Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1) (25 page)

"Even his brothers?'  Mathew
asked doubtfully.

"Maybe they are all really smart,
but grew up poor, took to the streets at a young age, started small time drug
dealing.  The rough life could have bound them together closer than family
ties alone."

"But they protected the brother,
except that one time when some awful thing happened," Steve said,
supporting Ivy's theory.

"Let's also suppose the kid
educated himself and began planning how to have the good life.  Perhaps he
became reclusive to the point of never going out . . . what's that
syndrome?"

"Agoraphobia."  Mathew
interjected, "From the Greek word
ageirein
,
meaning 'to gather' and
phobos
meaning
'fear'.”

"That would mean his source of information
was the TV, except what his brothers might tell him and today what he accesses
on the Internet."

As he warmed up to the idea, Mathew
appraised Ivy admiringly, "He's sounding more like he grew up in the
States, but everything points to Colombia."

"Exactly -- as if he watched drug
crime scenes on American TV," Steve said.

Ivy shook her head.  "Sorry
guys.  Too far-fetched.  Let's drop it."

"Keep going," Steve said
intrigued.  "We're up against a brick wall on this case.  This
is a fresh perspective and it fits -- it explains certain aspects that have
been bugging me.  With every encounter with these perps, I sensed a
familiarity about it.  Things too clean.  Too organized."

"Like a stage set?" asked
Mathew. 

Steve nodded, pushing back a little in
his chair as their entrees arrived.

"This theory would also explain
how the wire transfers were initiated -- one guy in a back office handling the
money, while the others are out managing the revenue-producing drug
operations."  Mathew said between forkfuls of elk and potatoes.

"Twins -- that's why one guy in
the photograph has a scar and one doesn't," Steve said.

The restaurant had emptied while they
had been talking quietly at their corner table.  Their places were cleared
and dessert was coming out -- Ivy's was something prettily described as
Hazelnut Crunchy
Ciococolatta
.   They
waited for their server to move to the back of the restaurant before
continuing. 

"We'll need access to local
police records and newspapers in a wide variety of areas for a 10 year period
-- five years on either side of our guessed age of 45 for this
perp."  Steve commented, as he took a big forkful of his dessert.

"Hey, you're not serious about
this theory, are you?"  Ivy asked looking from Steve to Mathew.

"I agree with Steve.  We
need a fresh start," Mathew said.  "If we can get access to the
records, why not?  I bet it will be a big city with a large Spanish
population, like Miami." 

Steve tapped the table with his
forefinger the way he did when an idea was percolating and he wanted
action.  "If we had access to the Bureau experts, we could see if
they can figure out their genetic heritage.  They don't have that typical
Colombian appearance.  They are only a little swarthy, blue-eyed and tall. 
They look Spanish -- not like they have much in the way of genes from
indigenous peoples, at least based on the actor or actors we shot."

"At least one may not have been
an actor," Mathew said, thoughtfully.  "Can we get a genetic
test run on the perp killed in Mexico City and the actor from that ship in
Manzanillo?"  

"We'd have to get the Bureau to
order the body exhumed.  Families hate that.  All we may find is that
they don't match."  He smiled over at Ivy.  "You are now an
honorary agent.  Our thinking was stymied -- all the pieces were in front
of us, but we weren't seeing how they might fit together.  This theory
fits the unexplained aspects of the case that have been niggling at my
subconscious.  We may find the truth to be quite different, but I like
this new direction."

Now Ivy better understood the effect
praise from Steve had on his teams of agents.  Pleasing him professionally
and not only personally felt like a real achievement.  Noticing the way
his eyes had begun to shine reminded her how alive he became from the
excitement of the hunt.

Upon their return to Spook Hills the
next morning, the now former Director of the FBI called Steve.  Since the
shooting, he had been checking in with Steve every week on their healing
process.  They were walking around the outside of the house, admiring the
paths, walls and patios that had been finished while they were in
Portland.  Ivy could envision wide planters with silvery lamium, the fuzzy
gray foliage of lamb's ears, trailing flowers of verbena, white Johnny Jump Up
pansies and geraniums in various shades of pink all growing around trimmed
boxwoods.  Pots of herbs would grow happily in the sunshine on the back
garden patio.  Here and there, Mathew left a half cobblestone out of the
patio so that Ivy could dig down and plant a small ground plant, like thyme or
Irish moss or maybe Corsican mint.  Most of these plants could go in this
fall to form their root systems over the winter and be flowering by spring.

