Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1) (18 page)

Steve shrugged.  Ivy leaned over,
kissed his cheek, and whispered, "Consider it, for Mathew."

Then she stepped back trying to appear
more serious than she felt.  "Okay, if you are ready to do it, write
those letters.  And then clean this place up."

The two men were perplexed.  Ivy
never asked them to clean -- they were both so neat, she never needed to.

"The bugs, dummies, disable those
damn bugs.  I want them out of here."

"Oh, that's what you meant. 
We also have to retool the surveillance cameras and the security system so we
can do monitoring from here or wherever via an internet connection."

She let the dogs in, toweled them off
and then turned to go upstairs.

"What are you doing?" Steve
asked.

"Getting armed, icing a bottle of
champagne and then making a reservation for dinner.  Steak sound
good?"

Mathew and Steve exchanged a look and
smiled. 

"Yeah, big steak dinner."
Steve said. "Oysters first."

"Garlic mashed potatoes."
Mathew batted back.  "Then a cheese course."

"Dripping in calories
dessert."

"Different wine with every
course."

"Right.  Urban Farmer at
seven.  I'll arrange a town car because we are going to celebrate!"
Ivy's jubilance danced out in her voice.  She turned and sprinted up the
stairs feeling more energized than she had in years.

Over dinner, which was rowdy and only
sometimes serious, the two ex-agents tossed around names for the vineyard,
jokingly settling on ‘Spook Hills’.  Steve confessed that he always wanted
to be a spy or spook as they were called, but he was too big to be inconspicuous. 
He gave his agreement to Mathew to support him with the vineyard idea.  He
stared at his plate thoughtfully and tapped the table a few times with his
forefinger.  "I have a few conditions, though.”

"Expected that," Mathew
responded with a shake of his head.

"You take the lead on it.  I
will support you.  I'll do labor.  While I will learn about it, this
is yours to run."

Mathew nodded.  "That will
be a big change!  What else?"

"Ivy and I are going to travel as
tourists.  I’m going to start seeing more of the world than hotel rooms
and some perp's operation.  We're going to spend time visiting iconic
landmarks, appreciating different countrysides and learning about a variety of
cultures all around the world.  And hey, we'll be sampling local
wines.  Maybe sometimes you'll come with us."

"And?"

"You live with us until you have
someone in your life."

Mathew laughed at him.  "You
drive a hard bargain -- yes to all three."

"Shake on it," Ivy said
quietly.  From that crazy upside-down, half-serious, half-joking day, the
concept of their vineyard was born.

Steve put his cell phone back in his
pocket early the following Monday morning and went in search of Ivy, catching
her pulling on her raincoat to leave for work.  "We have to go back
to D.C., clean out the condos, turn in our gear, get out-processed and all that
jazz."

She regarded him with mild
surprise.  "Should I go with you?  I could take some
vacation.  The dogs and Druid can go to a kennel."

"Safer that way.  How about
we leave this Thursday, out-process on Friday and spend the weekend figuring
out what to do with the furniture, the clothes, and the whole empty, pathetic
life.  I'll make the arrangements today.  Target to have the condos
on the market on Monday and we're back here Tuesday."

Mathew walked up as he heard the gist
of the conversation, smiling a bit sadly and said, "Almost all my stuff
can go to the Goodwill or somewhere like that, except some things from my Dad's
house."

"Ditto.  I have stuff from
my Mom that Ivy can decide if she might want."  Steve said. 
"Whatever we keep can be shipped out and stored until our plans are in
place."

"Cars?"  Ivy asked.

"Busteeds."

"What?"

"Busteeds -- Bureau vehicles when
we were in town.  Also called Bucars or BuCs."

"I suppose you call it BuSpeak
too, this FBI lingo."

"You’re getting the hang of
it."

"Is Brian coming down for the
final debrief?" Mathew asked.  "I want to keep in touch with
him, Moll and a couple of others."

Steve nodded.  "Let's take Brian
and Moll out to dinner one night.  Oh, and I have to close a safety
deposit box."

He and Mathew exchanged a look. 
"Me too," Mathew said.

Ivy wondered what the two ex-agents
had secreted away.  False IDs?  More firepower?  Surely, they
would have to turn all that in.

"Let's book into that Kimpton
across the street from our building.  That way we can dive right into
stripping the condos."

***

They spent Friday morning in
Washington picking up packing materials and starting to box up Mathew's
place.  Each of the men's studios had the sterility of a hotel room. 
The only furniture Ivy found worthwhile was what they had taken from one
parent's house or the other.  Early that afternoon, Moll arrived to stay
with Ivy while Steve and Mathew went for their out-processing and debriefings
at the Bureau.  After receiving strict instructions about not opening the
door to anyone but them and being careful to have her gun handy, Ivy
concentrated on boxing up Steve's condo where she sorted his things between Portland
and Goodwill.  Moll helped as best he could with his arm still in a sling.

