Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1) (17 page)

Brian came back on. 
"Agent's shoulder is back in place, sir."

Steve gave a gruff, "Sorry
Stanford."

"You save my life and you worry
about hurting my damn arm?"  They heard what sounded like Moll in the
background. 

Then silence, until Steve spoke
quietly, "Ivy, one of your angels was riding on my shoulder."

Tears welled up in Ivy’s eyes, spilled
over and ran down her cheeks.  Steve understood that while she was not
religious, she did like the concept of angels.  That mission was nearly a
disaster for Steve and everyone else.  Ivy was not cut out for this kind
of action and she was safely sitting in her home, thousands of miles
away.  How did Steve do it?

Mathew spoke quietly into his headset,
"We are all thankful for that."

He pushed away his microphone and
sagged back in his chair.  "Believe it or not, it's easier to be on
the ground than to monitor the action remotely.  Thank god for Steve and
his sixth sense, deducing trouble from small signs.  That poor
agent.  Felipe was his name, though he went by Phil.  I worked with
him a few years ago on another drug case.  Family was from Puerto
Rico.  Great guy -- gung ho on our country and on his work with the
DEA.  Awful way to die.  Damn, damn, damn."

"And those Navy Seals. 
Likely not too old.  Maybe they signed up for it, but so wrong, so
awful." 

Ivy felt drained, though her heart was
humming, "Steve's okay.  Steve's okay.  He saved most of the
team.  He saved Brian and Moll.  Steve's okay."

Mathew and Ivy sat silently, their
energy too sapped by the chain of events to move.  They listened to the
communications until Steve landed on board the Navy vessel and went off for
debriefing.  Mathew struggled to his feet, leaning on his cane.  They
dragged themselves like two worn soldiers to the kitchen where Ivy began to
make an early breakfast, thinking that Steve would call when he could. 

***

Late that afternoon, Mathew selected a
varietal burgundy from the Joseph Drouhin vineyard in the Burgundy region of
France, opened it, poured a glass and held it up to the light. 

"Good color, rather a ruby
red," he murmured to himself.  He twirled the glass, inhaled, tasted
and smiled in appreciation.  "To produce a wine that will delight
whoever is lucky enough to drink it, would be a worthy achievement."

"Why don't you?" Ivy asked
hearing the admiring tone of his voice.

"Oh sure, with the work demands I
have and this bum leg?"

"The leg will continue to
improve.  You can hire out the running of the vineyard."

"What would the sense be in
that?" he retorted peevishly. 

Mathew moved into the kitchen where
Ivy was grinding a mix of red, white, green and black peppercorns and then pink
sea salt onto some bone-in chicken breasts marinated in lemon, garlic, rosemary
and olive oil.  He regarded Ivy sulkily.

"Ivy, I don't want to go back to
the Bureau, even if my leg fully recovers," he blurted out.  "I
can't figure out how to tell Steve -- too hard, like deserting him."

She nodded.  "So that's what
has been on your mind these past weeks.  Maybe Steve isn't so sure of
things himself these days.  He hasn't talked about it, but he has been
moodier." 

"What should I do?"

"Wait and heal.  One day,
the time will be right to discuss it with him.  Are you thinking of
opening a vineyard?"

"Stupid to even think about
it."

"Not necessarily.  I have an
acquaintance who is the owner of a large vineyard that started as a hobby and
grew to a successful enterprise.  I could see if he will talk with
you."

"Thanks."

Ivy thought for a bit, trying to think
of other ways to help Mathew.  "I remember a special on our
OPB
TV station that had interviews with the growers in
Oregon who started the wine industry here.  You ought to do a search for
it and watch it.  Those folks had a notion that Oregon could produce good
wines.  Hearing their stories might give you more confidence."

His face showed that he was not
encouraged.

"Mathew, you're smart,
hardworking, and good at research.  You have money from your Dad to invest
for the startup.  As long as your heart is in it, why not?"

"Thanks, Ivy.  Times like
these, I wish you had a younger sister."

"Someone is out there for
you."

He smiled sadly.  "She'll
have to like a cripple."

"Oh com'on, limps and canes can
be both distinguished and sexy to a woman," Ivy said as she opened the
oven door to slide the roasting pan onto the rack.