They stopped and Steve put the call on
speaker, letting the phone rest on the waist-high wall.  While the two men
talked to the former director, Ivy wandered off to check out the stone pathway
to the lower level, staying close enough to catch the drift of the conversation. 
The Chief had just stepped down, but he indicated that he was serving in a
consulting capacity during the transition and had specific responsibility for
few issues -- one of which was apprehending Astuto and another was to determine
if the Bureau and/or the DEA had one or more moles.  His call was the
perfect time to talk over their new theory with him.  While he was unsure
which current FBI
HBOs
, senior agents and staff could
be trusted, he wanted to deputize Steve and Mathew as consultants to him for
the investigations.   The Chief promised it would be a desk job only
with no fieldwork.  He would use SWAT teams for that.  Steve signaled
for Ivy to join them.

They would have no real peace until
the FBI had taken Astuto into custody or killed him.  As long as it was a
desk job only, Ivy could support the work.  She nodded her
agreement.  Steve explained their hunch that they were in search of an
incident in a U.S. city, involving a teenage or maybe preteen boy from a family
with a set of identical twin brothers.  The Chief agreed to open channels
for them to search for old cases in likely neighborhoods in the United
States.  Records would vary, depending on how rural the locale was. 
If their guess was right, they could narrow the years to about a 10-year
period. 

Steve indicated he would want to add a
few other former agents or others as consultants.  While the Chief did not
exactly give him a blank check, they could tell he was not against expanding
the operation, knowing that Steve kept his team sizes on the conservative
side.  They discussed ideas about the possible mole or moles at the
Bureau, which was of the utmost concern to the incoming Director, and their
suspicion that a link existed between the mole and Astuto.  Steve was
instructed to set up a consulting group that fronted as a surveillance company
in the D.C. area and to submit all invoices through that company to generate
less attention.  They also agreed to use alternative names for anyone
working on the case to disguise their identities. 

Ivy's stomach clenched during this
discussion.  Nevertheless she was determined to be part of the consulting
team.  Like it or not, they were back in the FBI's business, as if Steve
and Mathew had never really left.  As long as Astuto or perhaps this unholy
trinity of three brothers was out there, they never would be free.  Ivy
had qualms about the work and she expected to have some sleepless nights, but
the weeks of travel reconciled her to this life, and the additional weeks of
recovery from the shooting had steadied her nerves.  While the shooting
itself might have put her into another tailspin, instead it strengthened her
resolve to be with Steve.  She loved him and she needed to assist him in
whatever ways she could.

 Steve and Mathew could teach her
how to perform the necessary online research.   In addition, she
would handle the mechanics of time collection, billing, and record
keeping.  She would now be part of their conversations.  She only
hoped that when the pressure came back on, Steve would not hide information,
thinking that would protect her.

Steve sat back in his chair, shifting
his weight off the still-tender left side where the bullet had passed through
his derriere.  They had turned the main bay of Mathew's barn into an office. 
The old barn had big sliding doors on either side that the carpenters had
repaired and set on new, modern tracks.  On most days, they left the doors
open to catch the breezes in the afternoon.  Even with the chilly morning
air, they had pleasant working conditions with views of the coastal range on
one side and the drive up to their houses on the other. 

While the new approach they had from
Ivy was pure conjecture, it felt right to Steve and when he got that feeling,
he had learned to trust it.  The research was tedious -- the type of thing
he would put newer agents on, but the Bureau had taught him that you did
whatever it took to catch the perps.  They were concentrating first on
larger cities with significant Hispanic populations, breaking up the search
geographically, with Mathew and Steve taking Florida, which had the largest
concentrations of Cubans and was where Steve suspected the brothers would
be.  Ivy took New York and Brian and Moll were splitting up the western
states.  Unfortunately only some of the archives from 20 years ago were
available online.  The work was slow going. 

Steve shifted in his chair
again.  Sometimes he worked standing up, moving his laptop onto a big box
on his table, so he could use the keyboard and thumbpad without bending
over.  He gazed at Ivy.  She was as intense as a fox after prey when
it came to research.  She would get going on something and the whole world
around her seemed to disappear.  Steve could see that she would have made
a great agent, perhaps even giving him stiff competition. 

Steve liked to watch Ivy at
work.  He loved to watch her anyway, but this intensity about her was new
to him.  Every day when they kissed good morning, he was so grateful that
she returned and that she survived that dreadful shooting.  She had a
vengeance now that Steve suspected was not previously in her nature.  He
could only hope that after they caught Astuto, her frequent smiles and laughter
would return. 

She was such a gift to him.  He
brought so much danger to her that the rest of his life might not be time
enough to make it right.  He owed her his vigilance and so much
more.  She was making him more whole than he had ever been, leading him to
open doors and rooms within himself that he had never known existed.  When
this case was over, he would make her life with him as perfect as it could
be.  While in Portland, he bought their wedding bands to compliment her
engagement ring, and he purchased a gold bracelet with a heart of rubies
embedded on top as a wedding present.  Steve wondered if Ivy had given any
thought to their wedding.  His guess was that she had it all planned in
her head.

