The Chase (8 page)

She spent the next hour reading her magazine. She swam a few laps, then Nick strolled out of the lobby and came down to the pool just as Kate pulled herself out of the water.

“That was quick,” Kate said. “You hired an entire film crew already?”

“One-stop shopping. I hired a local production company that shoots cheap commercials for car dealerships, restaurants, that kind of thing. They jumped at the chance to work on a network TV show. They’re on standby until we hear from Carter.”

Kate grabbed her towel. “We already have.”

“I take it you’re referring to G.I. Joe across the way and the bikini model.”

“Our rooms have probably been searched and bugged,” Kate said. “I hope you don’t talk in your sleep.”

Nick’s cell phone rang. He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out the phone, and answered it. “Jim Rockford.” He listened for a moment, then smiled. “Excellent. Have a pleasant flight. We’ll see you tomorrow.” He ended the call.

“Boyd?” she asked.

Nick nodded. “We’re on. Carter Grove will see us at nine
A.M.
tomorrow.”

• • •

Kate awoke shortly after sunrise, changed into a tank top and running shorts, and took off on a jog down the deserted beach. The sky was clear, cloudless, and bright blue. Water birds scurried out of her way into the surf. Brown pelicans dive-bombed into the water for their breakfasts while gulls swirled around them, hoping to snag some table scraps.

About a hundred yards ahead, Bullet Belly emerged from one of the access roads and paused on the beach to do some warm-up exercises. It was a clumsy tail, she thought, but justifiably so. It wasn’t easy following someone on an empty beach, and they believed they were dealing with a civilian, somebody who wouldn’t notice sloppy surveillance. Before Kate reached him, the guy started running ahead of her, keeping a good distance between them. She assumed, without looking back, that there was somebody behind her by now, too.

She maintained a steady, even pace and was barely winded as she climbed the steps to the old wooden pier. There were already quite a few fishermen along the wood rails. Kate knew that her dad would be one of them.

Kate walked to the end of the pier. She stopped in front of a guy wearing a Lakers ball cap and a ratty gray sweatshirt.

“Nice hat,” Kate said.

“Gotta support the home team.”

“We’re meeting Carter Grove today,” Kate said. “So the job will be tomorrow.”

“I’ll be ready,” Jake O’Hare said. “Does Nick know I’m here?”

“I told him last night.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said he would have been disappointed if you didn’t find a way to hog some of the action.”

Well he got that right, Jake thought. No way was he going to be left out of a mission like this. There’d been too many times when Kate was a kid that he’d missed parent-teacher meetings, school plays, birthday parties, and God knows what else because he’d been on a black op in Burma or a slash-and-burn in Pakistan. He figured the least he could do now was cover her back. Not to mention: Retirement was killing him.

The wrought-iron gates at Carter Grove’s estate opened onto a large cobblestone motor court where a silver Lamborghini Aventador, a gold Bentley Continental Supersports convertible, and a white Mercedes-Benz SLS AMG were carefully staged around a huge marble fountain. Kate parked her rented Taurus beside the gleaming Lamborghini.

“Careful not to ding the Lambo,” Nick said, his eye on a security guard who stood on the lawn with a leashed Doberman at his side. “Or they might sic the dogs on us.”

“I’m surprised they even let us park in the driveway in this heap,” Kate said. “What will the neighbors say?”

“That the gardener has arrived.”

Nick got out of the Taurus, and his entire body language changed as he slipped instantly into character. There was a swagger to his walk that reminded Kate of John Travolta in
Saturday Night Fever
.

“I can see it now,” Nick said. “We begin with a high crane shot over the property. The camera swoops down over the motor court, past the fountain and the cars, and settles on the front doors. And there he is.”

As if on cue, the tall, elaborately carved front doors opened and Carter Grove strode out like a talk show host greeting his adoring audience. His assistant, Veronica Dell, came out two steps behind him in a low-cut, body-hugging sleeveless bandage dress.

“Welcome to Château du Roi,” Carter said.

