Stuart Woods: Hothouse Orchid

The director stood up and offered her hand. “Congratulations, Holly. Now go and buy yourself a very nice present.”

Holly flew.

Holly 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.

They 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.

Holly 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.