He gazed out the barn door.  The
tree company they hired was starting the removal of the walnut trees on his
property.  Walnuts produce a toxin called juglone that will kill grape
vines, so the sooner the project was finished, the better.  Nevertheless
Steve hated to see the old trees go.  They agreed to keep a few healthy
walnuts in a mini-grove at the top of the hill and have them pruned and
treated.  They would then surround them with a three-strip buffer -- sweet
woodruff that is juglone-tolerant, and then grass to picnic on and then
lavender.   Ivy told him that the sweet woodruff would become a
circle of white lace when it bloomed in the springtime. 

When Mathew first suggested this whole
vineyard business, Steve thought he would find it dull and unchallenging. 
However the more they delved into it, the more they found they had to
learn.  Instead of sitting around bored as he expected, Steve found
himself drawn into it.  Wine was such an intriguing combination of
feminine and masculine aspects -- the delicacy of its bouquet had nuances
absorbed from the terroir juxtaposed to the masculinity of the vines and
barrels.   The flavor of the grapes can improve as the vines aged
becoming more knobby.  Steve found it to be like Ivy and him -- as they
aged, she softly mellowed and he grew gnarlier.

Every time he thought about Astuto’s
men going after Ivy, his resolve was renewed to see him, or theoretically them,
brought to justice.  First it had been an FBI money laundering case, then
pursuit of a perp who had outwitted him, but since Ivy took a bullet, Steve's
resolve to exact revenge was as fierce as that of his legendary Viking ancestors. 

***

On the second Wednesday of October,
Mathew drove Ivy and Steve up to Portland to pick out backsplash tiles for the
kitchen and to select the lighting fixtures, drawer pulls, cabinet knobs and
other doo-dads for the house.  Ivy had a good idea what she wanted; Steve
tallied what they ordered into an electronic list.

They went to three shops on the east
side of town before moving over to the west side.   Steve wandered
off and selected, piece by piece, a box of luscious chocolate truffles at Moonstruck
Chocolates.  He then ordered three cayenne-spiked Hot Chocolates that he
brought back to Mathew and Ivy who were engrossed in choosing a pot rack at
Williams-Sonoma.  Since it was after five before they finished, they
picked up a couple of gourmet pizzas and salads at the nearby Pizzicato and
left for Spook Hills.  Both Steve and Ivy nodded off on the drive back,
proving that the day of shopping was more tiring than a workday.

After eating dinner, Mathew strolled
up to the house to check on progress.  The deliveries of the kitchen
cabinets and appliances were scheduled for the next day and he wanted to be
sure that they had room to store them.  Fred was still at work going over
the newly installed hardwood floors in the living and dining rooms with a big
buffer mop.  He jumped when he heard Mathew's voice, put the mop aside and
walked over nervously.  "Glad you back, bossman," Fred
said.  He always called Mathew 'bossman', in the same way he called Steve
'the big boss', but this time he said it without his usual broad smile of
greeting.

"What's up Fred?" 
Mathew noticed that he was so jumpy that he could barely stand still. 

"Something bad.  New
field."

Mathew's heart sank into his
stomach.  Were those white burgundy bareroot grapes they planted sickly? 
He asked, but Fred silently motioned him outside.  They walked down the
hill to where the grapevines were catching the last rays of sunshine.  The
young vines had every appearance of good health.

"What is it, Fred?"

He dug the toe of his boot into the soil. 
Mathew waited.

"They came."

"Who came?"

"The bad hombres.  They say
they kill my family, then me."

Mathew sucked in his breath, held it
and then blew it out heavily to dispel the surge of anger that threatened his
normally cool demeanor.  Fred was such a great kid and now he was in
danger and worse, so was his family.  "Let's walk and check the
vines, like we have something here to be concerned about.  We'll talk as
we go.  Try to act normal, in case they are somehow watching.  What
did you do?"

"Said I think about it."

"And?"

"Jesus, man.  They put a gun
to my head.  Almost pissed myself.  I was alone here."

"We left an agent.  Where
was he?"

"Went for some lunch in
town.  Told me to stay inside."

 That negligent agent had to
go.  After another deep inhale and exhale, Mathew bent down to examine one
of the plants, dug a bit in the soil and then motioned Fred down.

"And you agreed to work with the
bad hombres?"

"I nodded at them.  They
punched me in the gut a few times, like for the joy of it."

"Americans?"  Mathew
asked, standing back up and walking.

He shook his head.  "Spoke
Spanish, but not my Mexicali Spanish."

