Stuart Woods: Capital Crimes

TO THE NORTH of the house, the SWAT team leader watched as the kitchen lights went off, and the bedroom light came on. He called Jack. “Looks like Buddy is turning in,” he said. “He’s left the kitchen and gone to the bedroom.”

“I can confirm that from our ears,” Kinney replied. “We hear him moving around the bedroom now, apparently unpacking. Let’s move a couple of men up now on each side of the house for eyeball surveillance. We’ll wait an hour after the bedroom lights go off and we hear deep breathing.”

“Roger that.”

TED LOOKED AGAIN at the CRT and still saw a blank screen. He left the cupboard door open, turned down the bed, and got out a pair of flannel pajamas from a drawer. As he began to unbutton his shirt, he heard a soft beep from the cupboard; he looked at the CRT and saw a blip on the north side of the house. A deer, he thought, or maybe a raccoon; he continued to unbutton his shirt. Then the instrument beeped again. This time the blip was on the south side of the house. Was he being surrounded by deer? Both blips remained absolutely stationary, but they were still there. Was somebody watching the house? Was somebody, maybe, listening? He switched on the bedside radio, which was already tuned to Bay Radio, which played the old, big band music he loved. He moved quietly around the room, putting a few things into a small duffel, things he might need.

SMITH TOOK the headphones off. “He’s playing music,” he said to Kinney.

“Music?”

“Big band stuff, fairly loudly.”

“There’s a radio station up here that plays big band,” an agent said. “I had it earlier on my Walkman.”

“Maybe it helps him sleep,” Smith said.

“Maybe it’s to cover up other noise,” Kinney replied.

“Hang on, I just heard a toilet flush,” Smith said. “He just sat on the bed, too. The springs squeaked.”

Kinney’s cell phone rang. “Jack here.”

“The bedroom light went off. The house is dark.”

“Right, we hear him in bed, but there’s radio music playing, so we can’t hear his breathing. Check back in an hour if there’s no change.”

THE MUSIC STOPPED, and an announcer spoke. “We now pause for a test of the national alert system,” he said. “We’ll return to Bay Radio in sixty seconds.” Ted reached out and turned up the radio. A glance at the CRT across the room showed two more blips moving in. Now.

SMITH PULLED OFF the earphones again. “The radio is playing that national alert test that drives everybody crazy. I can’t even listen.”

“It only lasts one minute,” Kinney said.

Smith looked at his watch and waited. Finally, he listened again. “We’re back to music, but it’s louder than before. Why would he turn up the radio as he was going to bed?”

Kinney winced. “He’s on to us. We have to go in right now.” He pressed a button on his cell phone, and the SWAT team leader answered. “We have to go in right now. Position your people to enter in sixty seconds from my mark. Ready… mark!” Kinney snapped the phone shut and punched a button on his wrist chronograph, starting the second hand.

“Everybody in position; we go in one minute.”

KINNEY LOOKED AT HIS WATCH, then pressed the button on his cell phone.

“Yeah?” the team leader said.

“Go,” he said, and he waved his half of the SWAT team forward. They were all running toward the house now.

INSIDE THE BEDROOM CUPBOARD, more than a dozen blips were converging on the cottage. Ted had already tiptoed out of the bedroom with the duffel, grabbed his parka, and was moving slowly down the stairs to the basement. He was pretty sure they couldn’t hear him down here. He got into his warm clothes, went to a large cupboard against the west wall, took hold of it and shifted it away from the wall a couple of feet. Behind the cupboard was a heavy wooden door. He pushed it open and tossed his duffel through the opening, then he backed through the opening on his knees, and reached out and dragged the cupboard back against the wall, hiding the door. He shut the thick door and double-bolted it from the inside, then he turned around in the tunnel, slipped on his night-vision goggles, and waited for his eyes to adjust.

THE SWAT TEAM had the doors open in a few seconds, and the black-clad men, wearing night-vision goggles, moved through the house, searching each room, each closet, each cupboard. “Okay,” the team leader shouted, “goggles off, lights on!”

People began switching on the house lights in each room.

Kinney burst through the front door, followed closely by Kerry Smith. “You got him?” he yelled.

The team leader came out of the bedroom. “He’s not here,” he said, “but come look at this.”

Kinney followed him into the bedroom and saw the CRT in the cupboard. He could see a couple of blips moving around the house; his men were searching the perimeter. “He saw us coming,” he said.

“Basement door!” somebody shouted from the hall.

“Go get him!” Kinney said to the team leader. He followed the man into the hallway; SWAT team members were already swarming down the stairs, guns at the ready.

Kinney was right behind them. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, the lights were on, and he looked around. Workbench, hot water heater, furnace, all the usual basement stuff. He opened a large cupboard and found an assortment of tools neatly laid out. “He’s in this house somewhere,” Kinney said. “Find him.” He could already hear the noise of team members taking the upstairs apart, and the men in the basement started up the stairs to help.

“Wait a minute!” Kinney said. Everybody stopped.

TED COULD SEE the tunnel ahead. He began crawling along the plank floor, dragging the duffel. It had taken him three summer vacations to dig this thing and shore it up. He hoped he was crazy, paranoid, that the blips were really deer, but he wasn’t going to take the chance. Then he heard the burglar alarm go off upstairs.

He reached another door, opened it, and slipped through into the concrete culvert. Closing and bolting the door behind him, he began to move down the culvert, which was larger in diameter than his tunnel. He was now on his feet in a half crouch, moving quickly. A minute later, the culvert had passed under the road, and he emerged into starlight. He waded as quietly as he could through the shallow end of a small pond, into which the culvert emptied, and made dry land.

He looked up, checked the stars, and began jogging overland, keeping roughly parallel to the road.

He had, maybe, three-quarters of a mile to go, about twelve minutes. He paced himself, breathing deeply. Five minutes later he was loosening clothing to cool down.

“WHAT?” the SWAT team leader asked.

“Is anything in this basement movable, except that cupboard?” Kinney pointed at the large piece of furniture.

“No, sir, I don’t think so,” the man replied.

“Have a couple of your men move it away from the wall,” Kinney said.

The leader made a motion, and two large men got hold of the cupboard and moved it out.

“There,” Kinney said, pointing at the door. “Get it open.”

The two men tried and failed to open it.

“Use a door charge,” Kinney said.

“Do it,” the team leader said to his men. “Everybody upstairs. The concussion will kill your ears in this basement.”

Everybody clambered up the stairs. The last man up held a remote control in his hand. He closed the door behind him.

“Blow it,” the leader said. Everybody stepped back.

The man pressed a button, and the door flew off its hinges into the hallway, followed by noise.

The team leader was first down the stairs, with Kinney right behind him. The explosion had blown out the lightbulbs, so flashlights came on.