That night the five of them walked
over to an upscale, comfortable place called Restaurant Nora, where an
undercurrent of the city's energy seemed to crackle in the room. 
Champagne was flowing and the three younger men were in good spirits, although
Ivy thought that Steve appeared a little on edge.  Brian broke the news
that he and Moll were leaving the Bureau in the next few weeks to start a
forensics audit business.

"What the hell?" Steve
said.  "You have great careers ahead of you -- each of you."

"The truth is," Brian said,
"I've succeeded with you and Mathew, the best agents in the Bureau,
because you shielded me in the field.  However I can do this forensics
stuff.  Moll and I started talking about it when you had us audit your
code on that first case with you.  Since then, we've spent whatever free
time we had learning more.

Moll seemed uncomfortable. 
"Face it, I'm a desk jockey.  I froze up so bad on that last mission
that I'd be dead if you hadn't pitched me overboard."

"Every agent freezes up
sometimes," Steve said somewhat gently.

Moll shook his head.  "Every
time for me.  I'm more of a brain than a body."

Mathew was surprised that they had
been silent about their change in career; on the other hand, had he ever talked
about leaving the FBI?  "The Bureau might hire you back as
consultants."

Steve was still frowning, but then he
nodded.  "Yeah, believe it or not, I'm in good with the head of
technology.  I can put in a word whenever you want me to."

"We were thinking
banks."  Brian said. "They get stuck with big penalties when a
money laundering case comes along.  We could help them head it off, find
the issue and help them take it to the Bureau.  Likely by taking the
initiative, any fine would be reduced or eliminated."

Moll was hunched over his plate and
edging his silverware around, lining the pieces up in a neat line. 
"Maybe both banks and the Bureau.  Have a diversified client
list.  We figure that 'London and Stanford', as you like to call us, have
solid credentials and great experience.  What about you two?  Going
to consult?  Be vigilantes for third world governments?"

They all laughed and then Mathew
leaned back, holding up his head with mock pride, "Become farmers. 
Plant pinot noir grapevines.  Sit back and watch them grow.  Then
Steve is going to roll up his pants and squash the grapes with his big
feet." 

Lots of laughter followed that
comment.

"Seriously, we will start a
vineyard and learn the art and science of making world class wines.  We
have a line on some land that is located smack dab on a ridge between two great
vineyards in Oregon.   A couple of viniculture experts will check it
out for us and we will have an appraisal performed.  If not there, we'll
find another location."

"A night of surprises. 
Well, go for it guys.  Who would have thought?  Harvard and
Georgetown becoming vintners.  What are you going to call it?" 

"Spook Hills," said Mathew,
finding it impossible to keep a straight face.  "Make people think we
were jet-setting spies instead of plodding federal agents."

They laughed some more and toasted
each of their ventures; their spirits were high and heads in the restaurant
turned towards their table trying to figure out the cause of the revelry. 
Steve ordered another bottle of champagne and asked for fresh glasses. 
After it came and their glasses were full, he stood up from the table and then
knelt down next to Ivy, taking a small box from his pocket.

"Ivy, will you take this
officially retired FBI agent for your husband?"

He opened the box.  Inside was a
sparkling emerald-cut diamond set in white gold, with smaller diamonds in the
band.  The box was from Tiffany.  Ivy was speechless.

"Say yes, Ivy."  He
took her hand, slipping the ring on her finger.  A thrill of happiness ran
through her.  This fascinating, tough, seasoned man wanted to spend the
rest of his life with her!

"Yes, of course, yes." 
She bent over to kiss him.  "It’s just a total surprise.  When
did you get the ring?"

"When we closed the safety
deposit boxes today," he pushed himself back up and slid into his
chair.  "Mathew and I did a shopping trip in early December."

"You wanted to get engaged back
then?"

"During our Thanksgiving weekend,
I realized I wanted to meld my life to yours.  While we felt so right
together, I had things to work out about the Bureau and me.  That is now
behind us.  Haven't you sensed that we would be spending the rest of our
lives together?   Like we reached out across the proverbial space-time
continuum to find each other?"

The rest of the evening passed in a
champagne and red wine haze. Moll amused them with scraps of memories of times
at the Bureau.  Steve and Ivy kept looking at each other and touching each
other.  Their knees would brush each other’s lightly or they would caress
each other’s fingers in light motions.  Ivy kept staring at the ring and
then at him, wondering at this latest twist in their relationship.  When
they walked back to the hotel, the mild late January evening twinkled around
them as if lit by summer fireflies.  The last week had been a time of new
beginnings for them all.  After the stresses of the last couple of months,
on top of the work pressures of the last few years, Ivy was ready for a fresh start.

