Stuart Woods - Below the Belt

“You mean you turned off your transponder there.”

“I mean I stopped for fuel and left without filing a flight plan and squawking twelve hundred.”

“That was a good idea, Stone,” Ed said with something that sounded nearly like admiration.

“And he never even went to the Farm,” Holly said, referring to the Agency training school in Virginia. “If he had, maybe nobody would know he has the case.”

“Who knows?” Rawls asked.

“We were followed once in Santa Fe,” Stone said. “And that night, somebody broke into my house and tried to get into my safe. I spoke to Will after that, and he told me that someone had visited Joe when he was taking the sun in his garden, and Joe had thought he was speaking to me. Apparently, they discussed the case.”

“Oh, shit,” Rawls said.

“When I heard that, we decamped for here.”

“Did you fly nonstop from Santa Fe to Oxford?”

“Yes, and I filed a flight plan.”

“They’re going to look here,” Ed said. “They’ll know you have a house on the island.”

“Maybe,” Stone replied. “I expect they’ll be more careful next time, given what happened to the last people they sent.”

“Where’s your airplane?”

“Locked in a hangar at Rockland Airport. We were flown here in a little Cessna.”

“That’s good. You’d better have another word with Jimmy and tell him to keep his mouth shut.”

“Good idea.”

“I want to show you something,” Ed said. “Something that only I know about.”

“All right.”

Ed went to a window facing the rear of the house and drew back the curtain. Stone followed him. “You see that rose garden there, with the concrete edge around it?”

“Yes.”

“When I bought this property there was another house on it, old and in disrepair. I tore it down. Where that rose garden is was a small swimming pool. I built a new bottom in it, two feet down and filled it in with dirt.” He paused and waited for Stone to catch up. “Get it?”

“So, below the new bottom, the old pool is still there?”

“Correct.” He walked over to a sideboard next to the window. “Holly, you may as well see this, too.” He removed two books from the near side of the bookcase atop the sideboard, reached into the shelf, pressed a board at the back, and a small door popped open. He showed them a bolt inside, then slid it back and pulled on the bookcase. The whole thing, sideboard included, swung into the room, revealing an opening. Ed reached inside and flipped on a light switch, illuminating a fairly short tunnel, lined with concrete blocks, then he led the way, beckoning them to follow.

The tunnel ended in another wall, and Ed swung open a concrete block, slid back another bolt, and flipped another light switch. “Watch your head, it’s a low ceiling.”

Stone followed him into a room that was, obviously, the lower six feet of the old swimming pool. There were half a dozen filing cabinets along a wall, each column of drawers secured by a steel bar and a heavy padlock, and a large safe sat opposite them. A computer sat on the desk and next to it, a large printer. They were much like the Agency equipment in Dick Stone’s little office. “I built all this myself, with the help of the Old Farts,” Rawls said. “Took us a whole winter. Everything is here.”

“Everything? Like what?” Stone asked.

“Everything that backs up what’s in my manuscript — files, photographs, documents, a lot of it taken from the main library at the Agency. I got into the computer using a phony password I set up, and downloaded and printed everything.”

“And nobody knows about this?”

“Just you two. Everybody else is dead. You’re going to need to know this later, but for Christ’s sake, be careful who you tell.”

“Does Will know about this?”

“Nope. He’d be the best person to tell, though. When the time comes.”

“And when would that be?”

“When this whole business blows. If I’m not here at the time, this is your insurance.”

“Insurance against what?”

“Against the wrong people getting ahold of the strong case. Everything here is on thumb drives in the case, along with the manuscript. If somebody tries to force open the case, it will explode and destroy the contents.”

“Jesus, Ed, you’re saddling me with this .”

“You see, it’s what happens when you get too curious. You find out things you didn’t want to know.”

Stone and Holly were escorted to their car by Ed Rawls, still carrying his shotgun. “Try not to get seen leaving here,” Ed said. “Take a circuitous route home.”

“Are you going to give me the key to the strong case?” Stone asked as he got into the car.

“Eventually,” Ed said, closing his door for him. The log and the gate were both open when they got there, and both closed after they had passed through.

“I don’t like this,” Stone said.

“What are you referring to? There’s so much not to like.”

They turned right instead of left and began a circuit around the island.

“I’m bothered by Ed being holed up like that.”

“He seems pretty comfortable.”

“If these people, whoever they are, want him out of the way, they’re eventually going to win.”

“Not before Ed kills a few of them,” Holly said. “We know that he’s prepared to do that. I think these people know they have to be careful, that they can’t murder someone on a Maine island in Penobscot Bay and expect it to go unnoticed.”

“It sounds like Ed hasn’t spoken to anybody but Jimmy Hotchkiss since last fall, so it’s not like he’d be missed on the island.”

“He’d be missed by Jimmy Hotchkiss, who, as you’ve pointed out, seems to have the ear and attention of everyone here.”

“That’s a good point. I’ll stop worrying until something happens to Jimmy.”

Holly laughed. “You do that.”

When they got back to the house there was an envelope stuck in the front screen door. Stone retrieved it; it was made of thick cream-colored paper, and engraved on the rear flap was the legend “United States Senate, Washington, D.C.”

“What’s that?” Holly said.

“Let’s go find out,” Stone said, unlocking the front door and letting them in, then relocking it. They went into the living room and sat down on the leather sofa. He held out the envelope to Holly. “You want to inspect this for explosives before I open it?”

Holly backed away a few steps. “You go right ahead,” she said.

Stone took a silver letter opener from the coffee table and slit the flap. “Apparently, it’s safe,” he said, and Holly came and sat beside him. He removed a single sheet of notepaper on which was engraved Whitney Saltonstall, United States Senator from New York .

“Do you know Senator Saltonstall?” Holly asked.

“Yes, I’ve had lunch with him a couple of times at a club we both belong to.”

“Which club?”

“It doesn’t have a name. Members just call it ‘the Club.’”

“How idiotically classy,” Holly said, moving in close and reading the note along with him.

My Dear Stone,

I am aboard the motor yacht Breeze, anchored off the Tarratine Yacht Club, as a guest of my friend Christian St. Clair. If you are resident on Islesboro at this time, we would both be very pleased if you and your companion (if you have one, as you usually do) would join us this evening for drinks and dinner. Dress will be black tie, or nautical uniform. If you receive this, you may text a reply to the number below. A launch will collect you from the Tarratine’s dock at 6:30 PM.

With kindest regards,

“Whew,” Holly said. “You keep fancy company.”