Of course
the house had a name, Kate thought, and one about as subtle as the three cars out front. Castle of the King. She decided to name her apartment something classy when she got back to L.A. Her place overlooked a gas station, so maybe Château du Chevronview.

“Castle of the King,” Nick said. “It looks like it will live up to its name.”

“You must be Jim,” Carter said, shaking Nick’s hand. “You’ve come a long way from producing local news in Toledo.”

Nick nodded. “You’ve been checking up on me.”

Kate offered her hand to Carter. “I’m Lucy Carmichael.”

Carter gave her hand a gentle squeeze and looked her in the eye. “You’re as beautiful today as you were when you were crowned Fresno’s Junior Miss Avocado in 1998.”

“Now you’re just showing off,” Kate said with a smile.

“Guilty as charged,” Carter said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I have to screen everybody who comes into my house. You can’t be a former right-hand man to the president and run the world’s leading private security firm without making enemies. Do you have a list of crew members for me?”

Kate handed him a sheet of paper. “The crew is all local except for our unit production manager and our new host.”

Carter passed the paper on to Veronica, who went back into the house. “That should make the background checks fast and easy. Well, now that we’ve got that settled, are you ready for the grand tour?”

“Absolutely,” Nick said.

Carter led them into a two-story circular foyer ringed with a pair of sweeping staircases that dramatically framed the spectacular view of the ocean through the living room windows. Kate could see a thirty-foot center console fishing boat anchored off the shoreline. If she’d had binoculars, she would have seen her father and his old army buddy José Rodarte on deck, drinking beers and watching their lines for bites.

“This entryway is inspired by the Grand Salon of Vaux-le-Vicomte,” Carter said. “The stained glass skylight in the dome depicts Apollo, Bacchus, Venus, and Mercury looking down upon the Earth from the heavens.”

Kate looked up at the skylight and was surprised to see that Carter hadn’t included himself among the gods in stained glass.

“Impressive,” Nick said. “Do you mind if I do some preliminary filming with my iPhone?”

Carter smiled. “Not at all, but I’ll have you killed if you show it to anyone without my permission.”

“A sense of humor!” Nick said. “I like that.”

“No,” Carter said. “I really
will
have you killed.”

He led Kate and Nick down a corridor into what he called his “game room.” It was in fact a full-scale casino packed with dozens of vintage slot machines.

“I needed a place to show off my collection of slots from the fifties and early sixties, so I re-created the Sands Hotel and Casino as it was when Frank, Dean, Sammy, and the rest of the Rat Pack hung out there,” Carter said. “There’s fifty thousand dollars in coins in these machines.”

“This is fun,” Nick said. “All that’s missing is cigarette smoke and the cocktail waitresses.”

“And a gaming license,” Carter said. “I’m the only one who gets to play in here. I can do it for hours. It relaxes me.”

“How often do you win?” Kate asked.

“Even in this casino the odds favor the house. Luckily, the house is also me, or I wouldn’t play.”

Kate had a feeling that was his approach to everything. If things weren’t rigged in his favor, he didn’t participate.

Carter took them through his library, his wine cellar, his ultramodern kitchen, and then turned onto another corridor. He stopped in front of a thick, weather-beaten old door that had clearly battled the elements somewhere for decades and survived.

“This is one of my favorite rooms in the house,” he said.

He grabbed the big iron handle and opened the heavy door, the large hinges creaking from the strain. Nick and Kate stepped past him and walked into an old pub. The walls were mottled brick framed by dark, elaborately carved paneling that was chipped and faded from age. The hardwood floors were scratched, stained, and worn smooth by years of use. The bar was made of thick, honey-colored wood and trimmed with brass. The barstools and booths were upholstered in scratched red leather.

“This was a pub I visited in London. I liked it so much that I bought it, had it dismantled brick by brick, and reconstructed it here,” Carter said. “Everything is original. Nothing is replicated.”

