Holly’s van pulled out of the village. They drove along the perimeter of the golf course.
“Pull over,” Holly commanded. “We go from here on foot.” She got out of the van, put Daisy on a short leash and closed the door quietly. “Now listen,” she said to her men. “This wasn’t part of the plan, so we’re going to have to wing it. Our job is to take out any security people outside the building without alerting anybody inside.” She divided her group into two teams. “Bill, your team goes counter-clockwise, and watch out for the front door; there could be extra men there. Gag anybody you detain. The rest of you will come with me, clockwise. We’ll meet on the opposite side of the building. I think the kitchen door is over there, and when we get the order to move in, we’ll go through the kitchen. Expect armed resistance at all times. When we get inside, there are going to be more people than we have cuffs or ties for. Cuff the staff first, then the male guests. Cuff the women only if we have ties left. Now, go!”
Holly started up the driveway to the clubhouse at a trot, Daisy moving easily beside her, her men following. Keeping to her right, moving silently through the grass, she came to the pro shop entrance. A man was standing at the door, fumbling with a set of keys. She let him lock it, then she pulled her baton and struck him sharply across the back of the neck with it. He emitted a small grunt and collapsed. One of her men used a plastic tie to secure his hands behind him, gagged him, then they went on their way. They made it nearly to the other end of the building before Holly saw someone else, and he saw her at the same time. She raised her silenced pistol and hissed, “Freeze!” His hand went under his jacket, and she fired once. He flew backward, his pistol striking the side of the clubhouse.
Holly ran up to him. His eyes were open, staring, and his breath was rattling from his body. After a moment, he was still. “First time,” she whispered to herself. “No need to tie or gag him,” she said. She ran on, the tempo of the booming music keeping time with her feet.
She came to the rear corner of the clubhouse and peeked around the corner. Two men in white cooks’ clothing stood beside some garbage cans, smoking, twenty yards from the kitchen door. She dropped Daisy’s leash, stepped out from behind the building and held the pistol out before her. “Freeze!” she commanded. Her men stepped out, their weapons ready. The two men looked at them: one threw his hands into the air; the other bolted for the kitchen door.
“Daisy!” She pointed at the running man. “Stop and guard!” Daisy took off as if fired from a cannon. Six feet from the kitchen door she sank her teeth into a running leg, dumping the man onto the ground. Then she stood over him, snarling quietly. The man did not move a muscle.
Holly secured the other cook, then went to the man lying on the ground.
“That dog bit me!” the man complained.
“Shut up, or I’ll let her tear your head off!” Holly whispered. She tied and gagged him. When she looked up, the remainder of the team appeared, dragging three men, all tied and gagged.
“All clear,” one of them said.
Holly picked up the radio. “Team four, objective accomplished. At the kitchen door, awaiting further instructions.”
The music was louder than ever. Holly thanked God for it.
Harry heard Holly’s transmissions. “All teams move to clubhouse. Cover all entrances and exits. Wait for my order before entering.” He turned to Jackson. “How much longer before we’re there?”
“Maybe thirty seconds,” Jackson said. “Look, there’s the main gate.”
The van turned in, and, following his map, the driver headed for the country club.
“There it is,” Jackson said, pointing. “All lit up.”
“Jackson, you’re to stay in this van, do you hear me?” Harry commanded. “You’re unarmed, unofficial, and that armor isn’t enough to protect you. Don’t you get out unless I say so!”
“All right, all right,” Jackson said.
Holly stood at the kitchen door and peeked inside. A dozen cooks and dishwashers were working like beavers inside. She held her radio to her ear.
“Team four,” Harry said. “Take the kitchen, but go no farther. Confirm your objective.”
“Let’s go,” Holly said. She and her team ran into the kitchen, weapons up. Nobody said a word. The cooks and their helpers stood like statues. Suddenly a door swung open, and a uniformed waiter strode in, sweating, carrying a tray of dirty plates.
Holly swung her pistol toward him. “Freeze! Armed man!” she said. An agent stepped forward and yanked the man’s gun from under his arm. “Everybody lie down on the floor,” she commanded, “and maybe you won’t get shot.” She pointed at the door to the dining room. “You two men, over there. Take anybody who comes in.” She raised her radio to her ear and listened. Other teams were reporting that they were in position.
Harry Crisp’s voice rang out. “All teams! Go, Go, Go!”
“Daisy!” Holly yelled, pointing around the room. “Guard!” She looked at the men on the floor. “Anybody moves, the dog will kill him!” She turned to the rest of her team. “All right, let’s go!” As one man, they rushed the dining room door, Holly out front.
A wave of incredibly loud music struck them as they burst into the large room. Holly ran for the bandstand, knocking a guitarist out of the way, and grabbed the microphone. The music trailed off. She could see men in black pouring into the room through every door. “Everybody stand still! Nobody move! Police and FBI! You are all under arrest.” She gazed out over the elegantly dressed, completely astonished crowd, the men in tuxedoes, the women in long, glittering dresses. Then all hell broke loose.
Everybody ran in all directions, trying to get out of the building. Tables were knocked over; people fought with FBI agents; waiters pulled guns; agents shot waiters.
Harry Crisp burst through the main dining room door, appalled at what he saw. “You!” he said to a man standing beside him holding a Mac 10 machine gun. “Take the suppressor off that thing.”
The man did as he was told.
“Now fire a clip into the ceiling!”
The man pointed the weapon up and pulled the trigger. Forty-five-caliber rounds sprayed the ceiling, and the noise was incredible in the enclosed room. Ceiling tiles and glass fell onto the panicked crowd.
Holly yelled into the microphone again. “On the floor! Everybody lie down on the floor!” This time it worked. People—men and women alike—dropped like slain cattle, shielding their heads from falling debris. Only FBI men were left standing.
Hurd Wallace stepped up onto the stage beside Holly. “I guess we’ve got them all,” he said.
“Do you see Barney Noble?” she asked.
“No, and I’ve been looking for him.”
“Then we haven’t got them.”
Harry Crisp stepped up onto the stage and grabbed the microphone from Holly, but she cupped her hand over it.
“Harry, Barney isn’t here; I’m taking my team and going to his house.”
“Go,” Harry said, then he addressed his supine audience. “I am Special Agent Harry Crisp of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. You are all under arrest. You will form a line at the rear of the room and give your names and your passports to the agents who ask for them. Do it now!!!” he yelled.
An agent ran up to the stage. “Holly, your dog won’t let us into the kitchen.”
Holly ran for the kitchen.
Holly and her team were back in the van. “Take your next right,” she said, consulting her map. “It’s the first house on the left. Switch off your lights now, and don’t turn into the driveway.”
The driver did as he was told. The van glided to a halt on the street, a few yards from the driveway.
Holly looked at the house. It was handsomely designed, but not large; no lights were burning. “Everybody out of the van, but don’t slam any doors,” she said. “I think Barney might still be asleep, and I don’t want to wake him until we’re ready.” She led the group up the driveway. Near the front door she stopped them. “There may be an easy way to do this,” she said, taking off her helmet and body armor and slipping out of the FBI jumpsuit.
“What the hell are you doing?” an agent asked.
“I’m going to ring the doorbell,” she said. “If Barney’s in bed, he’ll come down to answer it, and a familiar