Mathew nodded and bent down by another
plant.  "Would you recognize them if you saw them again?"

"Si. Them I no forget."

Mathew regarded him
sympathetically.  "What do they want you to do?"

"Report you guys.  Tell them
when you all gone again.  Gave me a special cell phone."

"Where is it?"

He nodded up at the house. 
"Afraid it transmit, like on its own."

Fred was proving himself to be both
cautious and loyal.  Mathew started rooting around in the ground. 
Fred joined him.  The soil held warmth from the afternoon sun, making it
feel comforting between his fingers.  Mathew thought fiercely -- my vines,
my land, and my soil -- that fucking perp will not take this away from
me.  He felt as protective as the homesteader who first settled this
land. 

"My family?" Fred asked
worriedly.

"Let's wake up Steve.  We'll
get FBI coverage for your family or maybe have them relocate somewhere. 
Why didn't you call me?"

"Afraid the phone, you know,
bugged."

They checked a few more plants, and
then walked back up to Steve's trailer.  Mathew had to knock repeatedly
before Steve came to the door.  Apparently he and Ivy had resumed their
nap.  Steve was barely awake standing there in his crooked boxers.

"Get dressed.  Bring
Ivy."

He went to speak but Mathew shook his
head.  Once Steve and Ivy stumbled out of the trailer, both armed and with
their protective vests on, the four of them walked back down to the field,
where they continued the random examination of the plants and soil as their
cover, while repeating the conversation Mathew had with Fred.

"Fucking bastards," Steve
said.  Ivy nodded agreement.

"We need different agents here. 
Set up a rotation with agents out of various offices.  That agent never
should have left Fred alone.  Maybe he's dirty or has been threatened
too.”

"Or just stupid." 

"My family?"  Fred
asked.  "I got you guys, but they have nobody.  Since he drink,
my papá, he not the best, but Mama and my little sister -- how we help
them?"

"They all need protection. 
They could come here," Ivy suggested.  "Or would that put them
in more danger?"

Steve was weighing the options. 
"More dangerous all clustered together.  The Portland house is out,
as it is a made location.  We’ll get a couple of agents out to their house
and hold it at that.  Fred, you will need to go over there tomorrow and
explain the situation.  Mathew, see if Brian and Moll can do a stakeout
tonight outside Fred's parents' place."

"Maybe they go back to Mexico to
stay with family?"  Fred asked.  He always said Mexico like the
native he was, although most of the time, he tried very hard to speak English
as Americans spoke it.  However when he was scared, his English became
more choppy.

"Perp operates in Mexico. 
Too hard to cover them down there," Mathew observed.

Ivy said firmly, "Secure their
place for your Mom and sister.  Your Dad goes into rehab."

"He no go.  We try."

Steve looked grim.  "He'll
go."

Fred said wistfully, "He was
great papá.  Taught me stuff.  Good with knives.  Then he drink,
drink,
drink
.  Go loco."

Steve lifted an eyebrow at the knife
comment.  "What about knives?"

Fred gave a half smile and made a
flipping motion with his right hand.  "Throwing.  He taught
me."

"You carry one?"

"Yeah, switch blade.  I'm a,
what you say?  Pig-Squeaker?"

"Pip-Squeak," Ivy said.

"Si," Fred said, laughing at
himself.  "Pip-Squeak.  Why you guys so good to me?  I'm
nobody."

Steve regarded Fred with a friendly
smile.  "You're somebody to us.  Somebody pretty darn
special.  Your loyalty is a gift."

Fred's eyes filled with tears and he
quickly knelt down by a vine.  The light was fading and they were about to
lose their reason for being out in the field. 

"From now on, you sleep in
Mathew's trailer.  Bedroll tonight.  We'll get a sleeping bag and mat
tomorrow.  We'll also order a protective vest for you and a couple of more
knives, along with a shoulder harness and a leg strap -- always good to have
extra fire power, or knife power in this case."

Ivy regarded Steve with surprise.

"We’ll set up a target in the
barn for him to hone his skill with a knife.  Might come in handy. 
Let's go in.  We're beat and we have to get up early to call the
Chief." 

They started walking uphill back to
the trailers.  Mathew dialed Brian on his cell while they walked. 
The evening air shifted softly around them, but the gathering gloom and this
latest threat made the night ominous.  Mathew so wanted to be able to walk
out among his vines without worrying about somebody opening fire.  He
wanted peace and a place to belong. 

"Oh, and Fred," Steve said,
turning to look him in the eye.  "You will report to those rats, as
if you are cooperating."

Fred gazed worriedly from Steve to Mathew,
who nodded somberly at him.  Fred thought for a moment and then made a
little walking motion with his fingers, followed by a quick snap together of
his hands.