Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1) (16 page)

“Got it.”

“I’m going to give my phone to
Mathew.  Stay on the line with him.  I’ll call for a cab and line up
a couple of local agents to meet us at Fifth Avenue Suites.”

Ivy found she was shaking and gripped
the steering wheel harder.  The traffic in front of her on Highway 26 was
crawling along.  She pounded the steering wheel in frustration.  It
was the holiday week.  Traffic should not be so heavy.  In the rear
view mirror, she could see the Cruiser coming down the entrance ramp she had
taken.  She waited impatiently as the traffic stalled, then inched
forward.  Ivy had enough of the highway.  For luck, she reached up
and touched the pearl necklace Steve had surprised her with and then swerved
over on the shoulder, riding it until she could turn off at the Zoo exit, going
as fast as she dared through the park, down past the back of the Japanese
Garden and then around the Rose Garden.  At the bottom of the road, as the
light changed she rolled forward to slip down Park Place.  In her rearview
mirror, she saw the Cruiser nose around the last turn coming out of the park
like a stalking panther.

“Mathew, he’s still with me.”

“You got your roscoe?”

“In my purse.”

“Get it out just in case.  Slip
it into your coat pocket when you are near the hotel.”

Ivy waited impatiently by the MAC club
as people strolled across the street.  She could feel nervous sweat
soaking her blouse.  Once at the light, she flew as fast as she dared up
the street, planning her route as she went -- scoot down Salmon, hook various
turns, then cut over to Washington and into the Fifth Avenue Suites lot under
the building.  Soon traffic slowed and she wound up jockeying her way
around.  She kept checking her rear view mirror.  No sign of the
Cruiser behind her. 

“Mathew, I think I lost him.”

“Great!  I’m in a cab heading to
the hotel.  Slow going -- traffic is a mess.  Steve took off
running.  You okay?”

“Scared, but okay.”

“Wait for me in the lobby.”

Washington was all backed up but it
was her only choice for the remaining two blocks to get to the hotel.  Ivy
sat through three lights before she could inch her way to the right
block.  She looked around the cars to see Steve was running down the
street to the hotel.  She started tooting the horn.  He jerked his head
around, saw her, changed course and ran for the passenger side of the SUV.

“I think I lost them,” she said as he
jumped into the car.

“FBI on their way.  Portland
police alerted.  I was so damn glad to see you when I heard that
horn.  Good idea to imitate the knock we use.”

“I couldn’t see the number on the
Cruiser, but it looked like a California plate.”

“How many in the vehicle?”

“At least two.”

“Bastards.”

Ivy swung into the lot, edged her way
down the ramp and stopped by the parking attendant.  After giving him the
key fob, she stepped out of the car.  Her legs were trembling and she had
to walk leaning against Steve over to the elevator that would take them up to
the hotel lobby. 

“Somehow the perp must have linked us
to Portland and to you,” Steve said.

“Who knows about us?”

“Brian and Moll.  I told them our
location was top secret.”

“Your boss?”

“All I told him was that I would be
out of the office and to reach me by cell or email.  I told the Chief, but
only in general terms.”

“Human Resources?”

Steve thought for a moment. 
“Maybe Mathew’s medical services.  Maybe that was a tip off on our
location.  From that, someone could have put two and two together.”

“Or Brian’s travel records out to meet
with you.”

“Maybe.  He flew in and out of
San Francisco; the flights involving Portland went on my personal credit card.”

“Too many holes to keep plugged up.”

“Yeah.”

They were standing near the front desk
where they could see the hotel entrance.  “Here’s Mathew.” 

He limped up slowly, leaning heavily
on his cane. One of the agents who had helped with their relocation to the
apartment ran in.  For the next half hour, they briefed him on who they
really were and gave him a situational overview.  Steve placed a call to
the Chief who in turn called the Special Agent in charge of the Portland
office, giving Steve authority over the follow-up actions.  Since their
cover was blown, they decided to go to the apartment, pack up their things and
move to Ivy’s house where they could best protect it and her.  The FBI
would arrange for on-site agent surveillance there as well as watch the
apartment.  If the perps knew about Ivy, then her home address would be
known to them too.  In the meantime, the police would try to apprehend the
perps in the Cruiser. 

“What’s next?” Ivy asked.

“Expect to have an agent tailing you
to and from work, shopping or wherever you go.  They will have a
monitoring van in the garage.  I would offer to leave town, but I think
you could still be in danger.  Alternatively we could all go to another
city.”

