Iron Orchid

by Stuart Woods

  “I hope you’re right,” the majority leader said.

  Will spoke up again. “Another reason for this meeting is to offer you all additional security, should you feel you need it. I’m prepared to go back to the security level we maintained before Fay was thought dead, if that’s what you want.”

  “The previous security level didn’t help the previous speaker much,” the speaker of the house said.

  “What would you like me to do, Mr. Speaker? Call out the National Guard?”

  The group emitted a low chuckle.

  “It occurred to me,” the president said, “that some or all of you might feel that the appearance of additional security might be noticed and difficult to explain.”

  “It wouldn’t be difficult to explain if you announced that Fay was still alive,” the speaker said.

  “You’ve already heard the disadvantages of that,” Will replied. “However, if it’s the sense of this meeting that it is preferable to announce Fay’s resurrection, I’ll do so this morning. You can all come with me to the White House press room right now, and we’ll do it together. I’m sure the FBI will find a way to handle the resulting phone traffic.”

  Nobody said anything for a long moment.

  “No,” the speaker said, finally. “Perhaps it’s better to follow the director’s advice. Of course, Mr. Director, you’ve got confirmation hearings coming up, and it might reflect badly on you if that turns out to be the wrong advice.”

  “I can only advise you to do what I think is best, Mr. Speaker,” Kinney said, “and not concern myself with the hearings.”

  “Let the chips fall where they may?” the speaker asked, grinning.

  “Yes, sir,” Kinney replied. “I expect I can find another job, if I have to.”

  “Any questions, gentlemen?”

  “You going to keep us posted, Mr. President?”

  “I’m not going to issue bulletins, at least not until Fay is caught, but feel free to call either Bob Kinney or Kate Lee for an update, whenever you like. If that’s all, gentlemen?”

  A lot of handshaking took place, and the group filed out, leaving Will alone with Kate and Kinney.

  “Anything else, before we bring the others in for the security briefing?” he asked.

  “Mr. President, there’s something I should mention,” Kinney said.

  “Go ahead, Bob.”

  “I was very surprised to learn that the CIA had in their computers templates of FBI I.D. cards and letterheads, allowing them to create convincing but bogus FBI agents and correspondence at will.”

  Kate spoke up. “Bob, surely you can imagine that sometimes our field officers need to impersonate FBI personnel in order to further their work.”

  “Quite frankly, Kate,” Kinney replied, “I can’t imagine that that would ever be necessary. However, should the need ever arise I think it would be best if you made a request for I.D.s directly to me, instead of printing your own.”

  “Kate?” Will asked, when she hesitated.

  “I would much prefer to keep things as they are,” Kate replied.

  “Well, in that case, I’m sure you won’t mind furnishing us with templates of CIA I.D.s and letterheads, so that my agents can impersonate Agency personnel at will.”

  Will was amused but tried not to show it. “Is that unreasonable, Kate?”

  “All right, Bob, I’ll have the templates removed from our databases and destroyed, and I’ll come to you, if we need the I.D.s.”

  “Thank you, Kate,” Kinney said, beaming.

  TWENTY-THREE

  HOLLY SAT AT HER LAPTOP at the desk in her room while Tyler Morrow looked over her shoulder.

  “This is nuts,” Holly said.

  “What do you mean, nuts?”

  “There’s no way we can begin to cover opera in New York. You’ve got the Metropolitan and the New York City Operas, both at Lincoln Center, both running five days a week. What’s more, the same opera often plays more than one night during a week. Look at this: Carmen on Thursday night and Saturday night. Even if we knew that Teddy loved Carmen, which performance would we cover? And Carmen is on the following week, too. And we don’t know that Teddy loves Carmen. We can’t go to two operas five nights a week, either.”

  “I see your point,” Morrow said. “After all, there are only two of us.”

  “You don’t have to attend the opera to find out if Teddy does,” said a voice from the hallway.

  Holly and Tyler turned to find Lance standing in the door.

  “You just said that both the opera houses are at Lincoln Center. Why don’t you stake out both houses, one each, every night before the performance and watch the audiences go in? Look for men alone, fifty or older; Teddy is said to look at least ten years younger than his sixty-seven years.”

  “Good idea,” Holly said, embarrassed that she hadn’t thought of that herself.

  “And how about record stores specializing in opera?”

  “I’ve spent half the morning going through those already,” Holly said, pleased to have anticipated him. “Most record stores carry opera, and the specialty stores don’t get much narrower than classical, which includes opera.”

  “There’s a shop I visited once with a girl, years ago,” Lance said. “I can’t think of the name, but it’s something related to opera. It’s in the West Forties, between Fifth and Sixth Avenues, as I recall. Small place, but it had everything, even some quite obscure recordings. You might try that.”

  “You can’t remember the name?” Holly asked.

  “Do I have to think of everything?” Lance disappeared down the hall.

  Holly went back to the laptop and had Google search for “opera record stores.” “Dammit,” she said, “I can’t get the search narrowed enough. It keeps giving me all kinds of record stores.”

  Tyler opened Holly’s bottom desk drawer and took out the New York City Yellow Pages. “Let’s try the old-fashioned way,” he said.

