Orchid Blues

62

Holly found Ham sitting up in bed, watching the news on CNN. She couldn't believe it.

"Why aren't you in intensive care?" she demanded.

"Well, hi to you, too," Ham said, switching off the TV.

"You've just had surgery."

"Nope. The bullet missed pretty much everything important, and it removed itself through my shoulder. All they did was clean the wound and stitch it up and give me antibiotics and a tetanus shot. I wouldn't let them put me to sleep, and I'll be sore as hell when the local anesthetic wears off. They want me to spend the night in the hospital. Now that we've got that out of the way, will you tell me what the hell has happened in the past few hours?"

"As much as I know," Holly replied, perching on the edge of his bed. "I chased John out to Opa-Locka and prevented his taking off in his airplane by the simple device of driving a police car into it."

Ham laughed, then winced. "Don't, don't make me laugh."

"Sorry. Then the airplane exploded, and John is toast."

"Was it really the president in that car?"

"It was. Harry was too dumb to make an official request to find out, because he wanted the operation all for himself. He had me throw myself at a Secret Service guy to find out if the president was in town, and he told me no. He didn't lie, because the president flew in this morning to make an officially unscheduled appearance at a Republican congressional gathering in the hotel across the street from where you were waiting. It was supposed to be a surprise, since Democratic presidents don't usually show up at Republican gatherings. God only knows what the ramifications will be on relations between the FBI and the Secret Service. My guess is, everybody's ass is covered, since Harry never made an official request and the Secret Service never told him anything. They'd better hope there's never a congressional inquiry into all this. Tell me what happened in your hotel room."

"I was set up, that's what. I looked over at the hotel across the street and I saw another Barrett's rifle pointed right at me. I guess they planned to burn some bridges and I was one of them. Anyway, I blew the shit out of the other hotel room, and when the Secret Service saw the explosion, they got the president the hell out of there in a hurry. Then you arrived, and your buddy shot me."

"He wasn't my buddy," Holly said. "He just chased me down the boulevard and then into the hotel. I identified myself, but there wasn't time to explain the whole situation to him, and when we broke into the room, he saw you holding the gun and fired. He was young and inexperienced, but I don't think we can blame him, unless you're hell-bent on suing the Miami Police Department."

"Nah, I've already spent a couple of hours talking to them. What is Harry going to do about Lake Winachobee?"

"They're raiding it as we speak, choppering FBI men in from all over the state. We should hear from Harry soon."

"John told me there are three affiliated groups in Florida, and hundreds around the country. I hope they'll find some records there that will lead them to the others."

"I'd better call Harry about that right now," Holly said, producing the scrambled cell phone. She tapped in the number and waited.

"Crisp," Harry said. "Who's bothering me?"

"It's Holly."

"What's wrong?"

Silence.

"Where are you, Harry?"

"At the Lake Winachobee compound."

"And?"

"And there's nobody here."

"They're all gone?"

"All of them."

"Ham has just told me that John says there are two other compounds in Florida and more around the country."

"About three thousand members," Ham said.

"Three thousand members nationally. Did you find any records there?"

"No, nothing, only a few empty ammunition boxes in what was, apparently, an armory. The place has been stripped, our smoke detector bug is in tiny pieces and I can't figure out how they did it all so fast."

"They're all gone?" Ham asked.

"Yes."

He held out a hand. "Let me speak to Harry."

"Ham wants to speak to you." She handed him the phone.

"Harry?"

"Ham, are you okay? Is it bad?"

"Like a hangnail, nothing more. Listen, John told me there were groups in Tampa and Fort Lauderdale, as well as Winachobee, and others in something like twenty states. Is there nothing there that would tell you where they are?"

"Not so far," Harry said. "Of course, we've got to work this place like a crime scene, so we might come up with something. Telephone records ought to help. What I can't figure is, how did they get out so fast? We were here in no time."

"I think I know," Ham said.