“I want you here and I have to be at
the office next week -- my replacement starts on Wednesday.”

“Then we stick with the plan, if it is
okay with you.”

Ivy nodded and then reminded Steve of
his promise that any beefed up security at her house would not include any bugs
planted inside.  Privacy was something she had to have.  Right then
all she wanted were Steve’s arms around her and she realized that sometime in
the last three weeks she had crossed an unseen threshold between choosing to be
in control though isolated to being loved and dependent.  Scared though
she was, that thought let Ivy know that she had traveled through one of life’s
major passages.

On Sunday, they returned to the
apartment and finished cleaning it out.  Steve had already paid the rent
for January, so it would remain under surveillance.  While Ivy sorted out
the kitchen, the two men cleaned the other rooms, did the laundry and put the
apartment back to how they originally found it.  On the way back to her
house, they picked up groceries and champagne to celebrate the New Year, since
they would be staying in for the holiday.

At home Ivy found herself lamenting
that her charming house with its views out to the southern hills, its hedged
perennial gardens, its warm brick patio, and its gracious, comfortable
interior, had become what she thought of as fed central.  As usual in
winter, the weather was rainy, with occasional dustings of snow that quickly
melted as the temperatures rose into the forties during the day. Life outside
went on.  Inside her home everything had tilted and felt different. 
It was now an FBI recovery center and a planning center, with agents handling
security round-the-clock.  She doubted she would ever feel the same about
the house again, and yet how much fuller her life was now with Steve and Mathew
in it.

Steve did his best to avoid any extra
burden on her.  He was there each day when she returned from work and
opened the back door, having jogged down the steps when hearing the toot of her
horn as she passed the house on the way down to the garage.  Sometimes
using his wireless headset, he was in the middle of a briefing from Brian or
Moll, nevertheless he never missed that time to smile at Ivy, kiss her, and
carry in whatever she was bringing home.  While the black Cruiser had
escaped detection and the perps had not yet surfaced, each of them knew it was
only a matter of time until their lives would be shaken up again.

On the 10th of January, the weather in
Portland had been showery with occasional sun breaks.  After work, Ivy
stopped at the local organic food store for a couple of freshly roasted
chickens, salad ingredients and other groceries and then headed up the road to her
house.  The weather up on the hill was mild for January and a foggy mist
was starting to rise giving her a feeling of foreboding.  When she arrived
home, Steve seemed apprehensive and Mathew could not meet her eye.
 Something was up and Ivy figured it had to do with the Bureau. 

"Big Guy," she said, without
even a hint of a smile.  "I think you had better make us all stiff
drinks."

Steve gave her one of his assessing
looks, nodded and headed to the little bar by the kitchen.  Their habit
was to share cocktails or wine before dinner like a regular family while they
talked about their days.  Ivy could tell this evening would not be a cozy
chat over drinks.  Steve had a fire going in the living room, but she
noticed he had a half-packed suitcase out on the bed.  Mathew was near the
fire in an armchair.  Once he made the drinks, Steve sat at one end of the
leather couch.  Instead of taking her usual place next to him, Ivy pushed
over an ottoman and sat facing both of them.

"Ivy, I had a call today from the
Chief," Steve began, as was his style, starting right in without any
preamble.  "We think we have located the head of the drug operation
on a yacht off the coast of Mexico.  We are working with the Navy and the
DEA to organize a search and capture mission.  The yacht is anchored off
an inhabited island.  The thought is to bring a ship in a couple of miles
away to track it if they run.  We will approach the boat from the air,
rappelling down out of a chopper.  Surface vessels might alert the perps to
set sail, however the yacht is under a regular flight pattern.  Our
chopper will swoop in a bit lower."

A frisson of fear skirted around Ivy's
heart.  "They want you to head up the mission." 

"Like I said, it's a joint
operation.  We’ll have lots of support."

"And you've done this before,
rappelling out of a helicopter?"

"In training.  We'll do a
couple of refresher test jumps.  The Navy Seals will go first to handle
the lines for getting the rest of us down."

"Ivy, it's not as hard as you
think," Mathew interjected.  "I was scared shitless the first
time we did it in training.  However you follow a set routine and you're
down in a matter of seconds.”

Ivy glared at Mathew and then at
Steve.  "You could get shot up like Mathew.  I know it is what
you do, but I don’t like this one bit.”

"If I don’t go, Brian will be
designated to go in my place.  He is not ready for this.  These joint
operations are tricky enough, without having to rappel out of a chopper, direct
the operation, seize control of the vessel, and apprehend the perps before they
kill you."

