Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1) (19 page)

Steve's thoughts turned back to the
house.  After being cooped up in office buildings all their lives, he
wanted lots of windows on every exterior wall, along with multiple outdoor
spaces with decks and patios.  The windows had to open to catch the fresh
country breezes. 
Sometime if
things went well on the vineyard, Steve would add a narrow indoor lap pool
where he could swim to keep in shape and sometimes skinny-dip with Ivy when the
water would reflect the resplendence of the moonlight or the magic of a rare
snowy night.  He bet the night skies would be expansive and filled with stars
at the farm away from city lights. 

While Ivy would select all the
finishes, Steve wanted to surprise her with the overall design.  What a
delight he was finding it to have a wonderful woman to indulge!  Back when
Mathew told him he had to believe someone was out there for him, Steve had been
skeptical.  Time had proved Mathew right.  Taking those years to find
his personal values again had paid off big time.  Steve was no longer the
desperado that Mathew once called him.

Sometimes he still worried about the Bureau. 
Not having caught Astuto bothered him.  The perp had setup elaborate traps
sacrificing two trained actors to act as his doubles, two expensive yachts and
one cocaine operation.  He continued to worry that the tail they had in
D.C. might show up in Portland like those other thugs had who followed
Ivy.  Weeks went by and no one appeared who seemed out of place. 
Still it was troubling.  As time went on without any incidents, Steve
could feel his vigilance slipping.  He often had to remind Ivy to carry
her roscoe and Mathew had become so absorbed in the vineyard startup that he
was losing his agent's edge.   Could they simply walk away from those
perps?  Was he no longer considered a threat now that he was
retired? 

***

On the last day of February, Ivy was
waiting in the Suburban with the two corgis and watching for Steve and Mathew
to emerge from the title company's offices.  Suddenly the door burst open
and the two men came out, grinning as happily as two boys who had found new
bikes by the Christmas tree, making her glad that she had packed a celebratory
picnic complete with iced champagne.

On that dewy afternoon, they wandered
around their new properties, sampling the picnic, sipping wine and
talking.  Mathew mapped out his plan for the fields of grapes, with trial
plantings to go in as soon as possible.  They paced the fields, talking
about which direction the rows were to go and how to contour the rows to the
land.  On the steeper slopes, they intended to plant grass between the
rows to help with soil retention.  They talked about doing that with all
of the fields, although Mathew wanted to consider certain cover crops, like a
short variety of sunflowers. 

With a fresh bottle of champagne in
hand, Steve led Ivy to the knoll he had chosen for their new house.  She
listened intently to his plan to build it into the bank of the hill.  He
pulled out the sketches of the house and preliminary copies of the
blueprints.  She stared in amazement at the plans.  The back would be
mostly windows facing southwest to catch the sunsets, as well as views of the
Coastal Mountain Range.  The vistas were nothing short of stunning even on
that misty afternoon.  That day the low mountains had lingering snow at
the upper elevations where they ran in a line of curves and sudden sharp
outcroppings, blocking some of the excessively wet and windy weather from the
coast.

Since Ivy had advanced her retirement
date at work and was now a full time retiree, she was looking forward to
working on the vineyard.   They planned to lease a couple of trailers
to live in at Spook Hills until Steve's house was built, although they would
commute on weekends to the Portland house.  Ivy envisioned a peaceful
year, filled with hard work and the satisfaction of having portions of the land
cleared, plowed and planted.   It was exactly what she needed to heal
her overwrought nerves and work the stress out of her body.

The day their first tractor arrived,
Ivy found the two men to be quite comical -- a new sports car would hardly have
been as thrilling to them.  They took turns driving it, playing with the
bucket and using the attached post-hole digger.  Ivy was afraid Steve
would tip the big tractor over as he headed off up the hill grinning in that
boyish way he had.  Thankfully the tractor was well balanced and he made
the round trip without incident.

Spring was passing actively and
happily.  They went to bed each night tired in a good way.  Neighbors
and wine growers stopped by to see what they were doing and offer
suggestions.   Once a week, they visited one of the nearby tasting
rooms to sample the wines, talk to the staff and learn about making
wines.  Mathew also took a few hours each week to visit other growers,
seeking leads on vines, suppliers, methods and approaches.  He was a great
listener and with his genial manner, he quickly made himself welcome. 

Mathew was excited to receive the
first small shipment of potted pinot vines from Sonoma and he was expecting a
second small delivery of bareroot plants from a vineyard in the Burgundy
region.  He was like an anxious parent worrying over those plants, eager
to finish prepping the fields where they would be planted.   While
the soil had been too wet to work completely by tractor, with a combination of
machine and handwork, they managed to do the early planting. 