"Oh sure, right up there with fat
old men in tweeds."  The glimmer of enthusiasm that appeared when he
talked about the vineyard was gone.  His expression was glum; he even
slouched over.

"That's it, Mathew." 
Ivy closed the oven door with a little bang and whirled around to face him,
hands on her hips.  "From this day forward, you are not to act sorry
for yourself or have that hangdog, depressed expression.  You are still
relatively young, you are handsome, and you have laughing eyes that could
seduce the panties off any woman you chose.  Most importantly, you are
capable of doing so much with your life.   To spend it morosely,
acting as if your life is over, is simply not acceptable." 

She turned and started chopping some
spinach with more vigor than usual.

"Jeez-Louise." Mathew stared
at Ivy in surprise.  He limped past her and went out on the deck. 
Once out there, Ivy heard the first real laugh out of him since he had come to
stay.  He took an appreciative sip of his wine and stood there -- a man
who had a little hope scolded into him.

That evening, Steve sat on the Bubird
that would take him back to Ivy, Mathew and Portland.  Even though he
would arrive late, he needed to bury himself in Ivy's reassuring embrace. 
It amazed him how quickly he had become dependent on her.  He remembered
that night by the fire after the child trafficking case, when she had so gently
comforted him and listened without pressing him.  While he was tired and
he often slept fitfully on flights, today with his nerves jangled from that
awful mission, he was glad for the time to sit back and reflect. 

He had perceived a couple of years ago
that his edge started eroding, haunting him on the last four field
missions.  His reactions were no longer what they had been.  At first
he thought he had become soft; he trained harder.  He was stronger; he
felt fit.  Again on the job a year later, he could tell that his reactions
were not what they had been.  If not for his great teams, he could have
been in trouble.  While he worked hard to mask it, he was aware of a
gradual slippage in his edge.  As an agent, he should have retired at
57.  However each year he had been extended.  He was beginning to see
why the FBI has chosen to push older agents out, especially high mileage ones
like himself.

Until Steve met Ivy, retirement scared
the bejesus out of him.  While leaving the Bureau still worried him, he
could envision a life with Ivy.  He saw a warm home.  He pictured the
inspiring image of Mt. Hood.  He could see Mathew with them for as long as
he wanted to hang around.  Steve had a foretaste of a place where he could
be happy.  Moreover these weeks with Ivy, taking care of Mathew and now
living in and working out of her house, had been so fulfilling that he had to
continue seeing her every day. 

What he had not talked about with Ivy
was how much the excitement of the hunt was a part of him.  The complex
cases were like giant multi-dimensional puzzles with lots of layers and moving
parts.  Figuring the puzzle out, learning how to out-think its evil makers
and then shutting down a dastardly operation were all are so stimulating. 
The ultimate goal to make the world a better place, or at least save it from deteriorating
into a worse one, drove him.  Moreover he was accustomed to living on
adrenalin surges.  While he still craved the feeling of power they gave
him, now the adrenalin from the hunt left him sick in its aftermath.  That
was the way he was now, wanting only to get home to Ivy.

He glanced out at the clouds drifting
under the plane.  The child in him still liked to see big puffy clouds
moving merrily along.  They were flying into the setting sun and would
have light for some hours as they passed through time zones heading west. 
No matter that he had flown more than a thousand times, he still found the
experience refreshing. 

On this mission, Steve should have
called to abort the action sooner.  Once his eyes fixed on that dead
undercover, he froze in place.  He never froze.  None of the hellish
things he had seen in his career had paralyzed him.  Yet today he lost all
consciousness that he needed to move, to see and to run the damn
operation.  While it was only for a second or two, when the timeline is in
sub-seconds, each moment becomes mission-critical; each moment could make the
difference between life and death and between success and failure.  He
could still see a snapshot of the scene in his mind, frozen in time with the
edges jaggedly distorted by diffracted light from the water.

Standing there, Steve had heard a
voice in his head.  The voice was Ivy's, whispering, "Look at the
yacht."  It was enough to break him out of that trance.  He saw
the neglected deck, sensed it was a trap and yelled to abort.  That is why
he told Ivy one of her angels was on his shoulder.  He did not understand
how her senses were with him, maybe only a murmur in his subconscious to
survive because now he had so much to live for.  Had it not been for those
whispered words, his yell would have come too late or not at all.

