Sudden Death (8 page)

In the middle of a putt, Buck called Reid’s name from the far side of the practice green. Several players hissed at him, “Shhh,” “Shut-up, will ya,” “Come on, Buck.” “Sorry,” Buck grimaced and raised his hand in apology. Reid walked over and said, “Let’s go get some coffee.” “What the hell is going on?” Buck asked as they walked. “Show him the club, Buddy.” Buck took the club and read the note. His face paled. “Oh shit. Who else knows about this?” “No one,” Reid answered. “Good.” He sighed. “I need to think about this for a minute.” After a moment, he continued. “Reid you’re not going to like what I have to say. First, this threat has nothing to do with this tournament; it says you can’t win
after
today. You need to let me do the worrying for now while you and Buddy take care of winning. Second, I’m calling the police and also Jay Scott. And last, I’m hiring you some bodyguards until we figure out who did this.” “No way,” Reid said quietly. “I don’t want them.” “Look, you just received a threat on your life. This certainly affects you most, but it also affects everyone around you. Saying no to protection would be extremely selfish. You may be arrogant, but you’re not selfish. We need to take every precaution for you, your family, Buddy and yes, even me. I’ve dealt with this type of thing before, trust me.”

“Alright, when you put it that way, I can’t say no. I didn’t think about others being in danger. Do what you think is right.” “Welcome to lifestyles of the rich and famous, my friend,” Buck said. “Wonderful,” Reid said sarcastically. “Gentlemen,” Buck said. “It’s time to try and forget this for now.

Think golf, guys, think green and think about $30 million. Now, go win.” “Yeah, right,” Reid said with a sigh. “We’ll see you at the turn.”

Reid and Buddy arrived at the first tee about 15 minutes before Reid’s time. He stayed behind the gallery and stretched.

Howard Brock, second on the leader board and Reid’s pairing for the day, was at the rear of the tee box, watching the competition tee off. Reid had been paired with Brock before. He liked the guy. Brock was fairly quiet and played a consistently good game. Unlike many on the tour, he never held up play. Brock usually took one practice swing and then hit the ball. He had been on the tour a few years longer than Reid. Although he had never won a major, he was in the top 10 regularly. Reid liked Brock’s style and usually stayed fairly cool and collected when he played with him.

Reid joined Brock and watched the golfers just ahead of them tee off. They were the last twosome of the day. They shook hands and wished each other luck. Brock was tied for second, only three shots behind Reid. His name was announced and he teed up his ball. True to form, he took one practice swing then blasted a great drive down the middle. After the applause died down, Reid was announced and the crowd erupted again. The announcer said, “Quiet, please.” Reid focused and did his best to relax, then hit his ball short, into the right rough. The crowd gasped; their expectations were shaken.

Unhappy, Reid took a deep breath, shrugged and exhaled. He walked over to Buddy, who was waiting for him in front of the tee box. They walked down the fairway together behind Brock and his caddie. “Not the way I like to start,” Reid said.

“Maybe not,” Buddy said, “but it could have been a lot worse. Don’t worry, you’re going to have a good day. You know what you need to do. I’m going to say the two magic words before every shot you take. If you relax and focus, you are going home with the Green Jacket. I’ll do my part, you do yours, and we’ll win, alright?” “Alright,” Reid answered skeptically. Walking down the fairway, the fragrant Tea Olive trees had a somewhat calming effect on Reid. They arrived at his ball before Howard’s. The rough was deep. “Looks like the grass grew two inches overnight,” Reid said. He had 190 yards to the pin. Buddy handed him his seven-iron. After a practice swing, Reid hit a beautiful shot. The ball landed on the green and rolled to within a foot and a half of the hole. Once again, the crowd roared. Reid smiled and said, “We’re gonna be all right.” “Damn right,” Buddy said. Howard’s second shot landed 12 feet from the pin. They were welcomed to the green by loud applause. Reid tipped his cap to the crowd. Howard’s putt broke sharply and rimmed the hole, leaving a six-inch putt. He tapped in for par. Reid read his putt, lined up, and knocked it in for a birdie. The crowd exploded once more. Reid and Buddy walked toward each other and tapped fists. Buddy quietly said, “Nice job. Now, go do it again.”

