Stuart Woods: Iron Orchid

Teddy jumped out of the Dumpster, and, keeping it between himself and First Avenue, he reached down, grabbed his left foot and pulled it up behind him, sticking his toe through the loop of shock cord hanging there. He dusted himself off again, squared away his hat, picked up the crutches and began swinging slowly toward Second Avenue, picking up a rhythm and making good progress. Then, at the end of the block, on Second Avenue, a woman got out of a car and began walking quickly toward him. She looked oddly familiar.

HOLLY WAS ALREADY out of the car when she saw the commotion at the other end of the block, on Second Avenue. This was not good, she thought; she began walking quickly up the block. The only person between her and First Avenue was an elderly, one-legged man on crutches, making his way toward her.

TEDDY RECOGNIZED HOLLY BARKER, and he was relieved to see that she was looking not at him but past him, toward the action on First Avenue. She had begun to run, and he continued toward her. It occurred to him that she would run past the building, so he had no more time. He stopped, reached into his left coat pocket and pressed the button on the garage-door opener. The two explosions went off simultaneously.

HOLLY STOPPED IN HER TRACKS and gaped at the sight of the steel skeleton ahead of her collapsing slowly and noisily into the vacant lot next door. The old man on crutches stopped, looked over his shoulder at the noise, then continued more quickly. Good idea, she thought; get the hell out of here. She stood and watched the building, waiting for the danger to be over so she could proceed. The old man continued past her, and she looked into his face for a moment.

Sweat was streaming down it; he must have been frightened by the collapse of the building. “Are you all right, sir?” she asked.

“YES, TANK YOU,” Teddy replied, using a vague mittel European accent. “Vot hoppen?”

“I don’t know,” she said, truthfully.

“I get out of here,” he said, starting to move again.

“Good idea.”

AS HOLLY WATCHED the dust settle, men in hard hats were running out of the cloud of dust ahead of her. There was much shouting. Then she froze as a horrible idea came to her. She turned and saw the old man on crutches nearing Second Avenue. “Teddy,” she said aloud. Then she shouted, “TEDDY!!!” He seemed to pause for a moment, then continued on his way, not looking back.

“Look out!” someone shouted from behind her. She turned and just managed to avoid a group of men who were running past her, apparently escapees from the building. One of them stopped and stood beside her.

“What happened?” she asked him.

“I don’t know,” the man said. “The structure alarm went off, and everybody abandoned ship. Then there was a loud noise, and the building started to go. I think everybody got out.”

Holly turned and looked back toward Second Avenue. The man on crutches was gone. She made her decision; she started to run toward Second Avenue.

TEDDY REACHED THE GARAGE, unhooked his left toe from the shock cord and tossed the crutches ahead of him into the RV. He didn’t bother with his coat, just jumped in and closed the door. He was about to start the engine when Holly Barker ran past the garage entrance, headed downtown, never looking into the garage. He turned the key and pulled across the sidewalk and into traffic.

Holly was running down the east side of the street, looking around her for something, looking for him, he was sure. He rolled up his side window, which was tinted dark and, slowly, overtook her. She was, perhaps, ten yards away, jogging down the sidewalk, looking up and down the street, and there was a gun in her hand. Traffic stopped for a light.

HOLLY SEARCHED DESPERATELY through the crowd on the street for the old man on crutches, but he had vanished, as if into thin air. She grabbed for her cell phone and pressed the walkie-talkie button. “Lance. Holly. Do you read?”

“I read you, Holly.”

“What happened over there?”

“Ben Saud is down, single shot to the head.”

“I think I made Teddy.”

“Where? Where are you?”

“An old man on crutches passed me going toward Second, just as the building under construction collapsed.”

“Teddy probably fired from that building,” Lance said.

“I can’t see the old man,” Holly said. “I saw him headed toward Second, and I yelled his name, and he paused, but he kept going. Then I got distracted for a second, and when I turned around he had apparently turned the corner. I’m searching on Second, now, but I can’t see him anywhere. It’s like he just went poof and vanished into thin air. I mean, how far could he get on crutches?”

“Well, if it’s Teddy, he’s not on crutches anymore. Maybe he had a car waiting. I’ll send help. Start looking in vehicles.”

“Roger.”

THE LIGHT CHANGED, and Teddy drove on, watching Holly running along the curb, looking into parked cars. He made his way across traffic and managed to turn right onto 42nd Street. His last glimpse of Holly was in his offside rearview mirror. She was standing stock still, looking in his direction, the gun still in her hand.

Teddy continued on, toward the Lincoln Tunnel, New Jersey and 1-95 South to Florida.

IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT before Holly, Lance and the whole team got back to the Barn, every one of them streaked with dirt and dust from their search through the debris of the collapsed steel structure. Lance called everybody into the big conference room. There wasn’t room for everybody to sit down, so they stood along the walls, every one of them looking exhausted.

Lance, appearing exhausted himself, looked around at the group. “I want to thank you all for sticking with this and bringing this hunt to a close at last. What I’m about to tell you is above your pay grade, but you deserve to know.” Lance set a shopping bag on the table, reached into it and pulled out a small, odd-looking rifle.

“Teddy Fay made this in his workshop; the NYPD found the drawings for it. It’s simply a Walther PPK-S.380 pistol, to which Teddy added a scope, a longer barrel, a silencer and a folding metal stock. He shot Ali ben Saud with it this morning.

“The weapon was found a few feet from the unidentified body that the firemen located in the search. Because the structure alarm went off when the building started to collapse, everybody working there survived, a few with minor injuries. Only this one corpse was unidentified. I’ve just spoken to the medical examiner, who has done a preliminary autopsy, and it seems certain that the corpse is that of Teddy Fay.”

There was a stir of approval in the room, and applause broke out.

“Since, for public purposes, the corpse of Teddy Fay was supposed to have been eaten by fish off the coast of Maine many weeks ago, no inquest will be held, and no public announcement will be made. And no one in this room will ever discuss this subject again with anyone outside it.

“Our job is done, and that’s it. Our task force is officially disbanded or rather, unofficially, since it never existed. Tomorrow morning, all Bureau personnel will report to the New York City field office downtown at nine a.m. the day after tomorrow for reassignment. All Agency personnel will report to Langley at nine a.m. next Monday in the director’s conference room. She would like to thank you personally before you are given new assignments.

“Everybody is ordered to get a good night’s sleep. Kerry Smith and I would like to thank each and every one of you for your hard work on what must have seemed like a fruitless assignment. You will all have commendations placed in your personnel files, and you will all get new assignments that are better than you would normally expect at this stage of your careers. Good night and good luck.”