The night after the vines were
planted, a heavy rain came in around midnight.  Mathew was up and out of
his trailer with a big flashlight, checking to be sure his fledgling vines were
not washing away down the hill.  Steve and Ivy heard him leave his trailer
and pulled on their rain gear to join him.  The first growth on the potted
vines drooped pathetically in their rain-drenched, muddy environment. 
Nevertheless they were clinging tenaciously to the hillside, taking the worst
the rain was giving them.  All three of them were up at first light to
check the vines again.  They had an area eroding down near the bottom of a
field where they needed to improve the drainage, but other than that, the field
and the vines were holding up.  The heavy rains had passed on, leaving
only a characteristic Oregon misting dampness.  For the first time, Mathew
understood the satisfaction of working with live plants, creating an
environment where they could thrive, and then nurturing them through the early
weeks of rooting and growth.

As April progressed, construction
began on the new house.  Steve was bursting with excitement over this new
project.  He had gone from being a man with little to lose to a man who
had a bounty to live for, and yet his sixth sense refused to stay quiet. 
He would be working at the house construction site with the contractor and
suddenly feel eyes on his back.  He would whip around, check the
neighboring hills, look down at the road and scan the land in the valley. 
Once he caught a glint of sun on glass in the distance.  While it was most
likely a passing car going up to a neighbor's house, the glint could have been
light bouncing off a pair of strong binoculars or even a high-powered
riflescope.  His sixth sense had never failed him.  Why was it
sending him danger signals here in their bucolic setting?  Was he turning
into one of those aging ex-agents who sometimes plagued the Bureau with false
reports of some perp hunting them?  He sighed, willing to take neurosis over
the actuality of someone spying on them. 

On Saturday the fourth of May, they
were having a quiet afternoon at the Portland house.  Ivy was in the
kitchen preparing a bone-in pork roast for the oven before prepping a carrot
cake.  Down the hall in the office, Steve and Mathew were batting around
plans for next steps on the vineyard.  From what Ivy could hear, they were
outlining the sequence of fields to be prepared and planted.  True to
their analytical mindsets, they had divided the land into strips laid out on a
blown-up plot map that showed contours and elevations.  Each field was
numbered.  They planned later to rename them by the date, source and
variety planted, such as "2013 French Gamay”.  She could hear them
arguing over whether to include the name of the source vineyard or
grower.  Steve wanted to include it; Mathew wanted the grapes to become
Spook Hills
varieties, since much of the character of their
wines would be attributable to their terroir. 

When Ivy turned to get the flour and
other dry ingredients for the cake out of the pantry, through the glass door to
the big deck, she caught sight of a man dressed in black climbing over the deck
railing.  The deck was elevated on the second story.  He must have
shimmied up one of the posts that held up the deck.  She froze as she
watched him swing his second leg onto the deck.  He turned, saw her and
pulled a gun.  It took all of her survival instincts to force herself into
action.  She grabbed her gun off the counter, dove for the floor, landing hard
against a cabinet, screaming for Steve.

She could hear him pounding down the
hall, yelling for Mathew to cover the stairs.  A shot rang out by the deck
and the door crashed open.  Gunshots sounded from the front of the house;
glass shattered.  Ivy could hear the corgis barking as they raced out to
the kitchen.  Two more shots rang out when Steve flew in.  Ivy heard
a crash in the cozy room.  More shots came from out front and then a car
screeched away.

Mathew raced into the kitchen moving
fast despite the limp from his damaged leg.  Steve ran past Ivy into the
cozy room with blood dripping from his arm. 

"What the hell?"  Ivy
scrambled up, grabbed a dishtowel and ran after Steve to press it on his
wound.  Mathew scooped up her keys, yelling “Corners Better” and flew
downstairs to the garage.  Steve was fumbling with his cell phone
one-handed, then hitting speed dial.

"Retired Agent Steve
Nielsen.  Shooting at 1279 Council Peak Lane.  Call the local
police.  One intruder dead."  He stopped and listened.

"Former Agent Heylen in pursuit
of the other perps.  Get out on Council Crest Drive, Fairway Drive, Vista,
and so on.  Get a fucking chopper in the air if you can.  Yeah, I'll
hold."

He turned and said.  "Ivy,
call Mathew on his cell.  Stay on the line with him no matter what."

"Your arm!"

"Tie the damn towel on and leave
it – it’s only a scratch.  Find out if Mathew saw which way they
went."