Reid stayed focused through most of the front nine. He was scoring well with five pars and three birdies. The ninth hole was a 460-yard par four leading back to the clubhouse. Howard’s tee shot, although straight, landed on the left side of the fairway, giving him a tough approach shot. Reid took a practice swing and lined up for his drive. Just as he started his backswing a heckler yelled, “Come on Reid, down the middle, baby.”

Stopping his swing, Reid backed away from the ball and gave a men acing stare in the heckler’s direction. Shaking his head, he turned to Buddy who mouthed, focus and relax. Instead of the desired effect, the words almost made Reid laugh. His mind then shifted to some of his usual stress remedies. Meditation? Not now. Hypnosis? Not here. Alcohol? Now there’s a possibility. He chuckled again, thinking,
Okay, time to get serious
. He took a deep cleansing breath and tried to clear his mind. Not a chance. He took his stance, swung and topped the ball. Never rising more than a foot off the ground, the ball hit the deep grass, took a few short hops and burrowed itself deep in the rough. All in all, it went about 40 yards, not even clearing the front tee box. The crowd sighed. Reid’s lead had already slipped to one shot and now it looked like he was going to finish the front nine tied for first,
if
he was lucky. He was upset about the threat and now the heckler had him blowing his lead. He walked to his ball with Buddy.

“Come on, get it together,” Buddy said. “You’ve been playing really well; don’t let one jerk ruin it.”

“I know you’re right, but this has been one lousy day. I just can’t stay calm.”

“Look, it has been an awful day, but you’re playing great golf in spite of everything. Don’t give up now. This is
your
tournament. Now go hit this shot like the champion you are.” Buddy handed Reid his club.

“You’re right. I am playing well in spite of all this crap. I can still win,
can’t
I?” “Hell, yeah,” Buddy said. The ball, barely visible, was nestled among the roots of the thick, deep grass. “I think I need a shovel instead of a club for this shot,” Reid said, looking worried. “You can do it, just relax.” Reid nodded. After two practice swings and a look down the fairway, he hit the ball with gusto. It was the perfect recovery shot, landing in the fairway with an excellent approach angle.

Howard’s second shot, however, had a tough approach to the green. He would have to hook his shot around the trees to get close or punch out to line up his next shot. After a brief discussion with his caddie, his decision was obvious; he was going for it. After a practice swing, he lined up and hit an excellent shot that hooked around the trees and landed just in front of the green. The crowd cheered as the ball rolled up onto the heavily sloped, closely shaved bent grass, toward the hole. But as quickly as the cheering began, it quieted as the ball slowed almost to a halt then turned and started trickling very slowly backward. The crowd watched tensely, sighing as the ball picked up speed and rolled off the green, finally stopping about eight yards away.

Reid couldn’t help but empathize as Howard’s head slumped. On the way to his own ball, all he thought about was overcoming the sloping green. He needed to hit a shot that would bounce just in front of the pin with enough backspin to stop the ball but not enough to repeat Howard’s roll-off.

Reid took a practice swing. He looked from the ball to the hole and back again, adjusted his grip, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He swung hard and hit the ball, taking a huge divot with it. The ball arched high in the air, bounced in front of the hole, hit the pin and dropped in the cup. Reid just smiled and laughed. He couldn’t believe it himself. The gallery cheered; the loudest commotion came from right next to the green. Betsy, Hunter, Buck and Carl were high-fiving and carrying on like kids. It was a pretty funny sight. Reid laughed until the announcer asked, “Quiet, please.” They all quieted down, the girls finding it hard to hold back their excitement.

Howard chipped close and tapped in for par. Reid’s birdie put him two shots ahead. As they walked off the green, Buck approached Reid and said, “Come walk with me for a minute.”

Reid sent his sisters on to Eagles’ tent, telling them he’d be there in a few minutes. Reid and Buck walked away from the crowds. Reid noticed that two guys were following them.

“I’m proud of you,” Buck said. “Most people would have crumbled under this kind of pressure.”

“Luckily, my score is not reflective of my emotions. Believe me, I’m feeling the pressure. I’m a wreck, Buck.”

“I’ll bet you are. Just stay strong for the back nine, then we’ll get out of the crowds and lay low for awhile. Now, I’m sure you noticed we have some company behind us. Let me introduce you to Joel and Stu.” Buck waved the guys over. “Joel, Stu, this is Reid Clark; Reid, say hello to Team One, your primary protection.”

