Orchid Beach (36 page)
“We’re supposed to go straight to the security station,” the driver said.
“Godammnit, stop right here!” she yelled.
The man stopped, and Holly got out of the van with Daisy. “Wait here,” she said.
“You’re going to get us in a lot of trouble,” the driver said.
“I’ll take the responsibility,” Holly replied. “You just wait here.” She ran up the driveway toward the clubhouse, keeping to the grass verge of the roadway, ready to jump into the bushes, if necessary. Ahead, she could see the parking lot, and it was full. A man with an automatic weapon stood guard at a corner of the building; she couldn’t go farther without engaging him, and she couldn’t see into the clubhouse from where she stood. She ran to an oak tree, holstered her weapon and began climbing. “Daisy, stay and guard,” she said to the dog.
Daisy sat down at the base of the tree and stared into the darkness.
Holly stopped when she was twenty feet up. She had a clear view of the dining room, and what she saw appalled her. The huge room was jammed with people in evening dress, dancing to a rock band. This was no staff party, she thought. She climbed back down the tree, dropping the last six feet, then ran back to the van with Daisy and got in. She picked up the radio. “Harry,” she said.
“No transmissions, except as planned,” Harry’s voice said irritably.
“Listen to me,” she said. “Emergency.”
“Go,” Harry replied.
“There’s a huge party going on at building CC. You read me? There must be three hundred people in there, you understand?”
Harry slammed his fist on the table. “Holy shit, we’re in trouble!”
“What is she talking about?” Jackson asked.
“The country club! They’re all at the fucking country club, and our people are going to be hitting empty houses!”
“Can’t you change the orders?”
“I guess I don’t have a choice,” Harry said, looking at the team lists on the table before him. He pressed the transmit button. “Attention all parties,” he said, his voice cracking with tension. “Emergency change of plans. Teams one, two, three, continue as planned and hold your objectives. All other teams—
everybody else
—mass two hundred yards from the clubhouse building. I say again: all other teams except one, two, and three, mass two hundred yards from the clubhouse building and wait for further instructions. Employ maximum concealment possible, maximum concealment. Team four, immediately on securing your objective, penetrate and neutralize security at clubhouse. Use extreme caution and any necessary prejudice. Team four, report when original objective secured.”
“Team four, wilco,” Holly said into the radio. “New assignment, guys,” she said to the other men in the van. “We take out clubhouse security, then go in on Harry’s command.
And remember, a lot of the staff at the clubhouse is going to be packing.”
Harry pressed the transmit button again. “Attention all personnel: clubhouse staff is likely to be armed.”
Holly’s van had reached the darkened village. “About the fourth or fifth building on your right,” she said. “Slow down…stop!” She leapt out of the van and ran through the unlocked front door of the security office. “Daisy! Stay with me!” She followed a hallway and came into a large room with a bank of radios along one wall. A shrill shriek seemed to come from all of them, and a uniformed man was trying to use the telephone.
“Freeze! Police and FBI!” she shouted, and the man stood up, his hands in the air. An agent took the pistol from his belt and started to handcuff him. “Not yet!” Holly commanded. She grabbed the security man by his necktie and dragged him to a large wall map of Palmetto Gardens. “Where does Barney Noble live?” she said.
The man looked at her as if she were insane. “What?” he said.
Someone cuffed him across the back of his head. “Talk to the lady!” the agent said.
“Where does Barney Noble live?” she repeated.
The agent pointed to a house not far from the rear service gate. “Right there,” he said.
“Handcuff him to something, and follow me,” Holly said. She grabbed her radio. “Five,” she said. “Team four to clubhouse.” Then she ran for the van.
H
arry Crisp jumped out of his seat. “There’s five!” he yelled. “We’ve secured all the main objectives, now let’s get over to that clubhouse.” He grabbed a handheld radio, and he and his command people sprinted for their cars.
Holly’s van pulled out of the village. They drove along the perimeter of the golf course.
