Stuart Woods: Below the Belt

Stone was watching the evening news when the story broke. Nelson Knott, sitting in the library of his Virginia home, made a three-minute statement announcing his candidacy for President of the United States, and the formation of the Independent Patriot Party, with offices in every state and sixty of the country’s most populous cities, which would be open for business at eight o’clock the following morning. Knott looked relaxed and comfortable in a V-necked cashmere sweater and appeared to be speaking without notes. He also announced that he fully expected the new party to have candidates on the ballot for all House and Senate seats by Labor Day. At least fifteen of these would be converts from the Republican rolls in both houses.

Stone met the Bacchettis at eight at Rȏtisserie Georgette, and they ordered drinks. “Did you watch the news?” he asked them.

“You bet your sweet ass,” Dino said. “Knott’s announcement was very slick. Is anybody from the administration going to comment?”

“I expect so.”

“Are the books on their way?”

“They’ll all be delivered by three PM, Eastern, tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait,” Dino replied.

The following morning, Ed Rawls was having breakfast in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. He felt for the small 9mm pistol in the pocket of his robe, then went to the door. A man in a Federal Express uniform stood at the door. Ed put his hand inside his robe pocket and thumbed back the hammer on the weapon, then opened the door.

“Good morning,” the man said. “I have a delivery for you, and I need a signature.”

Ed looked over the man’s shoulder and saw the FedEx truck. He slowly released the hammer on the pistol, then signed for the package.

The driver handed him a stiff FedEx envelope. “Have a good day,” he said, then left.

Ed went back to the kitchen, opened the envelope, and shook out the key to the strong case. He put it into the other pocket of his robe, got the mail from the mailbox on the porch, and went back to his breakfast. When he was done he cleaned up after himself, then went into his study, switched on the TV for Morning Joe , and started opening the mail.

He was absorbed in a copy of his investment statement when he looked up and found a man standing in the door. What with Joe Scarborough in mid-rant, he hadn’t heard him enter the house. He thought of going for his pistol, but the man already had one in his hand, equipped with a silencer. Ed pressed the mute button on the TV remote control. “What the fuck do you want?” It occurred to him that, having published and circulated his book, there was nothing pressing remaining in his life, and it might be as good a time as any to die.

“We want the strong case,” the man said. “And if you don’t give it to us without a fuss, you’re going to die here and now.”

“Oh, all right,” Ed said. “Can I get up and get it without being shot?”

“Go ahead, but carefully.”

Ed got up, swung back the bookcase hiding his safe, entered the code, and opened the door.

“Don’t reach inside,” the man said, “just step back two paces.”

“Sure thing,” Rawls said, and followed orders.

The man motioned to a companion behind him. “Get the thing out of the safe.” The man stepped past Rawls and retrieved the strong case.

“We’ll say good morning to you, then,” the man with the silenced pistol said.

“And to you,” Ed replied.

The man turned to go.

“Oh,” Ed said.

The man turned. “What?”

“It occurs to me that you might like to have the key, since the case can’t be opened without it.”

“Where is the key?”

“In this pocket,” Ed said, pointing at it.

“Take it out very, very carefully,” the man said.

Ed did so, then tossed it to him.

The man caught the key without taking his eyes from Rawls, impressing him. “Thank you. Now sit down and don’t move for five minutes.”

Ed sat down, picked up his investment statement, and started to read.

The man with the silenced pistol vanished, and Ed heard the front door close softly. He picked up the remote and restored Joe Scarborough to speech in mid-rant. He was now on the subject of Nelson Knott’s announcement and its potential effect on the coming election.

Stone was having his own breakfast in bed, watching Morning Joe , when the phone rang. “Yes?”

“It’s Ed Rawls.”

“Good morning, Ed.”

“I thought you’d like to know that I received the key, and just in time.”

“In time for what?”

“In time for two of Christian St. Clair’s thugs to walk, armed, into my house and demand the strong case on pain of death.”

“Well, since you’re still alive, I assume you either killed them both or gave them the case.”

“I gave them the case, and the key, which had arrived only a few minutes before.”

“So, there’s an end to that,” Stone said.

“Not quite,” Ed said, “they still have to get it open.”

As the two men drove away from Rawls’s house, one of them said to the other, “Are we going to open the thing?”

“That’s above my pay grade,” the man said. “I’ll pass it up the line, and somebody else can make that decision.”

They drove into Washington, went to Erik Macher’s office, and delivered the case and its key to him. “Rawls didn’t give us an argument,” the man said.

When they had gone, Macher sat and stared at the case. Weeks of trouble, he reflected; how many dead? He had lost track. He inserted the key into one of the two locks.

“No,” he said aloud. He put the key back into his pocket and called Christian St. Clair.

“Yes, Erik?”

“Good morning, sir.”

“Have you heard anything further from our people in England?”

“No, sir. It’s mid-afternoon there, so I expect there has been no change in the circumstances, or I would have heard.”

“Then what can I do for you?”

“I have the strong case, sir.”

There was a sharp intake at the other end of the line. “Bring it to me, unopened,” he said.

“Where are you?”

“At my home in New York.”

“I’ll leave immediately, sir. It should take me four or five hours to drive the distance.”

“I’ll expect you.” St. Clair hung up.

Macher left his office, stowed the strong case in the trunk of his car, and drove away. He turned on the satellite radio and selected CNN. All the news was of Nelson Knott’s announcement of his candidacy the previous day. He found some classical music.

Stone went down to his office in time to get a call from Will Lee.

“Good morning, Will.”

“Good morning, Stone. Have you had any news of the delivery of your packages?”

“Not yet. They are all supposed to be delivered by three PM, or so the post office promises.”

“In time for the evening news.”

“Should be plenty of time.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Will said.

The two men hung up.

Around noon, Stone got a call from Ed Rawls.

“Hello again, Ed,” he said.

“Hello, Stone. If it sounds like I’m in a car, I am.”

“Your old Mercedes?”

“No, that’s a short-range car, it’s tucked away in my garage. I’m driving a rental.”

“Is this a long-range trip?”

“It is. I’m headed to Islesboro. I’ll drive as far as Augusta, then get a lightplane charter to the island. It occurred to me that when the mailing hits the media I’m going to be getting a lot of phone calls and interview requests that I want no part of.”

“I expect you’re right. Would you like to stay at my place until yours is finished?”