"Tell me."

"After we took off from Winachobee for Opa-Locka, John made a phone call from the airplane, and he was on the phone for several minutes. I think he arranged our transfer to another van in Miami, and he must have given some orders about Winachobee, too."

"I can check that phone record, too. What kind of phone was it?"

"Looked like an ordinary cell phone, mounted on the pilot's yoke, but he kept his headset on when he was using it, and he flipped a switch that cut me out, so I couldn't hear what he said. If he gave orders about Winachobee, then they would have had, what, fifteen, eighteen hours to get out?"

"You could be right. When are they letting you out of the hospital?"

"Tomorrow. I plan to jog all the way home. And there's something else."

"What?"

"I believe John used that phone call to arrange more than the switch of vans. He used it to set up Peck Rawlings, too. Apparently, John thought Peck was working for you. You can find what's left of him in a ditch near a swamp, somewhere west of Miami, with two bullets in him."

"That's interesting," Harry said. "When you get back, I want you to come out here and walk us through Winachobee, show us what you know about it."

"Sure, glad to."

"Let me speak to Holly."

Ham handed her the phone.

"Hi."

"When you talked to Chip Beckham, did you tell him anything at all about our operation?"

"Nothing. I asked him straight out if the president was in town, and he said no. I guess he wasn't at the time."

"Yeah. Listen, a lot of shit is going to fall from the sky the next few days, and I need you to not talk to anybody about it until you and I have a chance to sit down and talk."

"Harry, it's like this," Holly said. "You may have screwed up big-time by not calling in the Secret Service on this, but I'm not looking to tell anybody that. I'll refer all questions to you."

"That's all I ask."

"But Harry, if some of your shit starts to fall on me, and I get braced for a lot of questions by some authority or other, I'm not going to stonewall them, and I'm not going to take the fifth. You'd better understand that."

"I understand, Holly, and I appreciate your help."

"Let's get this straight, Harry. I'm not helping, I'm just not hurting you if I can help it. Frankly, I don't know why the Secret Service isn't already here, talking to Ham. What I'm going to tell them when they come, and they will, is that I asked Chip if the president was in town, and he said no. I hope that will cover both your ass and Chip's, but if it doesn't, there's nothing I can do to save it. Are we perfectly clear on that?"

"Perfectly. I couldn't ask for more."

"One final thing, Harry: You and I are pretty good friends, so I'm sorry to have to say this, but I'd better get it up front. If I begin to get the feeling from the questions I'm asked by whoever that blame is starting to fall on either Ham or me, then I'm going to protect us."

"I understand, Holly, and you didn't have to say that."

"Good. We'll be home tomorrow. Call me if there's something I ought to know." She closed the telephone.

"If you hadn't told him that, I was going to," Ham said.

"You get some rest, old man."

"One more thing," Ham said.

"What?"

"John owned up to the robbery and Jackson's death. Peck planned it, and one of his people panicked and shot Jackson."

"Oh," Holly said. She suddenly had a hollow feeling in her chest. "I hope Jackson knows we got these people."

"If it helps, they offed the guy who shot him. Oh, and the two people in the submerged van? The guy, Frank, was put in the bank by John, and they put the couple in the river when they tried to run with some money."

"Well," Holly said, "that ties up a few loose ends."

"So what do we do now? Wait for the Secret Service to show and ask us questions for twelve hours?"

"I guess."

"I've got a better idea. I think my pants are in that closet over there."

"Ham, you can't do it. You've got to spend the night here."

"I told you, girl, I've been shot before. I know when it's bad, and this isn't bad."

Holly went to the closet to get Ham's clothes. His bag was there, too.

"Oh," Ham said, "how are we getting home?"

Holly went to the phone. "I'll rent a limo, and we'll charge Harry for it." She gave Daisy a pat. "Daisy's never ridden in a limo."

"That's my girl," Ham said, putting on his pants. "And don't call me old man."