“Pull over,” Holly commanded. “We go from here on foot.” She got out of the van, put Daisy on a short leash and closed the door quietly. “Now listen,” she said to her men. “This wasn’t part of the plan, so we’re going to have to wing it. Our job is to take out any security people outside the building without alerting anybody inside.” She divided her group into two teams. “Bill, your team goes counter-clockwise, and watch out for the front door; there could be
extra men there. Gag anybody you detain. The rest of you will come with me, clockwise. We’ll meet on the opposite side of the building. I think the kitchen door is over there, and when we get the order to move in, we’ll go through the kitchen. Expect armed resistance at all times. When we get inside, there are going to be more people than we have cuffs or ties for. Cuff the staff first, then the male guests. Cuff the women only if we have ties left. Now, go!”
Holly started up the driveway to the clubhouse at a trot, Daisy moving easily beside her, her men following. Keeping to her right, moving silently through the grass, she came to the pro shop entrance. A man was standing at the door, fumbling with a set of keys. She let him lock it, then she pulled her baton and struck him sharply across the back of the neck with it. He emitted a small grunt and collapsed. One of her men used a plastic tie to secure his hands behind him, gagged him, then they went on their way. They made it nearly to the other end of the building before Holly saw someone else, and he saw her at the same time. She raised her silenced pistol and hissed, “Freeze!” His hand went under his jacket, and she fired once. He flew backward, his pistol striking the side of the clubhouse.
Holly ran up to him. His eyes were open, staring, and his breath was rattling from his body. After a moment, he was still. “First time,” she whispered to herself. “No need to tie or gag him,” she said. She ran on, the tempo of the booming music keeping time with her feet.
She came to the rear corner of the clubhouse and peeked around the corner. Two men in white cooks’ clothing stood beside some garbage cans, smoking, twenty yards from the kitchen door. She dropped Daisy’s leash, stepped out from behind the building and held the pistol out before
her. “Freeze!” she commanded. Her men stepped out, their weapons ready. The two men looked at them: one threw his hands into the air; the other bolted for the kitchen door.
“Daisy!” She pointed at the running man. “Stop and guard!” Daisy took off as if fired from a cannon. Six feet from the kitchen door she sank her teeth into a running leg, dumping the man onto the ground. Then she stood over him, snarling quietly. The man did not move a muscle.
Holly secured the other cook, then went to the man lying on the ground.
“That dog bit me!” the man complained.
“Shut up, or I’ll let her tear your head off!” Holly whispered. She tied and gagged him. When she looked up, the remainder of the team appeared, dragging three men, all tied and gagged.
“All clear,” one of them said.
Holly picked up the radio. “Team four, objective accomplished. At the kitchen door, awaiting further instructions.”
The music was louder than ever. Holly thanked God for it.
Harry heard Holly’s transmissions. “All teams move to clubhouse. Cover all entrances and exits. Wait for my order before entering.” He turned to Jackson. “How much longer before we’re there?”
“Maybe thirty seconds,” Jackson said. “Look, there’s the main gate.”
The van turned in, and, following his map, the driver headed for the country club.
“There it is,” Jackson said, pointing. “All lit up.”
“Jackson, you’re to stay in this van, do you hear me?”
Harry commanded. “You’re unarmed, unofficial, and that armor isn’t enough to protect you. Don’t you get out unless I say so!”
“All right, all right,” Jackson said.
Holly stood at the kitchen door and peeked inside. A dozen cooks and dishwashers were working like beavers inside. She held her radio to her ear.
“Team four,” Harry said. “Take the kitchen, but go no farther. Confirm your objective.”
“Let’s go,” Holly said. She and her team ran into the kitchen, weapons up. Nobody said a word. The cooks and their helpers stood like statues. Suddenly a door swung open, and a uniformed waiter strode in, sweating, carrying a tray of dirty plates.
Holly swung her pistol toward him. “Freeze! Armed man!” she said. An agent stepped forward and yanked the man’s gun from under his arm. “Everybody lie down on the floor,” she commanded, “and maybe you won’t get shot.” She pointed at the door to the dining room. “You two men, over there. Take anybody who comes in.” She raised her radio to her ear and listened. Other teams were reporting that they were in position.
Harry Crisp’s voice rang out. “All teams! Go, Go, Go!”
