Stuart Woods - Hothouse Orchid

“We’ve got the vaccination gun,” Lauren said.

“You can buy those things at a medical supply store,” Holly said, “or shoplift one.”

“I think Jimmy would want me conscious,” Lauren said. “I think he would want a real sexual experience, at least at first.”

“The problem is, Lauren, if you give him a real sexual experience, a consensual one, you’ve got no case against him; it’s just two people fucking.”

“No, no. I make him think it’s real, then I say no.”

“In that case, you’d have to fight him off,” Holly pointed out.

“Not for long; I’d yell the code word, and help would be there.”

“He could kill you in seconds.”

“I’d be armed.”

“If you’re unconscious, that won’t help. And you can’t just shoot him without provocation, Lauren; you’ll be on camera the whole time.”

“How I handle it will have to be left to me,” Lauren said.

“There’s something else,” Holly said. “How are you going to get hold of Jimmy’s car long enough to do all this installation work on it?”

“That’s why I came to you,” Lauren said. “You know Jane Grey, the station secretary, well, don’t you?”

“Sure, Jane was my secretary when I was chief.”

“Will you call her? Hurd doesn’t want to do it for some reason.”

“And tell her what?”

“Tell her to tell Jimmy that his car is scheduled for service, and she’ll give him another. Then we can take the car into a shop and get the work done. If she gets his keys the night before and returns it two mornings later, we’ll have plenty of time.”

“Sure, I’ll do that. Do you know when you want the car?”

“I’ll let you know when everything’s set.”

“Okay, I’ll wait for your call. One other thing, though.”

“What?”

“I don’t think you should carry a weapon; he’s liable to notice. I think it should be concealed in the car. In fact, I think there should be two weapons concealed, say, one under the dash and one under the seat, and you ought to be there when they’re planted, so you’ll know exactly where they are.”

“Good idea,” Lauren said. “Anything else?”

Holly thought about it. “No, but I’ll probably think of something. I’ll call you when I do. And Lauren?”

“Yes?”

“I want to be in a chase car,” Holly said. “Clear it with Hurd.”

“I will.”

“And, Lauren, does your boyfriend know about this?”

“No, Holly, and I’m not going to tell him until it’s over.”

Teddy Fay picked up the new, stick-on aircraft registration numbers at the design shop and drove home. He was working through a checklist of things he had to do before he and Lauren departed Vero Beach for good.

This was a different kind of escape for Teddy. Ordinarily when abandoning a location, he also abandoned his identity, his appearance and everything else about himself-he burned all his bridges-but he had made a decision not to tell Lauren who he really was, and that entailed becoming Jack Smithson permanently.

Teddy had been working for much of the day on fleshing out the identity: creating a better credit report, adding information to his pre-Vero Beach existence in north Georgia, creating the kind of past a real person would own. He had even fabricated the record of a past speeding ticket from Dalton, Georgia, with the fine paid on time.

Back at the beach house he had one last task: change the aircraft registration number on his airplane. It wasn’t hugely important, but it would make him a little more difficult to trace if anybody tried. He finished the job on the computer and logged out of first the FAA computer, then the Agency mainframe. The phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me,” Lauren said.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Have you started cooking dinner yet?”

“Not yet, but soon.”

“Why don’t we go out tonight? You like barbecue?”

“Yeah, sure; every Georgia boy does.”

“There’s a great little joint on 1A that does wonderful things to a pig. Want to meet me there after work? Say, six?”

“Sure,” he said, noting the address.

“See you then.” She made a kissing noise and hung up.

Holly was sitting out behind the house in the late afternoon sun, with her bikini top off and the bottom pulled down, filling in her tan and watching Daisy play in the dunes when her cell phone buzzed. “Hello?”

“It’s me,” Lance said. “Are you near your secure room?”

“Yes.”

“Call me when you’re locked in and logged on.” He hung up.

Holly got to her feet, pulled up her bikini bottom, grabbed the bra top and called Daisy, who loped toward her. Inside the house, she put on a robe, just in case Lance wanted to talk face-to-face, and let herself into her little office. She logged on, then called Lance. “It’s Holly.”

“The geek has visited me again. Our intruder logged on twice today, most recently less than ten minutes ago. Because of a glitch, the geek could only track his last log-on, which was the FAA computer, and wasn’t able to figure out where in the FAA databases, so he doesn’t know what the intruder was doing there.”

“If he’s who you think he might be, he could be making a new pilot’s license for himself or creating an aircraft registration.”

“That’s right; our man flies himself.”

“Any news on his location?”

“He’s narrowed the possibilities to about a three-mile stretch of Vero Beach, less than a mile wide. I’m sending a map.”

Holly watched the screen as the image popped onto her computer screen. “It’s the southern half of Vero’s island,” she said.

“Yes, and somewhere between the western shore of the Intracoastal Waterway and the Atlantic.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a street address, is it?” Holly asked.

“No, but we’re getting closer.”

“Are we really?” Holly asked. “We’re talking about three square miles of densely populated Florida, with God knows how many houses and apartment buildings.”

“I just thought you’d like to know,” Lance said. “Goodbye.” He hung up.

You just thought you’d like me to know, Holly thought. She had pretty much shaken off the desire to nail Teddy Fay, but Lance apparently hadn’t. She had her suspicions about Jack Smithson, but she had already decided not to pursue them.

She logged off the computer and locked the door behind her. Maybe it was time, she thought, to have another look at Jack’s house. She put on some jogging clothes and went outside. “Come on, Daisy,” she called, “we’re going for a run.”

Teddy sat with Lauren at the barbecue shack, eating Brunswick stew, a conglomeration of chicken, corn, tomato and, if you were in the right part of Georgia, maybe some squirrel or possum. Delicious. “How’s work,” he asked. “Are you making ready to pull out?”

“I’ve got one more job to do,” Lauren said. “Just a detail to wrap up.”

“How long?”

“A week; two, tops.”

“Have you told the boss?”

“No, I think I’m going to leave without giving notice.”

Teddy thought about that. Such an action might excite too much interest in Lauren’s departure. “Give him notice,” he said. “Hurd’s been good to you, and you owe him that.”

Lauren sighed. “You’re right. I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

Holly ran down the wet sand at a clip, a good three miles to where Jack’s guesthouse sat, just above the beach, with Daisy happily running alongside her. She reached the house a little after six, and, after ascertaining that neither Jack’s nor Lauren’s car was parked outside, she picked the front door lock and stepped out of her running shoes. “Daisy, stay here,” she said to the dog. Daisy sat down on the porch and watched as she went inside in her stocking feet.