He understood that his field days
needed to be over.  He wanted to arrest this perp and destroy his
drug-based empire.  He wanted to be there to shield Brian.   Yet
he almost got them all killed.  As it was, two Seals died.  The
leader of the Seal unit resented having to report to an FBI agent.  Steve
thought that was why he kept going when he heard the command to abort.  He
wanted to show that Steve was only a panicky old man of an agent who had called
to abandon ship precipitately. 

Steve had recognized his physical
deterioration and was too stubborn and scared to face it.  Now that Ivy
was in his life, he was less afraid and that eased his natural obstinacy. 
He understood that he could be stubborn, particularly when challenged or
apprehensive.  His challenge now was to figure out how to spend his
days.  He needed ways to keep his brain busy, because he feared that if it
did not have challenges, it would become neurotic or even paranoid.  He
had seen agents become like that.  He was afraid that all the badness he
had seen would collect like too much street litter and blow around in his mind
until it drove him insane.  Work had let him put the bad stuff away,
locked in file drawers in his brain.  What if those locks broke
down?  What if boredom drove him to examine that litter? 
 Seeing those bad memories collectively would be to wade in a quagmire
that could be overwhelming.

Determining what to do with his life
would be his number one challenge.  Ivy was defining a retirement life for
herself.  He did not want to become so dependent that he stifled
her.  He had to delineate a life for himself, too.  Only then could
they map out one together.  While these topics would be hard for him to
discuss, maybe she could help him out of his own head.  Perhaps Ivy could
again be the angel on his shoulder.  Even so, he worried that this
revelation could make her think less of him.  He decided to think about it
for a few more days.

***

Early the following Friday afternoon,
Ivy was out in the back yard with the dogs watching them sniff around to see
what creatures might have invaded their space.  She was now working four
days a week with Fridays off and, particularly with Steve and Mathew in her
life, she was liking the change.  She was mulling over her relationship
with Steve while wandering around the little garden where spring would soon
start to make it come alive again.  He seemed preoccupied since his return
from the mission in the Caribbean.  He spent a couple of days filing
reports, doing the required paperwork, conferring with Brian by phone, and
checking in with Moll about his shoulder.  He kept up with the continuing
work on the case, however she sensed a difference -- he seemed more withdrawn
and thoughtful.  She could only hope that he was on a path that included
her.  Despite her concerns, she sensed that he needed to journey in his
mind for a time on his own.  She worried that Steve was feeling confined
and feared he would leave to return to fieldwork.  The way he lit up when
he was intent on a case made him appear unready to retire.   While
she found it hard to imagine him doing anything else, she was not sure she
could live with seeing him only the occasional weekend. 

Mathew continued to improve.  He
was diligent about doing his exercise routines twice a day.  He still had
a significant limp, which he was determined to reduce.  The biggest change
she noted was his attitude -- he was more cheerful and more focused.  He
was keeping busy, working at a makeshift desk he made out of a table in his
room.  He was so intent on researching the vineyard, that Ivy could
picture him as a formidable FBI agent.

As she opened the door to the garage
to rub off the dogs, she could hear Steve and Mathew talking close by but she
doubted they were in the FBI van that was parked in the garage with an agent on
duty round the clock.  When she stepped back outside and closed the door,
she could no longer hear them.  A sinking feeling came into her
stomach.  She unleashed the corgis, letting them roam again in the
backyard, then exited through the side gate to walk up and enter the house
through the front door.  As Ivy slipped inside, she saw Steve and Mathew
talking in what was now Steve's office.

She put her finger to her lips and motioned
for them to follow her outside.  They stood on the street while she
explained what she had heard.  The deal had been that surveillance was
okay, but no bugs in the house.  She watched Steve’s face harden and
Mathew silently clenched his jaw.  They hurried back to the house, taking
off their shoes and moving quietly.  Steve went into his office, opened
his big briefcase and pulled out a device that Ivy guessed was a bug
detector.  He quickly found a bug in the office where he worked.  Mathew
came out of his room, Ivy’s old master bedroom, with a similar device and
holding up one finger.  They slid around the house, finding four more on
the top floor.  By now Ivy was seething.  They tiptoed downstairs
where they found another four bugs, including one in the bedroom that Steve and
Ivy now shared.  She was more than mad, she was simply livid. 