“Hi, guys,” Reid said. “Let me just say ahead of time, I’m not a happy camper at the moment; I’m not comfortable with anyone following me around. I know you’re here for my protection and I appreciate it. But, I’ll warn you now, I have a tendency to snap at people whether they deserve it or not. I’m sure it’s going to happen with you at some point, so try to put up with me. If I live through this, you’ll both be paid generously when we catch this jerk.”

“Mr. Clark, we have already been warned of what to expect from you,” Joel said. “We have both seen you on TV enough that we really didn’t need the warning. We understand what you are going through. We will do our best to stay out of your way, unless it’s necessary to do otherwise.” Then his tone changed to one of pure intensity. “But, understand one thing. No one, and I mean
no one
, is going to get near you on our watch.”

They did not look much like bodyguards. Instead of bulging muscles, both men were tall and lean. Not an ounce of fat could be detected on their tight, muscular frames. Reid soon learned that they were highly qualified for their jobs. Both were Navy Seals. Each was a high-level marksman and had several high degree black-belts in martial arts. They had been on reconnaissance teams in the Middle East and had been on various presidential security teams. He also found out that they were costing him a fortune.
Well
, he thought, if I’m going to have bodyguards, they may as well be the best money can buy.

Buck had already fitted Joel and Stu with the same uniforms worn by all the volunteers working the tournament: golf shirts and caps with the Master’s logo, and khaki shorts. They would blend right in. No one could possibly guess they were bodyguards trained to kill.

The four of them walked to the tent and found the girls and Buddy at a picnic table. “I hate to rush you, but we only have five minutes,” Buddy said.

Buck introduced Joel and Stu to Buddy and the girls. He told them they were sports psychologists and were going to help Reid maintain his concentration on the back nine.

Buddy tilted his head in doubt. He knew better but kept his mouth shut. “You guys better get going,” Buck said. The four men stood up. Betsy gave Reid a hug and said, “Good luck. I know you can do it.” Hunter then hugged him and whispered in his ear, “Win this one for

Dad.” Reid smiled at her and said to the group, “I guess it’s show time. See you in a little while.” They walked toward the 10th tee box.

Reid was actually feeling pretty good. Ahead by only two shots, he had some work to do. Although the back nine was known to be much more difficult, he liked it on this course more than the front. He counted on it to intimidate the other players into making mistakes, giving him a chance to increase his lead. All things considered, he was fairly loose, but he had not been able to get into the zone on the front nine. He needed to now, in spite of the circumstances.

Howard and his caddie were at the tee box already. The twosome in front of them had just hit their second shots and were walking toward the green.

Given the okay, Reid teed up his ball and took a few practice swings to loosen up. He focused on the ball and said to himself, “It’s now or never.” He swung his club and hit one of his best drives of the day. He turned and made eye contact with Buck and the girls. He smiled and winked. Betsy gave him the thumbs-up.

Howard also hit an excellent drive, not as long as Reid’s, but then, no one hit as long as Reid. They started walking, and the gallery fell into motion behind them. Reid parred the next few holes. After having birdied two of the holes, Howard was now alone in second place. Reid maintained his two shot lead with five holes to go. He was finally in the zone.

The number of tournament security guards and volunteers assigned to their group had doubled since the morning. Most of the spectators on the course were now following Reid and Howard. The increased security was doing its job of keeping the crowd fairly quiet and behind the barriers. The hecklers had given up for fear of getting thrown off the course as the match neared its end. Even the reporters and camera crews were staying well out of the way.

The 14th hole was a soft dogleg to the left. Reid’s tee shot was a little too long. He now had a large tree in his path to the green. Howard’s shot, shorter and further left than Reid’s, left his next shot wide open. He hit it perfectly. Reid studied his shot and asked Buddy. “High or low?” “If you try to go over, you won’t make the green,” Buddy said. “You have to punch it low.” “I agree. I guess I’ll use my three.” “Don’t take a full swing. Try about three quarters. Land it a little further than halfway to the green and let it run. You’ll need enough speed to make it over the last hill, but then the green slopes down to the pin. This is gonna be tricky, but you can do it.”