Ivy grabbed her cell phone and hit
Mathew’s number on speed dial.  She was shaking so much she doubted she
could have dialed his full number.

"Mathew, have you seen
them?"

"Yeah.  Kind of dumb shits
at driving.  Skidding around so much it slows them down.  Black
Toyota
FJ
Cruiser -- again.  They headed down
Council Crest, and then took that road toward Vista -- I hope they stay away
from Fairmount Drive with all the people who walk and bike there.  Great,
they turned left onto Vista and now, dammit, left again onto Dosch."

Steve grabbed the phone and relayed
messages back and forth until the FBI had them all patched into one line with
the local police connected as well.

"Chopper in the air. 
Portland and Beaverton police setting up roadblocks.  Agents coming
quickly from Portland."

"Confirmed."

"Agent Heylen, are you
armed?"

"Handgun."

"Keep your distance but don't
lose them.  If they go anywhere near ordinary citizens, you may have to
jump in.   Local squad cars are coming as fast as they can behind you
and in front of you.  Once they catch up, they will pass and you are to stand
down.  Understood?  We want you live at five for testimony."

"Got it.  Police car in
sight.  Pulling over."

"Good work agent.  Do not
follow.  Repeat.  Do not follow.  Turn around.  Drive
home.  We have two squad cars heading to your house in case others are
after you or these perps double back."

The squad cars pulled up and Ivy
answered the door cautiously, pulling the two corgis away from the police
officers.  One joined Steve on the phone in the kitchen and three staked
themselves out in the house.  She grabbed leashes for the dogs to keep
them out from underfoot.  FBI agents also arrived. 

Ivy called the head of the
Neighborhood Watch on the landline, briefed her, and asked her to do a call
down of their neighbors, telling them to stay put.  With that done, Ivy
grabbed the first aid kit and assessed how bad the scratch on Steve's arm
was.  While not deep, it was bloody.  After cleaning it up and
bandaging it, she checked on Druid who was awake and safe, watching the action
from his favorite chair.

In a few minutes, Mathew returned,
identified himself to the officers and joined them in the kitchen where Steve
still had his cell on speaker.  The perps made a sharp left turn into a
little neighborhood called Dosch Estates and were winding their way back up
towards Sunset Boulevard.  The police were moving roadblocks into place,
employing a device called an X-Net, which Steve explained to Ivy as having
spikes and fibers to slow the vehicle down by puncturing its tires, then
wrapping around the tires to impede forward motion.

"Chopper overhead.  I'm
going to drop down and try to scare them to a stop."

"Watch it.  These guys are
heavily armed."

They heard bullets hitting the
helicopter.

"Bastards have submachine
guns.  Going back up."

"Approaching Sunset.  Don't
let them go around the X-Net."

"Ah fuck, they flew across Sunset
and skidded onto a narrow neighborhood road heading uphill.  Chopper stick
with them.  Lots of twists and turns ahead." 

"Any outlet?"

"Yeah.  They can drive up to
Fairmont or double back to Sunset or Dosch."

"These guys are fucking
crazy.  Driving these streets way too fast.  They clipped a parked
car and bounced off a curb."

"Stick with them.  We're
getting roadblocks in place and clearing cars and pedestrians out."

"Holy Cow!"

"What?"

"They missed a turn, ploughed
into a garage and went over the edge of a steep drop-off into the woods. 
Holy Shit!  The car exploded.  Those perps aren't going anywhere
now.  Man alive.  It's a fireball."

"Damn," Steve muttered,
"I really wanted those guys apprehended alive and held for questioning.”

They spent the next hour filling in
the police and the FBI agents, giving them background information on who Steve
and Mathew suspected the perps were -- revenge drones from the elusive drug
dealer.  So far no one had reported any pedestrian injuries.  The
police got a contractor to come out to seal up the door to the deck and the
shot-out windows with plywood.  Ivy called the Neighborhood Watch woman again
to give her an update.  Agents guarded the house and a van was now visible
in the driveway near the garage.  Police officers were patrolling the
neighborhood.  Between the two forces, a 24-hour rotation schedule was
established.  Finally technicians wrapped the body of the dead perp in a
white body bag and took it away. 

As evening approached Steve, Mathew
and Ivy with an agent trailing closely behind them, took the dogs out for a
walk.  When they rounded the second curve in the road, Steve began
laughing.

"What on earth are you finding
funny?" Mathew asked crossly.

"I may owe this Harry dog my
life."

"What do you mean?"