“I love the original brick,” Nick said. “I’ve seen houses where they’d attempted to reproduce this look, but it’s never as beautiful.”

“We’ve taken great pains to keep it pure,” Carter said. “We didn’t clean the walls, floor, or countertops beyond a simple wipe-down with a wet rag or mop. I believe the buildup of smoke, spillage, spit, and grime over the years is an essential part of a pub’s character. This looks, feels, and smells real because it is.”

Kate thought the whole idea was weird. She liked McDonald’s, but she wouldn’t want to take one apart, dirty floors and all, and reassemble it in her apartment.

Down the hall from the pub was Carter’s home theater. The entrance was the exterior of an old movie house, with T
HE
M
AJESTIC
written in neon above a lighted marquee and a stand-alone ticket booth. Beyond the glass lobby doors Kate could see a concession stand with a full-size popcorn machine, hot dog warmer, soft drink dispenser, and a display case full of candy.

“This is the Majestic Theater from my hometown of Bigleton, Indiana,” Carter said. “This is where I went to watch movies when I was a kid. It closed down years ago and fell into disrepair. So I salvaged what I could and brought it here. Only the marquee, ticket booth, and lobby concession stand are from the original Majestic. The screening room is much smaller and outfitted with the latest advances in digital projection and sound technology.”

Nick raised his iPhone to the marquee and panned down to the ticket booth. “What if we put the title of our series up there in lights and then panned down to you in the ticket booth, inviting the viewer to watch? That would make a kick-ass teaser for the episode.”

“I like it,” Carter said, leading them through the lobby and into the theater.

Art Deco sconces lighted the walnut-paneled room. There were three rows of seats, each with four custom leather recliners facing an eight-by-eighteen-foot screen.

“This room is couch potato heaven,” Kate said. “Every man in America is going to envy you.”

This got a smile from Carter, since it was exactly what he wanted to hear.

He went on to show them his six bedrooms and eight bathrooms. Then he showed them his home security center, a small, windowless room on the first floor manned by a black-suited BlackRhino operative. The operative sat in front of a bank of monitors that displayed video feeds from all the security cameras.

“A lizard can’t step on my property without me knowing about it,” Carter said.

Carter ended the tour by taking them outside and showing them his pool area, a tropical paradise of waterfalls, lazy streams, and grottoes.

“Paradise,” Nick said. “I don’t know how we’re ever going to top this house in future episodes.”

“Somebody had to set the bar,” Carter said. “So what’s the next step?”

“Today we’ll prelight the rooms we intend to shoot and do some camera tests. That way, all you have to do tomorrow is give our host and our cameramen the same tour you just gave us.”

“Sounds good to me,” Carter said. “Veronica will give you a call once your crew has been cleared. It shouldn’t take more than a couple hours.”

“I didn’t see the rooster,” Kate said as they drove off, heading for the airport to pick up Boyd. “Not that I expected to. How are we going to find it?”

They came to a stop at an intersection and Nick showed her a photo on his iPhone. It was one of the walls of the home theater.

“I think this is a secret door leading to a secret room,” Nick said. “There are two security cameras aimed at it. Why else would he want to watch a blank wall?”

“Even if it
is
a door, and we are able to get inside the room, how do we avoid setting off all the alarms?”

“They’ll be turned off. He can’t have the alarms on with a film crew walking through the house all day.”

“But the crew won’t be going into the secret room.”

“There probably aren’t any alarms in there,” Nick said.

“Probably?”

“I’m ninety-eight percent sure.”

“It’s where all his treasures are hidden. Why wouldn’t the room be protected with all of his security measures?”

“Because to get there, a thief would have to get past his fence, his armed guards, his vicious dogs, infrared beams, heat sensors, pressure pads, motion detectors, surveillance cameras, and whatever else he’s got in the house. I’m sure Carter doesn’t think that’s possible. But even if someone could surmount those obstacles, he’s got the wall, his secret doorway to the secret room, under constant surveillance. So why go the extra step of rigging the secret room itself with security measures?”