s first meeting with the Orchid Beach city council and during Holly’s entire tenure as chief, Irma Taggert had been a constant thorn in her side. “That horrible pain in the ass?”

“One and the same,” Hurd said. “She had seniority on the council, and the town’s bylaws made her chairman until the next election, which isn’t until this fall.”

“Hurd, Irma would have voted to hire James Bruno, even if she had known who he was—maybe because he was who he was.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Hurd said.

“Let me tell you what’s going to happen,” Holly said. “Jim Bruno will use spit and polish mixed with charm to get the people on the force to like him. The man does have charm, I’ll give him that. Then, when he feels secure, he’ll start in on the female officers, and he’ll find a way to get rid of anybody who doesn’t come across. This is going to be bad.”

“I wish there was something I could do,” Hurd said.

“You can take the women aside and let them know who they’re dealing with. They need to be warned.”

“That I can do,” Hurd said.

“Does he know I’m in town?”

“No. I don’t think anyone but me knows, except Ham and Ginny, of course.”

“When does Bruno start the job?”

“He’s already in the office.”

“Does he know I was chief before you?”

“I don’t know, but he certainly will soon. Your name is bound to come up in the normal course of things. Maybe I’ll tell him myself, just to see the look on his face.”

“I’d be interested to know how he takes the news,” Holly said. “Oh, and don’t mention it to Ham; he might go down to the station and shoot Bruno.”

“It’ll be in tomorrow’s paper,” Hurd said.

“I’m having dinner with them tonight; I’ll break it to him and then sit on him if I have to. Ham was at the trial, you know.”

“I didn’t know.”

“He retired a couple of weeks after I did, and I think it was so he wouldn’t have to serve on the same base with Bruno. Or maybe even in the same army.”

“I wouldn’t want Ham mad at me,” Hurd said.

“You’re right about that,” Holly said.

4

H
olly dressed for dinner in starched designer jeans, a blue chambray work shirt and skinny lizard cowgirl boots. Ham had always liked it when she dressed like a boy. She checked herself in the mirror. Since she had lost the weight and colored her hair a lovely auburn she had liked her looks a lot better. She was a good five-ten in the boots, and Ham liked that, too. She wanted him happy tonight.

H
olly and Daisy arrived at Ham and Ginny’s only ten minutes late, and she could smell the meat roasting on the back-porch grill. Ginny greeted her with a hug at the front door and let Daisy put her paws on her shoulders and give her a big kiss. Ginny poured them both a Knob Creek on the rocks and another for Ham, then they went out on the back porch to watch his beef-burning skills on display, searing the biggest, thickest porterhouse steak Holly had ever seen.

“Did you shoot that yourself?” Holly asked.

“I roped it down at the prime butcher’s shop,” Ham replied. “You wouldn’t believe what it cost.”

“Yes, I would.”

“I charged it to your credit card,” Ham said. Holly had given him a very special kind of credit card, one that tapped into a secret bank account she kept in the Cayman Islands.

“Figures.”

“So, what’s happening in your life, baby girl?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve got some good news and some bad news,” she said, sighing.

“I always like the bad news first.”

Holly took a deep breath. “Hurd Wallace is retiring as chief, and the new chief is Colonel James Bruno.”

Ham dropped the tongs he had been holding and bumped his head on the hot grill when he picked them up. “How the fuck did that pig happen here?” he demanded.

“Try and relax, Ham; it’s not a conspiracy.” She told him what Hurd had told her at lunch. “Promise me you’re not going to go down there and shoot him.”

“Don’t you think I have
any
self-control?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’ll wait until after dinner to go down there and shoot him.”

“That’s what I thought. I hope I didn’t ruin your supper, but you wanted the bad news first.”

“Tell me the good news; maybe it’ll help me get over it.”

“I got promoted.”

“To what?”

“Assistant Deputy Director of Operations—ADDO.”

“What was it you were before?”

“Assistant
to
the deputy director of operations.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Of course there is. Assistant
to
made me sound like a glorified secretary, though, of course, I was a lot more than that. Assistant deputy director means, I think, that I’ll have some authority of my own.”

“Authority to what? Assassinate people? Because if that’s the case, James Bruno ought to be your first hit.”

“No, no, Ham. It just means that when I give an order I don’t have to preface it with, ‘Lance Cabot asked me to tell you to . . .’ ”

“Does it mean that if Lance dies you get his job? Because if it does, I’ll shoot him for you.”

“No, it doesn’t, Ham, and I want you to get your mind off shooting people. You’ll screw up your digestion, and that chunk of cow you’re flaming is going to take a lot of digestion.”

“I guess Lance’s job is a lot of politics,” Ham said.

“You’re right, and Lance says I’m shitty at the politics. Not as shitty as he thinks I am, but I could do better, and I’m going to surprise him by doing it.”

“Pretty soon you’re going to have Kate Lee’s job,” Ham said.

“Not while Will Lee is president,” Holly said. An act of Congress had allowed the president to appoint his wife, who was a career CIA officer, as director. Holly looked at Ham closely. “How’s your blood pressure?”

“Returning to normal,” Ham said, taking a swig of the Knob Creek. “Well, almost normal. I hope Bruno likes to fish, because if he does, I’ll catch him on the water and drown him.”

“Careful, the BP is going up again. Drink more bourbon.”

Ham did.

“You doing any flying?” Ginny asked, by way of changing the subject. Ginny ran her own flying school at the Vero Beach airport.

“No time,” Holly said. “I miss it, too.”

“Why don’t you come out to the airport tomorrow, and I’ll give you a biennial flight review and an instrument competency check.”

“Good idea,” Holly said. “Let me call you in the morning and set it up.”

“You want your steak rare?” Ham asked.

“No, I want it medium rare, and that means when I stick it with a fork, I don’t want it to moo.”

T
hey dined on the huge steak, which Ham had sawed into human-sized chunks, baked potatoes and a Caesar salad along with a big, fat California cabernet. Daisy dealt with the bone.

Ham, who had been quiet, finally said something. “Tell me, what was the most fun you’ve ever had at your job?”

“You just want me to tell you some secret stuff, don’t you?”

“If you really want to. I just want to know if you’re having any fun.”

“Well, a few months ago I got to pose as an assistant director of the FBI and serve a phony court order on the editor of the
National Inquisitor.
”

“You’re shittin’ me!”

“I shit you not.”

“God, I hate that rag,” he said. “I hope you gave the guy a really hard time.”

“Oh, I did, and I savored every moment of it.”

“I thought the Agency wasn’t supposed to mess around in domestic stuff,” Ham said with false naïveté.

“Oh, I was never there,” Holly said. “The minute I left his office I ceased to exist, and so did what I did there. Or rather, what I didn’t do.”

“Just don’t get caught not doing it,” Ham said.

“I’ll do my best.”

“How was the Farm?” The Farm was Fort Peary, the Agency’s training facility for new officers.

“Hard but fun. You’d have been proud of my shooting.”

“I heard,” Ham said. “The best ever scores by a trainee.”

“You
heard
? You’re not supposed to hear; we’re talking about the CIA.”

“I heard. I got a call from your instructor. He was properly awed, and, of course, he gave me all the credit.”

“He said he knew you, but . . .”

“I kicked his ass in the national championships one year.”

They ate and drank on, enjoying each other. Holly hadn’t had such a good time since she had joined the Agency.