Choppy Water - Stuart Woods Page 0,78

an altitude of two feet and hovered over the highway, while Stone and Tom grabbed their weapons and jumped out.

They were wearing SWAT suits and armor and carrying assault rifles and FBI-issue 9mm Berettas.

“Do you read me?” Tom said over the intercom.

“Loud and clear,” Stone said.

* * *

—

Tom began jogging lightly up the dusty dirt road toward the house. It was a mile or so, and Stone was sweating when they got there. Tom held up a hand, got out his phone, and stuck it under one side of his helmet. He listened for a moment, then ended the call. “Helicopter traffic coming in from the northeast, five miles out.”

“The barn,” Stone said, and the two men trotted over to the building and tried the small door in the big door. It was unlocked, and they stepped inside. There was a single car parked in the barn, an older one.

Tom got on his phone again. “It’s Blake; backup requested, suggest you land a mile off and come up the road. It’ll be dark when you get here.” He got an acknowledgment, then hung up. “We’ll just roost here until the cavalry arrives,” he said.

They watched through a crack as a helicopter set down in the large parking area. Two men and a woman hopped out and walked toward the house; the chopper sat, idling.

“Elizabeth is alive,” Tom said. “This is obviously a short stop for them, so we may have to go to it before our people join us. There are only three of them, after all, and one of them is ours.”

“Whenever you say,” Stone said.

Lights began to come on in the house.

* * *

—

In my study,” Sykes said. “The safe is in there.”

“What’s in the safe?” Hardy asked.

“Everything: rosters, safe houses; a law enforcement wet dream.” He moved toward the safe and tapped in a digital code. A spin of the wheel, and it was open.

“Hand me that cardboard box, Bess,” he said.

Bess had a hand under her blouse, when Les Hardy stepped in and grabbed her wrist. “Is there a weapon in there?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Why would you need a weapon here?”

“I thought I heard something, like a distant chopper,” she said.

Sykes walked over to her, ripped her blouse open, and removed the pistol.

“No chopper sounds,” Hardy said.

* * *

—

Stone and Tom left the barn through a rear door and walked to another building, trying to keep the helicopter pilot’s back to them. Tom ducked under the rotor, edged his way up the side of the aircraft, yanked open the pilot’s door, and stuck his pistol inside. “Freeze,” he said. “Chop power now.”

The pilot reached out, pulled the throttle to off, and flipped a couple of switches. The panel lights went off and the engine wound down. Tom unfastened the pilot’s harness, pulled him from the chopper, and put him on the ground. A moment later he was handcuffed to the frame of the machine.

“Those in the house would have heard the engine die,” Stone said. “This is going to get harder now.”

“I know,” Tom said. “Judgment call.”

Stone racked the slide of his rifle, pumping a round into the chamber.

* * *

—

You’re a big disappoint to me, Bess,” Sykes said. “I gave you chance after chance to gain my confidence, but you never quite made it.” He put the pistol to her head and thumbed back the hammer. “Stand back, Les. You don’t want to get all bloody.”

The senator backed up a step or two, but not far enough.

A gun fired, and Sykes spun around as he took the bullet in the head. Hardy was spattered.

“You hold it right there,” a deep voice said.

“You’re not going to get an argument from me,” Hardy said.

Elroy, the cook, stepped forward, relieved Hardy of his weapon, and put him on the floor, then he turned to Bess. “Do you remember how to handcuff somebody?” he asked, holding out a pair of cuffs.

“It’ll come back to me,” she said, accepting them. “And by the way, thank you for shooting Sykes. I was going to do it myself, but that didn’t work out.” She handcuffed the senator.

“It was my pleasure,” Elroy said.

“Everybody freeze!” a man shouted.

“Tom, is that you?” Bess said.

“It’s me and Stone Barrington. Backup is on the way.”

“You won’t need it, there’s just the two of us,” Bess said. She pointed. “All that paper over there is everything you always wanted to know about Sykes and his coconspirators.

“And, gentlemen, meet Elroy Hubbard.”

“It’s Leroy Collins,” Elroy said. “CIA.”

“Lance Cabot sends his regards,”