"Why can't another leader
go?"

His eyes were solemn.  He held
his tongue.

Mathew jumped in to further his
cause.  "None of them are as good as Steve.  None I would trust
with my best friend's life.  Next to you two, Brian is my best
friend.  He took a bullet for me in Bulgaria, for chrissakes.  I
can't go with this bum leg.  Ivy, while I am reluctant to ask this on top
of all you have done for me, please think about it."

Ivy felt boxed in.  Choices were
tough when they involved duty, loyalty and friendship.  What about
love?  What about the danger to Steve? 

"If you get this drug lord, won't
another pop up in his place?"

Steve shook his head.  "This
perp is very strong, powerful, and mega-wealthy.  He keeps the logistics
of the drug business in Colombia organized.  Without him, it will
fragment, making it easier to shut down smaller units. When we have gone after
him before, all we nabbed were some lesser guys and some actor hired to play
his part.  It's vital that we apprehend him."

"How can you be sure it's him
this time?  Him on this yacht in the middle of wherever?"

"Six months ago, the DEA
infiltrated.  They set up their own little drug packaging operation,
headed by one of their people and let him be consolidated into the big
ring.  He sent an encoded message about this setup.  He's been
invited for a weekend with the drug lord as a reward for how well his drug
operation is performing.  We have to arrest this Astuto character and get
the DEA agent out." 

Ivy was overwhelmed by this talk of
drug lords, undercover agents, climbing down a rope out of a helicopter into an
explosive situation.  The love of her life wanted to play soldier at
60.  She needed fresh air and time to think.  "I'm going for a
walk."

Steve stood up. 

"Alone."

"Ivy!" 

"Alright, come with me.  Do
not talk." 

Ivy leashed up the dogs and walked for
about twenty minutes in the misty air with Steve staying silent at her
side.  With night settling in, the air had lost the mildness of the
afternoon becoming a damp misty cold that crept insidiously under rain jackets
and sweaters.  Only a couple of people were out with their dogs, their
shoulders hunched against the chill.  She kept a fast pace until she
calmed down enough to think clearly.  She was so afraid that this could be
the last time she saw Steve and she would have let him go to his death.
 She had to find some way to make this mission safer for him.  Even
he had to realize that he was not invincible.  Mathew had been his second
set of eyes and brain.  An idea came to her.  She reached over and
took Steve’s hand and turned around to hustle home, things straight in her
head.  After walking back into the house, Ivy took a long slug of her Old
Fashioned, looking first at Mathew and then at Steve.

"All right.  You have my
support on one condition." 

The two men waited. 

Ivy pointed to Mathew and herself,
"We get looped into the operation.  Steve, you and Brian must have
two-way communications with Mathew from when you take off in that damn chopper
until you are back on safe ground.  I will listen in so I can know what is
happening, when it happens.  I will sign a code of secrecy or
whatever.  Most importantly, I want Mathew’s brain with you."

"Ivy, we can't do that,"
Steve took a step towards her.

"Find a way," she said
stonily.   They faced each other as two strong, determined people in
love.

Mathew struggled up, leaning on his
three-footed cane and began talking in his smooth, convincing voice. 
Within a few sentences, he succeeded in getting the stubbornness off Steve's
face, drawing him into planning how to do technically what Ivy asked for and
how to sell it to the Bureau.  Now at least she would be plugged in and
having Mathew there by voice would give Steve an extra resource. 

Mathew and Steve started making
calls.  Some technical FBI agents arrived to beef up their communications
gear.  By midnight, Steve was on a Bubird on his way south.  Sometime
in the next 24 hours, the team would move in.  The local FBI sent another
agent over who would take up residence in a van outside the house.  Ivy
went into work, expecting to take the next day off or however long it took for
Steve’s mission to be over.  She was so worried that Steve could be killed
the next day, leaving only memories in her devastated heart.  Here she was
an ordinary female executive embroiled in an international drug raid.  As
the old adage says, sometimes you should be careful what you wish for -- Ivy
wanted a man of action in her life and she certainly had one. 

***

Steve arranged to have Mathew and Ivy
patched in shortly before he boarded the helicopter to take off for the
yacht.  The call came in at three Pacific the next morning, with Steve and
the team planning to depart right before dawn.  Mathew had on Steve's headpiece
and microphone.  Ivy had sound only -- even she could see that it would be
best for her not to be able to speak, scream or cry into a microphone,
depending on what happened. 