“Easy for you to say.” Reid took a few practice swings then stepped up to the ball. As he brought his club back he thought of the note and his arms tensed as he swung and hit the ball. Reid knew immediately it was no good. He had hit it too hard and it landed way too close to the green. It ran fast up the hill, took air, landed in the center of the green and continued off the back, through the scattering gallery, stopping about 10 yards into the rough. “Ouch,” Reid said. “Yeah,” Buddy agreed. They walked to the ball. Security had moved the crowd out of the way. For the first time all day, the gallery remained silent. Reid took his lobwedge and hit a high lofting shot that came to rest leaving a 20 foot putt. Not what he had intended. Two putts later, he finished with a double bogey.

Howard parred the hole and they were tied for the lead. Reid sighed, shaking his head in disgust. His body tensed as he aggressively handed his putter to Buddy. “Calm down,” Buddy said. “You need to stay loose.”

“Oh, shut up,” Reid said quietly. Buddy knew that had been coming, but it didn’t faze him; in fact, Reid said it to him fairly often. Buddy always let it go. It was one of the things Reid liked about him and why they made a good team. Buddy let Reid blow off steam at him regularly. He knew Reid didn’t mean it personally; he just needed to vent. Buddy considered it part of his job. He gave Reid a moment then said, “Okay? Are you ready to continue?” “Yeah, sorry,” Reid sighed. “No problem. Now let’s go get the lead back and finish this thing already.” Reid parred 15 and 16. Howard parred 15 and birdied 16, taking the lead by one. Reid then birdied the 17th while Howard shot par. They were tied going into the 18th hole, a par four.

The crowd was buzzing. An ending like this in the Master’s was as exciting as golf could get. Third and fourth positions were already determined. No other players really had a chance at first or second, barring any extreme disaster with Reid or Howard, that is. The Green Jacket was going home with one of them.

They walked onto the 18th tee box. Reid teed up his ball, walked back, shook Howard’s hand and said, “Good luck.” He went back to his ball and took a practice swing. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He relaxed, concentrated on the ball and swung. His drive was flawless, incredibly long with the perfect fade, leaving an easy approach shot to the green.

Howard then went through his pre-shot actions and hit his drive; again shorter than Reid’s, but right in the middle. They walked to Howard’s ball. He had about 170 yards to the green. He took a practice swing, then another, then one more. It was out of character for him but it was certainly understandable. He then hit his ball nicely; it bounced on the green and stopped about 20 feet from the pin. They walked another 30 yards to Reid’s ball. Buddy handed him his wedge. He took one practice swing then hit the ball. The ball flew high and dropped right next to the pin, causing a burst of applause from the crowd. If it had stopped there it would have been the perfect shot, but its rapid backspin ripped into the green sending the ball in the direction from where it came. The gallery’s sudden change of reaction from applause to moans was almost laughable. The ball finally came to rest just inside Howard’s.

They walked up to the undulating dance floor among cheers from the crowd. Reid marked his ball’s position and picked it up.

Howard studied his putt with his caddie and determined the break in the green. He took a few practice swings, lined up and hit his ball. It broke left and rolled toward the hole. Reid thought he had it nailed, but the ball passed the hole a quarter-inch to the left and stopped about six inches away. The gallery moaned then quietly applauded.

Reid placed his ball back in position. He and Buddy studied the putt from different angles. They talked about the break and discussed Howard’s putt. Reid approached his ball, took a few practice swings, then a deep cleansing breath. He swung his putter and hit the ball. It broke left, following a similar path as Howard’s putt. Reid had intended to hit hard enough to compensate for the break in the green. Instead, his unusually soft touch had taken over and he watched the ball lose momentum as it inched toward the hole. Its agonizingly slow pace caused it to veer slightly off target due to a small break in the green. Just as Reid accepted that the playoff would continue, the ball caught the rim of the cup and circled once before dropping in.

Reid let out a huge sigh. The crowd went absolutely crazy. Buddy ran over and lifted Reid in a big bear hug. “You did it!” “Yes I did, didn’t I!” Reid said, not trying to hide his tears. After Buddy set him down and the crowd settled, Howard tapped in his putt. Reid walked over and shook his hand. “Great game, Howard.” “Congratulations,” Howard said, patting Reid on the back. “It was a pleasure to play with you today.” “Thank you. You, too.” Security cleared their path to the scoring tent where they signed and submitted their scorecards. Reid’s euphoria was kept in check by his subconscious thoughts of the note. There’s nothing like achieving the goal of a lifetime while harboring the angst of a death threat, he thought.