Stuart Woods: Iron Orchid

“Then where the hell is he?” Holly asked plaintively.

“I think you were right, Holly,” Lance said. “I think he’s back in the city. He’s not done yet; he’s going to kill somebody else.”

“But where is he?”

“He’s got another place, a workshop; has to have. There was no sign that he’d done any work in the Park Avenue apartment. He didn’t move any equipment out when he left.”

“Then that workshop has got to be near the apartment,” Holly said. “You can’t have a workshop on Park, Madison or Fifth Avenues; that kind of industrial space just isn’t available.”

“Lexington Avenue would be the nearest place,” Kerry said. “There’s all sorts of shops there, and semi-industrial places like dry cleaners and shoe repair shops. He could rent a room on Lex.”

“All right,” Lance said, “we’ll canvas every building on Lexington from, say, Seventy-second to Fifty-seventh Streets, and if we don’t come up with anything there, we’ll start on Third Avenue, but we’re going to need manpower.” He picked up the phone. “Get me Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti at the One-Nine,” he said. “That part of town is on Dino’s patch; let’s let him earn his consulting fee. He’s going to have to work without warrants, so tell him to tell his men to tread lightly and get permission from supers.”

TEDDY ARRIVED back at his Lexington Avenue workshop at midnight. He had bought the cab driver dinner on Staten Island, paid a two-hundred-dollar cab fare and tipped the driver a hundred, making his day.

He had just gotten his luggage up the stairs when his cell phone rang.

“Yes?”

“It’s Irene.”

“Hi, there. You okay?”

“Well, you scared the shit out of me this morning.”

“What did I do this morning?”

“When I got to work, Hugh English was poring over a memo from Payroll about the absence of time sheets for one Charles Lockwood. Sound familiar?”

“Uh-oh.”

“Don’t worry, I squared it. I told Payroll that Lockwood was out of town on assignment for another month or six weeks and couldn’t be reached.”

“What did you tell English?”

“That Lockwood works in Intelligence, and Payroll had sent the memo in error. You need to do some more work on Lockwood’s background; there was no transcript from Groton. I also told Hugh I’m retiring, and he recommended St. Barts. So did Lance Cabot, for that matter.”

“So nobody will think it odd when you start looking there.”

“Nope, I’ve put them on notice. Hugh says maybe he’ll retire there, too, and be my neighbor.”

Teddy laughed. “Fat chance.”

“Right. He won’t go until they shoot him.”

“I see you’re having Lockwood’s pay sent to a Cayman bank. Is that going to give them a trail to follow?”

“Nah, it’s being sent from there to a bank in Singapore. They can look for me in Singapore, if they like.”

“How long before you can meet me in St. Barts?”

“I’ll probably get there first,” Teddy said.

“You’re winding it up?”

“Just one more little job to do.”

“Ben Saud?”

“It’s better if I don’t tell you who or when. Or how I’m going to get to St. Barts.”

“Fine by me. Will you let me know when you’re there?”

“I’ll call you on this phone and say that I’m somewhere in the Middle East.”

“Okay.”

“If I’m blown and shouldn’t go to St. Barts, say, ”I hear Iraq is nice this time of year.“”

“Got it. Teddy, is this really going to work? Are we really going to make it?”

“Yes, it is, and yes, we are. All I need is a few more days, and I’ll be lying on that beach. Shortly after that, I’ll be lying on it with you.”

“I’m looking forward to that. I figure I’ll be able to get out of Langley in a couple of weeks. Tom Bergin is replacing me, and he already knows eighty percent of what he’ll need to know before I go. I’ll put in my papers in the morning, and I’ll put my townhouse on the market, too. There’s always a line of people waiting to buy in my development, so I’ll be out of there pretty quick. I’m going to try to sell it furnished, so all I’ll want to send south is a few books and pictures. I’m going to give my clothes to Goodwill and start over.”

“They were looking for me in my building today,” he said. “I’m out of the apartment for good, now.”

“How did they find the building?”

“I think they canvassed every building in the neighborhood. The doorman and super didn’t tell them anything, but I’m operating on the premise that the apartment is burnt.”

“Where are you now? Oh, sorry, I don’t want to know, do I?”

“No, but I’m safe enough. I’ll call you in a few days, if I can.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. Bye-bye.” He hung up, and it surprised him to realize that he really did miss her.

DINO BACCHETTI WAS ON THE PHONE when his captain came into his office.

“What the hell is this search on Lex?” he demanded.

“The Feds called and needed our help. They’re trying to nail this Teddy Fay guy.”

“ What ? I thought the guy blew himself up in an airplane.”

“Just between you and me and the Feds, he didn’t. He’s the guy who’s been knocking off people around the U.N. the past few weeks.”

The captain shook his head. “Nobody ever tells me anything.” He left Dino’s office.

Dino continued calling his men. They were down to 65th Street on Lex, now.

TEDDY HAD BEEN UP most of the night putting the final touches on his plan. He had made two bombs with the remainder of his plastic explosives, both wired to be ignited by a garage-door opener, which he tucked into the pocket of his overcoat.

His last item was the finishing of his building inspector’s I.D. The New York Brotherhood of Construction Inspectors website had thoughtfully supplied a facsimile of a real I.D. All he had to do was scan it, put on his makeup, photograph himself, then print and laminate it. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do for what he had in mind.

Finally, he whipped a loop into a length of elastic shock cord, took off his belt and hooked on the shock cord before running the belt through the loops again. He whipped a larger loop in the other end and let it dangle down his back. It would be hidden by his topcoat. He dismantled his little sniper’s rifle and placed the parts in inside pockets of the topcoat, put on a battered felt hat, picked up his luggage-and left the building for the last time, locking the door and tossing the key into the nearest street corner wastebasket.

HOLLY SAT AT HER DESK, bored. They were waiting to hear that Dino Bacchetti’s people had completed their canvas of Lexington Avenue, and all she had to occupy her was the New York Times.

IT WAS 7:30 A.M. as Teddy moved down Lexington, carrying his luggage, a canvas satchel containing the two bombs and wearing a wig, a new nose, muttonchop whiskers and his heavy, black-rimmed glasses. He lugged everything the three blocks to the garage where his RV was stored, stowed his luggage in the rear and began driving downtown. The vehicle now had a valid Florida registration and plates.

HOLLY WALKED INTO Lance’s office just as the phone rang. He picked it up.

“Lance Cabot.”

“It’s Dino; my guys found the workshop. It’s a third-floor studio apartment over a dry cleaners on the west side of Lex between Sixty-third and Sixty-fourth.”

“I’ll get my people over there right away,” Lance said.

“Don’t bother; the man is gone, and my guys got the impression he wasn’t coming back. What made them think that is that they found a very nice drawing of a homemade sniper’s rifle made out of a Walther PPK and some custom-made parts. But they didn’t find the rifle, so he must have taken it with him. They also found some debris left over from making a bomb, and plastic explosive residue was detected on a workbench.”