Despite his joy at securing Ivy's
commitment to marry him, Steve had a sense of ominous concern.  The walk
back to the hotel was only a few blocks.  Out of the corner of his eye, he
saw a figure on the opposite site of the street, slipping from shadow to
shadow.  When they stopped at the corner, he risked sneaking a peek back,
but saw nothing.  Mathew, Brian and Moll trailed along behind them. 
Mathew gave a barely perceptible nod, confirming that they had a tail.  In
the hotel lobby, where Brian and Moll had also booked rooms, they parted for
the night.

"We're going to the bar for a
while," Mathew said.  "Have a brandy or something.
  Watch the night unfold."

"Maybe get lucky," Moll
said, looking around the almost empty lounge.  "Though that seems
unlikely.  Still by D.C. standards, the night is young."

"You guys got protection in case
you do get lucky?"  Steve asked, looking at Mathew, who would
understand he was talking about guns, not condoms.

"Always.  You trained us
well.  See you for breakfast."

Ivy laughed and tugged Steve towards
the elevator, wishing the three younger men a good night.  Steve smiled at
her, glad that he had three well-trained agents as friends to do a stakeout
around the hotel.  Mathew would brief Brian and Moll who would contact
hotel security, show the FBI credentials they still carried, share their
concerns, and start a methodical check of the hotel while Mathew kept watch on
the entrance.  On this night of all nights, Steve wanted Ivy to remain
unaware that someone, FBI or a perp, was following them.

***

As soon as they returned to Portland,
Mathew and Steve dedicated themselves to learning about becoming
vintners.  The property Mathew found vetted out well.  He agreed on a
price with the current owner and quickly set a date for closing.  Steve
found a smaller adjoining property on the same ridge that was half planted with
wheat and half with an old, mostly sick, walnut grove along with three strips
of evergreens.  After spending a couple of afternoons sipping a
single-malt scotch with the crusty old owner of the property, Steve was able to
convince him to sell.  Mathew's land came with a tumbling down house and
two rotted outbuildings, which he wanted to restore even though they were so
ramshackle that he worried they might have to tear them down.

Ivy enjoyed observing how Mathew and
Steve worked when they set an objective.  Through cajoling, tough stances,
and persistence, they scheduled the closing on both properties far faster than
she would have expected.  They went out one afternoon and bought a big
metallic charcoal Suburban to use as their vineyard vehicle.  With Mathew
now able to drive, he and Steve spent their days meeting with various folks to
evaluate the land, run tests on the soil, verify the presence of a good
underground water supply, have perk tests performed for two septic systems,
work with their attorney to ensure the land was unencumbered, and so on. 
For several weeks, every day they would drop Ivy at the office and then run
down to Dundee for one reason or another.  Sometimes Ivy thought they
simply wanted to make sure the land was still there.

The third Sunday in February, after
days of work on acquiring the land for their vineyard and pursuing building
permits, Steve pushed his chair back, put his feet up on the desk and sat
staring out into Ivy's perennial garden that was already displaying some spring
flowers.  Steve knew he was very fortunate.  He had a new venture to
learn about wine, farming and viniculture with a partner who was like a son to
him.  He would receive a nice pension from the government.  He had
the most marvelous woman to share his life and now he was designing the house
that they would live in for the rest of their days.   He wanted it to
be a house that Ivy would treasure and where they would be comfortable. 
The spot he picked for it was on the top of a knoll on the property he was
buying, a little downhill from the walnut grove.  The very fact that he
would own some land made him proud and excited.  He jotted down a list of
features from this house of Ivy's in Portland to include in the new house, such
as a little deck for morning coffee and a library nook.  He wanted to
surround the house with rambling gardens, the way the Portland house was. 
They would need big closets and lots of storage.  Ivy had more stuff
stashed away in this Portland house than Steve thought one person could
accumulate.  From what he could tell, she actually used it all now and
then throughout the year. 

Funny that Mathew, Ivy and he were
each only children.  His parents were good to him, yet they strict
too.  Even though Ivy had grown accustomed to spoiling herself, her heart
was so generous that he could handle her little peccadilloes like over-shopping. 
Mathew could be somewhat persnickety.  He made fun of Steve for his
obsession with what he called the three 'nesses -- cleanliness, neatness and
crispness.  However Mathew was a dilettante about food, cocktails and
wine.  On the other hand when out with the team, Mathew used to chow down
Big Macs or sub sandwiches like any of the other agents.  Each of them had
their little oddities.