Stuart Woods - Below the Belt

Christian knew that Nelson had few if any enemies because he was so little known in the world he was entering, but of course he would make them as he made progress. While Nelson could be nearly all things to nearly all men, some would, inevitably, despise him for what he was or wasn’t. That was the nature of human beings.

St. Clair entered the Club, took the elevator up to the little dining room, and closely inspected the table, the china, the silverware, and the flowers. Everything had to be perfect. Nelson Knott was announced and entered the room a quarter of an hour before the other guests, as planned. Christian greeted him warmly, but avoided hugging. If he could have changed anything important about Nelson, Christian would have made him a foot shorter. As it was, when the two men stood together, the difference in their heights was stunning, even with the lifts in Christian’s shoes. He was careful never to embrace Nelson in the presence of others.

“Nelson, did you receive the briefing papers on our guests?”

“I did, Christian, and I have committed them to memory. I thank you for that courtesy.”

“There will be four courses served,” Christian said, “and you will change places between each course, so that you may speak individually with each of them.”

“I will enjoy that,” Nelson said.

“I will begin by saying a few words, and I will leave it with you to say a few words at the closing, to give them something to think about on their way back to their homes and offices.”

“That’s a good plan,” Nelson said. “I had thought I might see Stone Barrington among today’s guests,” he said. “I was looking forward to seeing him again.”

“I’m glad you liked him, Nelson, but he will not be committed to your support between now and the election; he is too close to Kate and Will Lee. After the election, though, I will see that you remake his acquaintance, because he could be useful to you over the years, perhaps as your personal attorney.”

“A good thought,” Nelson said.

Their guests began to arrive, and Christian managed the introductions.

When Christian St. Clair reentered his Mercedes van in the Club’s basement, a man was waiting for him inside, by appointment. He was Erik Macher, a former FBI and intelligence agent who now operated as St. Clair’s head of security, though few people in general or among St. Clair’s many other employees had ever heard of Macher or even knew of his existence. He commanded St. Clair’s private security contingent and operated on a very generous budget.

“Good afternoon, Mr. St. Clair,” Macher said.

“Good afternoon, Erik. What do you have for me?”

“Since the disappearance of Edward Rawls we have undertaken a broad-based search for him, in this country and abroad, in countries where he served.”

“And have you found him?”

“We have not. We have, however, located what might be thought of as the most likely place he would shelter, even if he hasn’t arrived there yet.”

“And where would that be?”

“His ex-wife—”

“I told you, Erik, the woman died five months ago, and even if she were alive she would be the last person to offer him help.”

“I understand, sir, but we have uncovered an important fact about their divorce.”

“And what is that?”

“Although she sought and got the couple’s house in Virginia, quite near CIA headquarters, she was not given title, but a lifetime occupancy. That having expired with her, the house still belongs to Ed Rawls.”

“Have you checked it?”

“I placed two agents there last evening, posing as prospective buyers. The house has been on the market with a local agency since shortly after Myra Rawls’s death. They were shown through it and left the agent with the hope of an offer to come. While there they examined every room and found no signs of occupancy by Rawls or anyone else. They also checked the outbuildings, including a barn and a garage containing a 1985 Mercedes station wagon, also registered in Ed Rawls’s name, and connected to a trickle charger. There is a guest or staff flat upstairs. The place is an ideal hideout for Ed Rawls, he just hasn’t taken advantage of it — not yet anyway.”

“What are they asking for the house?”

“Two million dollars, firm.”

“Buy it.”

“Forgive me, sir, but unless you require a residence in that part of Virginia, that would be a totally unnecessary expense. It wouldn’t even prevent Rawls from using it as a hideout for quite some time, and it would put a large sum in his pocket, upon closing, which he could then use to establish himself elsewhere. He has already collected half a million dollars in insurance money for his house in Maine, so he is awash in cash already. It was wired to an offshore account in the Cayman Islands.”

“Can we find out how much is in the account?”

“Very nearly impossible, sir. It would require millions in bribes to bank staff, and it is very likely a numbered account without his name on it.”

“The insurance company would have the number, wouldn’t they?”

“No, sir. The funds would have been wired directly to the bank, who then, by previous instruction, would have deposited them in the numbered account.”

“Is the strong case still with Stone Barrington?”

“We believe it is very likely that Rawls would have removed it from Barrington’s custody, one way or another.”

“The man’s a safecracker?”

“He is a highly trained and experienced intelligence officer. Opening a safe is not beyond his ken.”

“Anything else new, Erik?”

“Yes, sir. It appears that Rawls built a concealed storage place adjoining his Islesboro house. We believe he has stored many files there, probably associated with what is now in the strong case.”

“Was it destroyed in the fire?”

“No, sir. Apparently it contained an incendiary device that was detonated remotely. We got a look at it as soon as it cooled, and everything inside was completely destroyed beyond recovery.”

“Rawls is very smart, isn’t he?”

“Yes, sir, he is, and that makes him extremely difficult to find.”

“Are police looking for him, too?”

“No, sir, he has committed no criminal act.”

“Do we have any competitor in finding him?”

“I’m quite sure the CIA would be very interested in speaking to him, if they haven’t already. Lance Cabot visited Barrington’s house while Rawls was in residence, but we don’t know if he spoke to the man. Barrington and Cabot had lunch at this club after their initial meeting at the house.”

“What, now, is your recommendation?”

“I have taken the liberty of placing two of my agents in a house within sight of Rawls’s Virginia place, with instructions that one of them must have visual contact with the house at all times. Should he arrive there, we will know.”

“If we find him there, then what?”

“It seems highly likely that Rawls will have a secure place in the house that would contain the strong case. We will find and open it. Also, it would be an ideal place to interrogate him, obviating transporting him to another location for that purpose.”

“Erik, it is extremely important that no permanent harm come to Rawls. That would only make him more interesting to the police, the Agency, or anyone else who is looking for him.”

“As you wish, sir.”

“We have already lost three of your men to this investigation, and that has been a major inconvenience to me, not to mention a major expense, what with having to pay the families large sums of money for their silence.”

“I am quite aware of that, sir, and you may rely on their silence.”

“I should bloody well hope so.”