“Daisy!” Holly yelled, pointing around the room. “Guard!” She looked at the men on the floor. “Anybody moves, the dog will kill him!” She turned to the rest of her team. “All right, let’s go!” As one man, they rushed the dining room door, Holly out front.
A wave of incredibly loud music struck them as they burst into the large room. Holly ran for the bandstand, knocking a guitarist out of the way, and grabbed the microphone. The music trailed off. She could see men in black pouring into the room through every door. “Everybody stand still! Nobody move! Police and FBI! You are all under arrest.” She gazed out over the elegantly dressed, completely astonished crowd, the men in tuxedoes, the women in long, glittering dresses. Then all hell broke loose.
Everybody ran in all directions, trying to get out of the building. Tables were knocked over; people fought with FBI agents; waiters pulled guns; agents shot waiters.
Harry Crisp burst through the main dining room door, appalled at what he saw. “You!” he said to a man standing beside him holding a Mac 10 machine gun. “Take the suppressor off that thing.”
The man did as he was told.
“Now fire a clip into the ceiling!”
The man pointed the weapon up and pulled the trigger. Forty-five-caliber rounds sprayed the ceiling, and the noise was incredible in the enclosed room. Ceiling tiles and glass fell onto the panicked crowd.
Holly yelled into the microphone again. “On the floor! Everybody lie down on the floor!” This time it worked. People—men and women alike—dropped like slain cattle, shielding their heads from falling debris. Only FBI men were left standing.
Hurd Wallace stepped up onto the stage beside Holly. “I guess we’ve got them all,” he said.
“Do you see Barney Noble?” she asked.
“No, and I’ve been looking for him.”
“Then we haven’t got them.”
Harry Crisp stepped up onto the stage and grabbed the microphone from Holly, but she cupped her hand over it.
“Harry, Barney isn’t here; I’m taking my team and going to his house.”
“Go,” Harry said, then he addressed his supine audience. “I am Special Agent Harry Crisp of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. You are all under arrest. You will form a line at the rear of the room and give your names and your passports to the agents who ask for them. Do it now!!!” he yelled.
An agent ran up to the stage. “Holly, your dog won’t let us into the kitchen.”
Holly ran for the kitchen.
Holly and her team were back in the van. “Take your next right,” she said, consulting her map. “It’s the first house on the left. Switch off your lights now, and don’t turn into the driveway.”
The driver did as he was told. The van glided to a halt on the street, a few yards from the driveway.
Holly looked at the house. It was handsomely designed, but not large; no lights were burning. “Everybody out of the van, but don’t slam any doors,” she said. “I think Barney might still be asleep, and I don’t want to wake him until we’re ready.” She led the group up the driveway. Near the front door she stopped them. “There may be an easy way to do this,” she said, taking off her helmet and body armor and slipping out of the FBI jumpsuit.
“What the hell are you doing?” an agent asked.
“I’m going to ring the doorbell,” she said. “If Barney’s in bed, he’ll come down to answer it, and a familiar face will be standing outside.” She took off her gun belt and dropped it, then, with the Beretta in her hand, she went up
the front walk, gesturing to the others to take positions out of sight. She looked through a glass side panel into the house, but the interior was dark. She rang the doorbell and stood, the pistol behind her, and waited for Barney Noble to walk into her hands.
Ham walked around the com center, looking into offices. “We got it clean,” he said to his men. “Let’s check out downstairs.” He ran down the steps, went to the end of the corridor and turned the corner. Before him sat the large steel door with its security features. “I wonder what’s behind that,” he said.
“Whatever it is,” an agent replied, “it’s what we came for. I hope to Christ it’s illegal.”
Harry Crisp’s car arrived at the airfield. Four FBI vehicles were parked on the runway, and agents surrounded the tower. Harry got out of his car and approached them. “How did it go?” he asked.
“Only one man in the tower,” the agent said. “We took it clean.”
“Are there any aircraft here that could take off?”
“A dozen or so, but there are no pilots here.”
“Put their man back in the tower, under guard, and get those vans off the runway. If any aircraft wants to land, let it, and detain everybody aboard. Got that?”
“Yes, sir,” the man said.
