Blood Orchid

63

Holly came up for air again, and her head bumped against the ceiling before her nose cleared the water. She leaned back and sucked in air, trying to pack it into her lungs. She heard Grant doing the same thing. Then she dove under again.

She swam to the bottom of the door, running her hands desperately over the smooth surface. Then she came to a handle, like that on a cupboard. She turned it and a door opened. Inside was another handle, like a lever. She pulled hard on the lever. Grant was above her, doing something.

Then, in the darkness, three green lights began to flash in sequence. She watched them, her lungs bursting, and then she heard a mechanical noise.

She didn’t even have to push the door; the pressure of eight feet of water did that. Light streamed in from the hallway as Holly and Grant poured out of the vault along with the water.

Holly landed on top of Grant as they both sucked in lungfuls of air.

“What happened?” Grant asked.

“I found a door and a lever, and I pulled it.”

“I knew something had to be there.”

“I’ll remember that if I’m ever locked in a flooded vault again.”

They sat on the floor, leaning against the wall.

“I don’t know if I can stand up,” Holly said.

“If you can do that, help me.”

Together they struggled to their feet. “Let’s get out of here before somebody comes,” Grant said.

“Not the elevator,” Holly said. “The electrics may have gotten wet.” They were splashing around in a couple of feet of water. She pointed at a lighted exit sign. “There, the stairs.”

A moment later, they emerged one floor up into the upstairs lobby. The front doors were locked.

There was a small steel table and a chair in the lobby, as if for a guard to use. Grant picked up the table and hurled it at one of the glass doors, which shattered. A siren went off, and lights began to flash.

“Follow me,” Holly said. “I know how to get out of here.” She ran around the building and into the woods. There was a moon, and after her eyes had become accustomed to the dim light, she could see her way. “You with me?”

“Right behind you. Where are we going?”

Holly stopped. “What was the plan?”

“What plan?”

“The plan for Harry and his people to take this place? Where were they going to come from?”

“From all sides,” Grant said.

“Let’s head for the airfield. When the balloon goes up, Ed might try to get out that way.”

“Whatever you say,” Grant replied.

Holly set off at a trot, with Grant close behind. After two or three minutes, she stopped.

“What is it?” he asked.

Holly looked above her. “I’m looking for something.”

“What?”

“Just something. Hang on for a minute.” She knew she was somewhere close by.

“Holly, we’re in the middle of the woods. What are you looking for?”

“There; this is the tree. I don’t have a knife. Have you got one?”

Grant fished in his pockets and came up with a pocketknife.

Holly took it and began carving something in the tree trunk.

“That’s sweet of you, Holly, but I don’t think this is the time for you to carve our initials into a tree.”

“Not yours, just mine,” she said, pointing at anH. “Okay, we can go now. I want to go back to the guest cottage.”

“Why?”

“It’s on the way to the airfield, and I want Daisy with me. Come to think of it, my gun is there, too.”

“You take Daisy, I’ll take the gun.”

“We’ll see.” She stopped him at the road’s edge and looked around. “Come on!” She sprinted across the road and onto the golf course. It took her less than a minute to cross the course to the trees on the other side, and she stopped to get her breath.

Grant pulled up beside her. “Jesus, I haven’t run that fast in years.”

“It’s not much farther. Come on.” She jogged off in the direction of the cottage. There was still a light on in the living room, and she looked through a window before opening the door. Daisy was on her feet, alert.

Holly rushed into the room and hugged the dog.

“Hi, Daisy,” Grant said. “Holly, where’s the gun?”

Holly went into the bedroom and came back with her Beretta and two clips. “You think we can risk using the phone to call Harry?”

“We can’t,” Grant said.

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t remember his cellphone number. I had it programmed into mine, and that’s in the back of the van now. Where’s yours?”

“In my purse, back at the clubhouse.”

Holly picked up the phone, dialed nine, and got a dial tone. She dialed a number she knew by heart.

“Hi, this is Hurd,” the machine said, “leave a message.” Holly hung up and dialed another number.

“Wallace,” he said.

“Thank God you’ve got your cellphone.”

“What’s up, Holly?”

“Everything.” Then she stopped herself. If someone was listening, she couldn’t blow the imminent arrival of the FBI. “Call your former workplace,” she said. “And order a six-six-six.”

“Where?”

“You know where. I’m heading for where you found the shell casing.”

“Got it.”

Holly hung up.

“What’s a six-six-six?” Grant asked.

“Doesn’t the FBI have a six-six-six?”

“No. What is it?”

“It means everybody converge with everything they’ve got. Devil’s drill.”

“I hope they don’t think it’s a drill.”

“I hope they don’t start shooting at the FBI,” Holly said, “but we’ve got to getsomebody here.”

A car’s lights flashed across the windows, and there was the crunch of gravel in the driveway.

“Let’s get out the back way,” Holly said, crouching and running. “Come on, Daisy.”