Stuart Woods: Below the Belt

He had gone perhaps three miles when suddenly a flying boulder appeared in his path and bounced across the road. Before he could recover from that, his car ran into a field of smaller rocks in his way, and he heard two loud noises and felt heavy jolts. The car came to a stop, and Stone got out.

There was still patchy snow at this elevation, and the moon was reflected off it enough to allow him to see that two of his tires had been destroyed, and the front rim was bent. He got the keys out of the car and opened the trunk. One spare.

Stone got out his iPhone and switched it on: no service, and his battery was low. He considered his options. He could wait around for a car that might not arrive before dawn; he could walk back up the steep road to the Adams house, but he didn’t relish carrying the heavy case that far; or he could walk downhill several miles to Santa Fe. It was cold up here, and he chose to wait in the car for someone to pass. He had three-quarters of a tank of fuel, so he started the car and turned up the temperature. He switched on the satellite radio, found some jazz, and made himself as comfortable as he could. Warmth flooded into the car. He checked the time: 10:35 PM. He switched on the emergency flashers, then he nodded and dozed.

He was awakened by the slamming of a vehicle door and a man rapping on the passenger window. “Hello?”

Stone checked the clock: 12:10 AM. He pressed the down button for the window. “Hello, thanks for stopping. I’m afraid I’ve run into a rock slide and ruined two tires, and I have only one spare.”

“Well, my truck spare will be too big for your car. Can I give you a lift into town?”

“Thank you, yes.” Stone got out and got into the passenger side of the heavy pickup. He noticed a National Forest Service sticker on the door. “I’m Stone Barrington,” he said.

The man offered his hand. “I’m Tim Heard, the ranger up here. Lucky for you I worked late tonight to finish up my monthly report.” He started the truck. “Where can I drop you?”

“Would it be inconvenient for you to leave me at the Santa Fe opera house?”

“I guess I can do that.” He nodded at the case in Stone’s lap. “What you got there?”

“I’m a jewelry salesman, and I’ve just made a house call. My boss makes me handcuff myself to it,” Stone replied.

The man didn’t speak again for the half hour it took them to get to the opera. “There you go,” he said finally. “Looks like everybody’s gone home.”

“There’s someone expecting me,” Stone said. He thanked the ranger and got out and waved him off. He walked into the parking lot and halfway across it before it dawned on him that it was empty of vehicles. “Shit!” he hollered. He tried his cell phone: dead. He’d have to walk home, but it wasn’t much more than a mile. He got started.

Forty minutes later he let himself in his front gate and trudged up the driveway to the house. He walked up the front steps and turned toward the front door. Holly was huddled on the doormat, her shawl wrapped around her.

“It’s about fucking time,” she said, struggling to her feet. “I’m freezing out here, and you didn’t give me a key.”

“I’m so sorry, Holly. I had an accident on the mountain road and ruined two tires. It was a long time before a forest ranger came by and gave me a lift to the opera, then I had to walk home from there.” He got out his key, opened the front door, and they walked into the warm hallway and to the master suite. He poured them both a neat Knob Creek. “This’ll warm us up.” They both tossed it down. He held up his left hand. “Did Will give you the key for this?”

“Not that I recall,” she said. “Hold on, that’s an Agency strong case you’ve got there. It’s made out of layers of Kevlar, carbon fiber, lead, and titanium, and it’s equipped with a handy incendiary explosive device inside that will detonate if you mess with it. It will blow you to pieces and set fire to whatever’s left.”

“Swell,” Stone said. “Now I’d really like to get this cuff off, but we’ve no key and no bolt cutters.”

“Well, there’s a quick way out of this,” she said. “I can amputate your hand, and it will come right off. Hang on, I’ll see if I can find a sharp knife.”

Stone opened his eyes slowly. Sunlight was streaming through the bedroom window, backlighting an empty Knob Creek bottle. He lifted his head, then let it fall back to the pillow, and his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten last night.

He found the bed’s remote control and sat himself up. Holly was sleeping soundly beside him. He found that he was naked from the waist down but still wearing his suit jacket and shirt — because he was still handcuffed to the strong case.

Then he noticed a small envelope leaning against the lamp on his bedside table; his name was written on it. As he opened it he noted the address on the flap: The White House, Washington, D.C. He read the note inside:

Stone,

I don’t know what happened to you. We tried calling repeatedly, and the Adamses’ Secret Service agent said you had been there and gone. I sent an agent looking for you, and he found your car abandoned on the mountain road with two bad tires. I guess that explains why you didn’t turn up. Enclosed is what you need. Hang on to that package, as we discussed. Hope you made it home all right.

If you need to reach me, call the White House switchboard and ask for extension 2002. They won’t ask any questions. You’ll hear a beep and leave a message.

Stone shook the envelope and a small key fell into his hand. He inserted it into the cuff, and it opened. Relief washed over him. He got up, retrieved his trousers, and went into his bath and dressing room; he hung up his suit, threw the shirt and his underwear into a hamper, brushed his teeth, shaved and showered, then he found a robe and his slippers and went to check on Holly. She still slept soundly. He handcuffed her left wrist to the strong case and put the key into his robe pocket.

He went into the kitchen and checked the refrigerator. He took out eggs, bacon, cheese, and a packet of Wolferman’s sourdough English muffins. Gala had remembered his favorites.

He made coffee, and while it brewed, he microwaved the bacon, put the sliced muffin into the toaster oven, and turned to the eggs. He melted a chunk of butter and grated some cheese into it as it melted in a small pan, then he whipped the eggs and scrambled them continuously on a low temperature. When they were soft but not runny, he put everything on two small plates, poured the coffee into a thermos carafe, and took everything on a tray into the bedroom.

Holly was awake, but barely. “Who are you and what are you doing in my bedroom?” she asked.

He set the tray on the bed. “Have some breakfast, and it will all come back to you.”

Not until she reached for the plate did she notice the handcuff on her wrist. “Ah, I see you found Will’s note.”

“I did. A pity it wasn’t there last night. I might have slept better.”

“I somehow forgot to give it to you, and then I didn’t want to wake you.” She finished breakfast without mentioning the strong case at her side, then accepted a cup of coffee and drank it. “Okay,” she said finally, “where’s the key?”

“What key?”

“The one in Will’s note, the one you used to unlock this.” She held up her cuffed hand.

“Oh, that key.”

“Yes.”

“I ate it.”

“What?”

“Well, not exactly ate, just swallowed. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a few hours until... well, you know.”

“I have to pee,” she said, standing up and realizing the case would have to go with her. “When I come back I’m going to have a Glock in my free hand.”