  “You do that. I’ll try Yahoo,” Holly said.

  Tyler opened the Yellow Pages and flipped through a few pages. “How about this?” he said, pointing.

  Holly followed his finger and saw a small ad:

  ARIA

  Opera, opera and more opera

  LPs, CDs and DVDs

  “It’s on West Forty-third Street, between Fifth and Sixth.”

  “That took about a second,” Holly said, disgusted. “So much for computers.”

  “We can’t go to Lincoln Center until tonight,” Tyler said. “Why don’t we go check out Aria?”

  “Why not,” Holly said, grabbing her coat.

  They took a cab to the corner of Fifth and 43rd, and got out and started down the block.

  “Where are you from, Tyler?” Holly asked.

  “Call me Ty.”

  “Is that what folks back home call you?”

  “No, nobody has ever called me anything but Tyler, and I’m sick of it.”

  “Where are you from?” she asked again.

  “Little town in Georgia, Delano, forty-five hundred people.”

  “And they wouldn’t call you Ty?”

  “Never. Just Tyler.”

  “How old are you, Ty?”

  “Thirty-one.”

  “You look like twenty-one and dress like fifty-one.”

  “You’re not the first to point that out.”

  “The contrast is a little jarring.”

  “Women usually say that.”

  “You actually know women?”

  “Not… exactly.”

  “Why not? You’re a pretty good-looking kid, uh, guy.”

  “Listen, if I knew…”

  Holly stopped walking. “It’s across the street,” she said, nodding toward the shop.

  “You mind if I do this alone?” Ty asked.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know; there doesn’t seem to be any advantage in double-teaming them.”

  “Okay, sure, go ahead. I’ll wait here. Holly turned and began loo
king in a shop window.

  TY WALKED INTO THE SHOP, which was not very large but packed to the ceiling with recordings, and approached a girl at the sales counter. She was dressed entirely in black, had long, black hair and wore black spectacles. “Excuse me,” he said.

  “Yes?” she asked pleasantly, smiling at him.

  Ty produced his I.D. “I’m Special Agent Morrow, with the FBI, and I’m looking for someone who may be one of your customers.”

  Her face fell, and her brow furrowed. “FBI? You think I would rat out a customer for you federal pigs? You made a friend of mine’s life hell for two years, and I wouldn’t give you the time of day. Now, unless you’ve got a search warrant or something, get out!”

  Ty took a step back, stunned by the reception he’d received. “I’m very sorry,” he said. He turned and left the shop.

  HOLLY SAW HIM COMING. “That didn’t take long,” she said. “Did you have a look around?”

  “Not exactly,” Ty replied.

  “You’re all red in the face. What happened?”

  “The lady in the shop wasn’t exactly receptive to a visit from the FBI,” he said.

  “What did she say?”

  “You don’t want to know. Apparently, a friend of hers was once hassled by the Bureau.”

  “You flashed your I.D.?”

  “Of course; we’re trained to…”

  Holly burst out laughing. “What have you been doing since you got out of the FBI Academy?”

  “Working in Washington, coordinating bank robbery investigations.”

  “In an office?”

  “Well, yes, kind of.”

  “You need to get out into the world more, Ty. Everybody hates the FBI. Didn’t you know that?”

  “Well, no, I didn’t. Why would they hate us?”

  Holly sighed. “Come on, Ty, let’s get some lunch; this is going to take a while.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TEDDY WAITED A COUPLE OF DAYS, then phoned Irene. “Hello?”

  “Outside,” he said.

  There was a pause, and then she said, “I’m outside, and I’m glad you called. Something’s come up.”

  “What?”

  “They’ve figured out how you got into the FBI evidence room in New York and got the explosives.”

  “I thought they might,” he replied calmly.

  “But they’re changing all the log-in codes, so you won’t be able to get into our computers again.”

  “That’s not good,” Teddy said. It was worse than not good. “Can you get the new codes?”

  “I’ve already got them. I burned them onto a CD this afternoon, and I’ve got it at home. Where can I send it to you?”

  That brought Teddy up short. He wasn’t about to give her an address in New York. “Send the disk to John Quinn, care of General Delivery, Fort Lee, New Jersey,” he said. Fort Lee was just across the George Washington Bridge. It wasn’t far enough away, but it would have to do.

  “No, that won’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you have to log on before midnight tomorrow, or you won’t get in, and we’ll have to start over. And I can’t keep burning disks for you.”

  “No, you can’t”

  “Also, the disk I have is the DDO’s, and when you log in it will automatically identify you as Hugh. You’re going to have to hack into the codes on the disk and change them. Can you do that?”

  “Probably, but it will be a bitch. I may have to log in as the DDO once, to get at the codes in the mainframe.”

  “That would be very dangerous for me, Mike. They could put me under surveillance, maybe even polygraph me.”

  “You’re right; I’ll have to think of something.” He made a decision. “I’ll come and get the disk tonight. Meet me at the motel? I’m dying to see you, anyway.”

  “What time?”

  “I’ve got to make some stops on the way,” he lied, “but I can be there by midnight.”

