Stuart Woods: Below the Belt

“We need to get the books to the post office right now, and they should be sent express mail, overnight.”

“I’ll call and get them to pick up the books,” she said. “They’ll do that for large mailings.”

“Great. Go!”

Stone called Dino and told him the news. “I’m astonished that St. Clair found the family as quickly as he did.”

“I was, too.”

“I’ll be sure to watch the evening news,” Dino said. “Dinner afterward? Viv is back.”

“Sure.”

“Rȏtisserie Georgette at eight. I’ll book.”

“You’re on.”

Joan came into his office with an envelope. “The post office will pick up the books by noon, and they’ll be delivered by three tomorrow afternoon.” She handed him an envelope. “And the DNA profile came back from the lab.”

Stone opened the envelope and looked at the report. “It’s Greek to me,” he said. “E-mail it to Lance Cabot, please.”

A van pulled up at Nelson Knott’s Washington office shortly after lunch, and a television reporter and a crew got out and went inside. They took an elevator to the executive floor and presented themselves at the reception desk.

“Mark Whittaker, from 60 Minutes ,” the reporter said. “We have an appointment.”

“One moment.” She made the call. “Go right in,” she said, pointing at the double doors behind her.

Nelson Knott rose to greet them.

Whittaker introduced himself. “Thank you for seeing us on short notice, Mr. Knott.”

“I was expecting Martin Shawn,” Knott said.

“Martin’s out of town. When we heard you were releasing a statement today, our executive producer thought we should try and get ahead of the game.”

“Fine, but you can’t release this interview until after seven PM this evening.”

“We’re good with that.” He turned to his crew. “Let’s do this with Mr. Knott behind the desk. Get set up.” He turned back to Knott. “Do you think I could have some coffee?” he asked. “My throat is a little scratchy.”

“Of course.” Knott went to a sideboard and poured two cups. “Cream and sugar?”

“Black is fine, thanks.”

Knott handed Whittaker a mug and set his own on his desk. It was emblazoned with one word, “BOSS.” He sat down and sipped his coffee while the makeup man dabbed at his face, then they were ready.

“All set,” Whittaker said.

“Then let’s do it,” Knott said, taking the last swallow of his coffee.

Whittaker moved Knott’s coffee mug across the desk. “Let’s get this off camera.”

Don, from the family’s security team, called a colleague at the cottage.

“Beta here.”

“This is Alpha. We’ve spotted opposition at the pub, and we’ll be heading out shortly for the cottage. We’re going to need backup before we depart.”

“Roger.”

“Put two of you in a car and watch our ass on the way back. Leave the other two inside the cottage. The opposition is in a green Range Rover. We’ll make the transfer to the cottage from inside the garage. Call me when your vehicle is in place at the pub parking lot.”

“Roger, wilco.” He hung up.

“Okay, everybody,” Don said, then he looked up to see the five men across the room throw some money on their table and leave the pub. “We’re going to finish our lunch, then get into our car and drive back to the cottage. We’ll have other men in another car following us. Take your time.”

Everybody went back to eating, and Don got up and had a look out the front window, then called Beta again.

“Beta.”

“Be advised the opposition has a second vehicle, a Toyota 4Runner, the big one.”

“Roger.”

Don went back to the table and made idle chatter while everyone finished lunch.

When everybody was done, Don went outside and surveyed the parking lot and the road beyond. He saw their second vehicle waiting, then went back inside. “The vehicles in question have left,” he said, “and our second vehicle is in place. Let’s load up now and try to be quick.”

He got the family outside and into his Land Rover, then headed back toward the cottage.

Don’s radio crackled. “Alpha, we have a black Toyota SUV one hundred meters behind.”

“Beta, let me know if they close on us.”

Two minutes later they were through the gate and headed for the cottage.

Alf Brand watched from the shelter of the woods as the two cars arrived at the cottage, one entering the garage and closing the door behind them. The other car emptied, and the men all went inside.

Alf called Erik Macher in the States.

“Yes, Alf?”

“Bad news,” he said. “I had a meet with my people at a local pub, and the family came in with professional protection, and they spotted us. The family are now back in their cottage, and six opposition are inside with them.”

“Shit,” Macher said. “What’s your recommendation?”

“We’re blown, no getting around that. The opposition is on full alert and we will not — repeat, not — be able to stage anything that looks remotely like an accident. Also, it’s likely that more opposition have been summoned. If we attempt an assault on the cottage we will have a war on our hands and the police on us in approximately four minutes.”

“So, basically, we’re fucked.”

“That’s an affirmative.”

“I’ll get back to you on this number.”

Alf hung up and leaned against a tree. St. Clair was not going to take the news well — he had worked for the man long enough to know that. If Macher came back with orders to assault the cottage, he would walk. He liked working for St. Clair, but not well enough to die for him or go to prison.

Ten minutes later, his phone buzzed.

“Alf here.”

“All right, we accept your assessment of the situation. Your orders are to withdraw your team, but maintain surveillance on the cottage. If conditions change, and you feel you have an opportunity to take them without a shooting war, call me back. Otherwise, wait for my call.”

“I understand,” Alf said. “Withdrawal is under way.” He called his number-one man.

“Yes, sir?”

“I’m in the woods near the cottage. We have orders from home to withdraw — the opposition is too great to attempt an operation without a firefight. Get your men back to the pub or other nearby accommodation and wait for a call from me. Have one of your people relieve me in two hours. After that we’ll maintain visual contact with the cottage and hope for a change of circumstances. No one is to be out of contact, clear?”

“Clear, sir. I’ll issue the orders now.”

Alf hung up and settled down to watch and wait.

Stone reached into his jacket pocket for something and struck hard metal. He came out with the key to the strong case. He walked out to Joan’s office. “FedEx this to Ed Rawls in Virginia for earliest possible delivery, please.” He handed her the key.

Joan looked at it closely. “I’ve never seen anything quite like this,” she said.

“You don’t want to know.” He went back to his desk and sent Ed an e-mail, advising him the key was on its way.

In England the sun was setting. Don called his men together. “Establish a rough, square perimeter around the cottage, with one man at each corner, full body armor,” he said quietly, so the family wouldn’t hear. “We’ll be relieved in four hours by another team. At any sound of gunfire withdraw to the interior of the cottage and prepare for an assault.”

The men did as they were instructed.

At three PM, fifty-one media outlets in New York, Washington, Los Angeles, and Atlanta nearly simultaneously received a DVD from Knott Industries, together with a press release with an activation time of seven PM EST, announcing a press conference on the Capitol steps at 6:45 the following evening.