Ivy and Mathew had communications with
both Steve and Brian.  Moll was also with the team, but not plugged in to
their communications.  They could hear the officer on the Navy vessel who
they referred to only as “Captain”.  Ivy found it nerve-wracking to hear
the hissing interactions at the same time that Steve heard them.  Steve
made the initial contact and then put them on mute, only switching on the sound
when the helicopter took off from the nearby naval craft.  All too soon,
it seemed to Ivy, they were up and heading to Isla Holbox, a low-key fishing
and tourist island off the eastern coast of Mexico near Cancun.  The team
was mostly silent.  The noise of the rotors droned on.  Everything
was so real, yet it was like being part of a movie.   Ivy could see
it clearly in her head as a movie done in black and white, everything dim and
eerie in the predawn gloaming.

"Target at two o'clock."

"Roger."

"Jump time in three
minutes."

Ivy could hear movement, gear being
snapped, feet shuffling.

"Commencing count down."

Ivy visualized the chopper sinking
low, then hovering with the Navy Seals and the FBI agents lined up to kick off
and rappel down.  She could picture Steve having to bend over to clear the
doorway.  Her shoulder muscles clenched tighter when she hunched forward,
listening intently.  She gripped the arms of her chair feeling as if she
were going out of the helicopter with Steve. 

They heard rapid counting as each team
member rappelled out.  Steve gave an "
oof
"into the microphone when he kicked off and Brian made what sounded like a
growl of anticipation.   Could they really control the lines well
enough to land on the yacht?  Ivy's heart was pounding in her chest as
they waited for an update.  Mathew gripped the edge of the desk, leaning
forward in anticipation.  A whump and then a muffled, "Fuck" let
them know Steve landed.  They heard feet running stealthily and then a
"Holy Shit" from Steve.

"Report," barked the
Captain’s voice.

"Target surface deserted."
Steve's voice was tight with tension.  "Seals heading for the cabin
and the bridge.”

“Anyone in sight?”

“The undercover.  Dead and
strapped to the mast.  Hold on." 

A second passed.  Two
seconds.  Three seconds.  Mathew and Ivy each leaned forward, trying
to catch any sounds that would tell them what was happening.

Finally they heard Steve yelling,
"Abort. Abort Agents. Abort Seals. Abort.  It's a trap!"

Feet thudding.  Splashes. 
Steve yelling at the Seal leader to abort. 

Another splash.  And then
another, "Fuck".

"Steve, jump." Mathew yelled
into his headset.

They heard a series of explosions, one
echoing after the other, loud splashes, and then some sloshing.  Ivy was
on the edge of her chair, fear for Steve surrounding her heart, listening
intently.

The Captain repeatedly demanded an
update. "Report.  Report.  Report."

For Ivy the waiting seemed to go on
far longer than it should.  Had none of them made it safely away? 
Where was Steve?  Where was Brian? 

Again the Captain came on.  “Are
you there?  Report.”

Brian came on, his voice faltering,
making him restart twice before he could speak clearly. "Agents all in the
water, sir.  I have one with a dislocated shoulder -- thrown
overboard.  Two Seals here too that I can see.  Maybe more behind
some debris and smoke.  Shit’s on fire all around us, uh, sir."

Mathew went on then. 
"Steve, where the hell is Steve?"

Brian gave a choked, stressed laugh
and said, "He has water in his headset."

They heard a lot of splashing and then
a blast of air blown into the mouthpiece.

"Nielsen here.  Fuck, I was
reporting in.  Nothing was transmitting.  Can't you give us
waterproof headsets?"

"Damages?"

"Vessel destroyed.  Damn
pricks must have set charges to go off when the door to the cabin area
opened.  Two Seals likely dead.  They failed to jump when I shouted
to abort.  They were heading down into the cabin.  I think that's
what set off the charge."

After a long silence, the Captain
asked, "What tipped you off besides the dead undercover?"

"The boat wasn't in the best
shape -- not what this kind of drug lord would have as his yacht.  He
would have it spic and span.  Real flash."

"Good work, Nielsen.  While
this was bad, the situation could have been a whole lot worse.  Swim
around to see if you can find those two missing Seals.  Pickup should be
in about five minutes.  Anything to salvage from the vessel?"

"Bits and pieces.  That shit
was flying all around; parts of it are still on fire, floating in the
water.  I hear a siren.  Likely the water police are coming out of
Cancun."

"We just alerted them."

They could hear swimming, and then
some muffled words, a yell of pain and a distant "son of a
bitch".   Steve must have reached Brian and was helping to hold
up the injured agent.