Stuart Woods - Capital Crimes

He tied down the airplane, then walked a hundred yards to a shed he had rented that belonged to a nearby house. He opened the padlock with the correct combination, unhooked the battery charger, and started the pickup on the first try. Then he drove back to the airplane and unloaded the gear he had brought with him from the airplane into the pickup.

With the heater now blowing warm air, he drove off the airfield to the road, which ran from the ferry past his house, and headed for home. His only other concern now was the campers who had set up a tent near the cottage. He could not see them from the road as he drove past, but he did see a wisp of smoke from their campfire.

He drove past his cottage at an easy thirty miles per hour, checking the place as he passed. Then he drove on down the road for a couple of miles before making a U-turn and starting back. A mile from his place he passed a gray Explorer going the other way with two men in the front seat, both wearing parkas and winter caps. He checked his rearview mirror and saw that the car had Maine plates. At least they were going the right way.

KINNEY WATCHED as the Explorer approached, then jumped in. “Turn up the heater,” he said as the driver turned the car around.

“Did you see the pickup?” Smith asked.

“What pickup?”

“We passed a pickup going the other way, about a mile back. Didn’t you say Fay had a pickup when Rawls saw him on the island?”

“What kind of pickup?”

“Old. Mid-fifties, probably, but in nice shape. A real gem.”

“Drive slower,” Kinney said.

TED TRIED HIS gliding trick with the truck now. He shifted into neutral, switched off the engine, and coasted down a little hill as he approached the cottage. He started pressing the button on the remote control as he coasted, and after two or three tries, the garage door opened. He turned and coasted into the garage, employing the brakes only at the last minute, then he pressed the remote again, and the garage door closed behind him, leaving the overhead light on. He hopped out of the truck, went to a keypad just inside the garage door, and tapped in the security code. The light on the box flashed green, then went out.

Smith saw the house as they came down the hill. “I don’t see anybody. Speed up, and let’s see who was in the pickup. There’s only the one road.”

The driver sped up as they passed the house.

TED WATCHED FROM INSIDE as the Explorer went past; now there were three men inside.

Kinney’s phone rang. “This is Jack.”

“Camper here. Did you see the pickup?”

“Yes, we’re checking it out now.”

“How? You’ve already passed it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The pickup came down the hill with the engine off, the garage door opened, and it coasted right inside. Our Buddy is home.”

“Shit!” Kinney exploded. “Turn this thing around and let’s get back to the campsite. Kerry, get on the phone and get our SWAT team over here, but tell them not to use the chopper from Augusta. Tell them to come over by boat, and the Explorer will meet them at the ferry terminal.”

“We’re coming up on the campsite, now,” the driver said.

“Let Smith and me out here. You make a U-turn, go back to the ferry terminal, and wait for the SWAT team. Phone me when you’re on the way back.”

“Roger,” the driver said.

Kinney and Smith hopped out of the SUV and ran into the woods, still out of sight of the house, aiming at the wisp of wood-smoke above the trees. They emerged in a little clearing, where two agents stood, warming themselves by the fire. Both were startled by their approach.

TED MOVED HIS THINGS from the pickup into the house. He checked the freezer and took out a steak to thaw, then he turned on the furnace to get some heat into the place. He looked around. Everything was exactly as he had left it. He went to the front and kitchen doors and checked the markers he had left there on each door-two inches of cellophane tape, joining them to the jamb. They were undisturbed; no one had entered the house. He began to relax, and he stood over a grate and let the warm air blow up his trousers.

“OUR MAN IS IN the house,” an agent said, holding the earphones more tightly to his head. “The furnace is on, and he opened the fridge once. When do we go in?”

“Not until dark,” Kinney said. “We’ll wait for the rest of our team to arrive and for Buddy to get comfortable. When he’s settled down for the night, we’ll go in.”

KINNEY AND SIX OF HIS SWAT team gathered around the campfire; he had sent the Explorer back to the ferry terminal for the rest of them.

“Okay, here’s where we are,” he said. “Buddy is in the house, rummaging around, cooking dinner. All seems normal. We’re going to wait until he settles in for the night, then we’re going to take him.” His cell phone rang, and he opened it. “Jack.”

“I’ve got the rest of the team,” a voice said, “and we’re on the way back from the ferry terminal. Where do you want them?”

“Drive past the house and up the little hill and around the bend. When you’re out of sight of the house, let them out and tell them to take up positions on the north side. Use no lights. They have night vision, after all. Tell them it will be at least a couple of hours before we go in.” He looked up at the rest of the SWAT team, gathered around the fire. “All of you listen to this.” He spoke into the phone again. “This will be a quiet entry through the front door. Pick the lock. If he has an alarm system, you’ll have thirty seconds before it goes off, so make the most of them. No flashlights inside, just your night-vision goggles. Locate and subdue Buddy. Do not fire unless he fires first. When he’s down, frisked, and cuffed, call me, and we’ll take him home. I’ll be in touch.” He closed the phone.

TED FINISHED HIS STEAK while watching CNN.

“Word from the FBI is that they are now watching I-95 north and south of Washington, D.C., for an RV driven by Theodore Fay, known as the right-wing shooter. With the death of Speaker of the House Eft Efton, the number of his victims has risen to five, four fatalities. We’ll keep you posted on the manhunt as news comes in.”

Ted sat back in his recliner and heaved a deep sigh of relief. He had pulled it off. Now all he had to do was enjoy his retirement. He had prepared well, buying this house more than sixteen years before, and the hangar at about the same time. If he had learned anything at the Agency it was that preparation was nearly everything. He had fooled them and the FBI from day one, stealing materials from Tech Services and building identities that could be penetrated only by accident. He still had three left, should he need them, but he didn’t expect to. He was now hunkered down in his Maine island cottage with everything he needed to live-and the airplane, if he needed to escape. He had, he believed, thought of everything.

He began to grow sleepy; he had, after all, been up since three-thirty that morning, and it had been a tense day. He went over the events of the day once more, to be sure he had not forgotten something, some threat, however small. He was confident that he had not.

He washed his dishes, turned off the TV and the kitchen light, went to his bedroom, and began unpacking the bags he had brought. Everything had been bought in Maine, much of it from the L.L. Bean catalogue. He put his things away, and as he opened a cupboard to stow some wool shirts he came upon an instrument he had nearly forgotten.

That first summer so many years ago, he had staked out a perimeter about seventy-five yards from the house, trenching the soil and laying wire for a triangulating sensor system. In an emergency, he could switch on the system and, on a small cathode ray tube, see any spot where the perimeter had been breached and track any living thing bigger than a cat as it approached the house. For the fun of it, he switched it on; maybe he would spot a deer coming his way. The unit warmed up, and the screen came up blank of intruders.