"When I ran into the dining room
and stopped to take aim, the perp who came in the back door just got into
position to shoot me.  Luckily as he went to pull the trigger, Harry flew
up and went for his ankle.  It was enough to throw off the perp's
aim.  Who would have thought that fun-loving fur-ball had it in him? 
Cleo was right behind Harry, only I shot the perp before she could get a piece
of him too.  I had no idea that those two corgis would ever do anything
like that."

"They're small, but not
stupid," Ivy said, her voice still shaky.

"I have a whole new respect for
corgis."  He grabbed Harry's leash, pulled him to a stop and bent
down to give him a big hug.  Harry gave him a slurp on the check with his
soft pink tongue.  Steve reached over and cuddled Cleo too when she came
over for her share of the praise.

"That will raise some eyebrows in
my deposition.  Attack corgis to the rescue!  What a pair of little
protectors -- they have some bite behind their bark.  Now I understand,
Ivy, what you meant when you said they had big corgi hearts."

She smiled at him weakly. 
Nightfall was approaching, bringing low, heavy clouds that promised rain,
already beginning as a dense curtain of damp air.  Although it was only
7:00, the early evening was dark as dusk.  She peered worriedly down the
darkening streets that seemed to presage further danger and said.  "I
think we should go back inside; the corgis have finished."

Steve nodded and they turned back.
Once in the house, Ivy returned to prepping their dinner.  Earlier she had
turned off the oven, but now put it back on to let the pork roast finish. 
Working in the kitchen, with its big sets of windows over the decks, made her
feel vulnerable, even though Steve stood at the sink to keep guard.  She
started grating carrots for the cake, hoping that normal activities would
channel her fears into a more positive direction.  Mathew turned on the
outside lights, and then took up a post in the hallway where he could keep
surveillance on the front door and the stairs.  Harry lay by his feet,
ostensibly sleeping, but Ivy could see that his eyes flicked nervously between
the stairwell and the door.  While likely nothing more would happen that
night, they had to act as if they could be under siege again at any moment.

***

Even two weeks later, Ivy was finding
it impossible to sleep other than in fits and starts.   Her nerves,
still not recovered from her stressful work life, were unraveling.  She
kept forgetting what she was doing or where she was going.  Her attention
span disintegrated to where she could no longer read or concentrate on much of
anything.  She would jump at the slightest sound.  Every time she
left the house, it was with Steve or Mathew.  Since they only made day
trips to Spook Hills, the Portland house had become more of a nightly prison
than a relaxing place of comfort and joy. 

A contractor had replaced the shot-up
door and windows and then painted the door and woodwork.  The chair the
gunman fell back on was out to be reupholstered and the rug had been
cleaned.  Even though physically the house was almost back where it was
before that dreadful day earlier in May, those few minutes replayed in Ivy's
nightmares.  She still saw the man as he climbed over the railing. 
She saw him sprawled dead in the cozy room. 

All seemed back to normal, except for
the agents who stayed around the house -- two of them outside on surveillance
24/7 on a rotating basis.  Police squad cars frequently circled the
neighborhood, showing force as well.  Even with the added protection, Ivy
worried about when the next strike would take place.  The FBI focused a
team on tracking down the head of the drug ring with Steve receiving periodic
updates.  They conducted a raid on a Colombian drug shipment site, but so
far Astuto evaded them.

The following week, they started
staying again at Spook Hills to catch up on work on the vineyard and to push
the contractor’s crew to work longer days on the house.  Steve hoped that
the change of scenery would restore Ivy’s peace of mind.  He felt so
guilty for having brought the attack at the Portland house on his beloved
Ivy.  If she had never become involved with him, she would be as feisty,
confident, and radiant as the day that they met.  Now she barely had color
in her face, rarely smiled and jumped at the slightest sound.  He hoped
that with time she would find her way back to herself and to him.  For now
he would comfort and protect her.   

On the fourth night at Spook Hills,
Ivy broke down during dinner, trying to hide her sobbing by retreating to the
bedroom area of their trailer.  Only after a couple of hours, could she
stop crying and shaking.  That night she slept very little and was up
making coffee well before dawn.  Over a breakfast she barely ate, Ivy told
Steve that she had to make a change.  She was jumpier than ever at the
farm -- every sound, every gust of wind, every flash of light made her think
someone was outside, trying to break in.  Going back to the Portland house
with its memories of the intruders was out.

To Ivy, they were so exposed at Spook
Hills.   She could no longer stay there, waiting for the next
attack.  She felt compelled to drop out of sight for a few weeks or
months, mend her shattered nerves and rebuild her inner strength.  Steve
wanted to accompany her but for her own self-respect, she had to heal on her
own.  She suspected that he would have her followed, no matter what they
agreed.