  “I’ll get the room,” she said. “Call me on this phone when you’re a few minutes away.”

  “Will do. See you then.”

  He had told her he had stops to make in order to account for the five hours it would take for him to get there. He got his RV out of the garage. It already had good Maryland plates and a registration certificate, and he had an I.D. to match, so he felt safe. But then, as he drove, paranoia began to creep in. Suppose Irene had had second thoughts and told Hugh English about him? Suppose the new codes on the CD were just a ruse to flush him out?

  Irene wouldn’t rat him out; of that he was certain. But what if they were onto her and had created this situation to entrap him? He worried about it all the way to Virginia.

  He got to the motel at midnight and drove past it at moderate speed, looking for signs of a setup. Finally, he turned around and drove back, parking in the lot of the diner next door. He went in and ordered some scrambled eggs and coffee, constantly checking the arrivals and departures in the parking lot. Just before midnight, he saw Irene’s car turn in and park. She got out and hurried to the motel office.

  He called her cell phone.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you in the clear?”

  “Yes, I’m certain of it. I made sure there was no tail. There’s not much traffic around here this time of night.”

  “No vans or RVs in sight?” he asked getting up from the table while continuing to talk. He put a twenty-dollar bill on the table and left.

  “There’s an RV in the restaurant side of the lot,” she said.

  “That one’s all right; I checked it out. What’s your room number?”

  “Ten, all the way at the end.”

  He kept walking. “Leave the door ajar.”

  “All right.”

  He stepped up to the door and opened it.

  “Jesus!” she said, pocketing her phone. “You scared me; I didn’t expect you so quickly.”

  “I couldn’t wait,” he said, putting his arms around her waist.

  “I wanted to be naked and in bed when you walked in,” she said.

  “We can fix that right now.” In a moment they were making love.

  When they had finished, Teddy had relaxed a little. If they were out there, they wouldn’t have waited this long to break in. “Where’s the disk?” he asked.

  “In my handbag, on the desk,” she said.

  Teddy retrieved the disk. “I’ve got to get going,” he said, sitting on the side of the bed and kissing her. “I’d love to stay and do it all again, but I really have to go and get to work on this disk.”

  “I understand; it’s all right.”

  “It’s better if I go first.”

  She kissed him again. “You go ahead. Call me when you can.”

  Teddy got into his clothes, slipped the disk into his jacket pocket, kissed her and checked outside. All quiet. He stepped out the door and walked slowly toward the parking lot, checking for trouble. His was the only vehicle in the restaurant’s lot; they had closed, and it was dark around the RV. His heart pounding, he got into the RV, started it and drove off. Nobody followed. After a few minutes, he settled down and drove on toward New York.

  He had to stop these all nighters; they were wearing. And he had the opera the following evening.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  HOLLY STOOD OUTSIDE the Metropolitan Opera House at Lincoln Center and watched the flow of people as they arrived for the performance. It was cold, and she snugged her muffler tighter and turned up her coat collar.

  She had seen two or three men alone who might have fit the description of Teddy Fay, but they had all met women and had gone in as couples. Ty was over at the New York City Opera, doing the same thing, and she wondered if this was a productive use of their time.

  She spotted another candidate for Teddy, a man in a tuxedo who appeared and began loitering around the door, just as she was doing. Too athletic-looking, she decided finally. Probably around fifty.

  “Excuse me,” a man’s voice said from behind
her.

  Holly turned to find an elderly gentleman standing there, and she sized him up quickly. Mid-seventies, slim, carrying an aluminum cane and wearing an obvious toupee. Too old.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “You’ve been standing here for some time, and I wondered if you were looking for a ticket.” Reedy voice, New York accent. “I have an extra ticket, and I’d be pleased if you’d join me as my guest.”

  Why not? Holly thought. Might as well have a look around inside. “Why thank you; that would be very nice.”

  He beamed. “Good! Do you mind if I take your arm? I’m a little lame.”

  “Please do,” she said.

  He took her arm, and they walked slowly into the building. “I had a knee replacement four months ago, and it’s taking hell’s own time to get over it,” he said.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I swear, if my doctor had told me about the recovery, I don’t think I’d have done it. I couldn’t play tennis anymore, you see. By the way, my name is Hyman Baum.”

  “I’m Holly Barker.”

  They made their way into the huge auditorium, and Holly was delighted to find their seats in row H, on the aisle. “What wonderful seats,” she said.

  “Oh, yes, it took me a long time to get them. I’ve been coming to the Met since the late sixties; I started in the second balcony, and each year I improved my seats a little. I’ve had these for four years,” he said, “every Friday night.”

  “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Baum.”

  “Please call me Hy,” he said. “Everybody does.”

  They settled into their seats and put their coats in their laps.

  “I never check my coat,” Hy said. “Takes too long to get it back.”

  Holly was checking everyone within sight for someone who fit Teddy’s description.

  “What sort of work do you do, Holly?”

  “I’m sort of retired,” Holly said. “I was widowed a couple of years ago, and I sold my little shop and decided to travel.”

  “Is that what brings you to New York?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “With friends. What do you do, Hy?”