No longer stealthily, Steve jerked
open the door to the garage.  Mathew and Ivy could hear him yelling at the
agent in the van, telling him to shut down and leave.  The van doors
slammed.  They heard the motor start and then the van backed out. 
The garage door closed.  Steve stormed back in, dialing his cell phone and
demanding to speak to his boss at the FBI. 

He listened for a moment and then he
spoke forcefully into the phone.  "I don't give a damn if he is in a
meeting.  Get him on the phone.  This won't take long."

After a few minutes, Steve bellowed
into the phone.  "What the hell are you doing?  Spying on two
dedicated, experienced agents?   We don't do that to our own. 
Not without reasonable cause.  AND YOU HAVE NO FUCKING CAUSE." 
Steve paused, listened for a moment and then continued in the same angry tone.

"I was very clear about no bugs
in the house.  Expect a letter announcing my retirement in your email box
within the hour."

Steve was silent for a moment then
started hollering again.  "No damn it, I will not cool off.  You
have always been a know-it-all-desk-riding jerk.  I may be pissed off but
I know exactly what I’m saying.  While you are waiting for my letter, take
your little pin head and stick it up your fat ass, where you can't do anyone
any harm."  He clicked the phone off and stood glaring at the
wall.  Mathew stared at Steve with a dawning look of wonder on his face.

"That was eloquent." Ivy spoke
with humor in her voice, wanting to break Steve's angry mood.  Seeing him
so worked up about the bugs made her own annoyance dissipate.

Steve turned the full force of his
glare on her.  Her devilish look reached through his anger and his mouth
began to twitch with amusement.  Suddenly the three of them were laughing
and holding on to each other.  When they finally stopped, Mathew did an
imitation of Steve on the phone and they started laughing all over again. 
Soon Steve was doing imitations of himself.  All those weeks of being
cooped up and all the tension of the last few days, came bubbling out in their
amusement.

When they finally calmed down, Steve
regarded Mathew and Ivy questioningly, "What the hell do we do now?"

Mathew wiped tears of laughter from
the corners of eyes, "First we all make sure we are armed, just in
case.  That includes you, Ivy."

"I have to call the Chief to tell
him I’m retiring before that sanctimonious son of a bitch who calls himself my
boss runs in to tattle on me.  Then I have to write that letter to confirm
my intention to retire."

"Me too," Mathew said and
smiled cryptically at Steve.

"Huh?"

"I have a letter to write to
you.  I'm resigning from the Bureau."

"Mathew, that's a knee-jerk
reaction."

"Steve, I have wanted to leave
for months.  I hung on because you inspire me."

"Take time, think this
over."

"Like you did?"

"Today, that HQ goldbricker I
report to and the bugs he had put in this house were the catalyst.  I have
been in a muddle about my life since I turned 60.  No way do I want only
to see Ivy only now and then.  I've been too damn scared to act, not
seeing what to do with my time."

Mathew and Ivy exchanged a
glance.  She nodded.

"I have a solution for
that," Mathew began a bit tentatively.  "You're going to be my
partner."

"What are you talking
about?"

"We're opening a vineyard. 
We'll be growing grapes for wine and becoming vintners."

"Mathew, we don't know a damn
thing about farming or about wine."

"You're wrong.  We are great
at drinking it."

Steve snorted and shook his head.

"Steve, hear me out.  We're
top-notch researchers.  We learn fast.  We work hard.  We excel
at what we do. You are fit and active and I soon will be again.  I can
finance it with part of my Dad's fortune.  You can take some of the wad
you stashed away over the years and build a house for Ivy on the land."

Steve shook his head again, although
his eyes did light up when Mathew mentioned building a house for Ivy.

"Give it some thought,
Steve.  We can do this.  I'm talking to a major grower and vintner
next week to begin learning the facts.  We can check out land and
vineyards for sale.  Think about it, just think about it."