by David Lender
Isaacs turned back to him. “How much?”
“I couldn’t sell it if I tried,” he said, playing dumb.
“Not thinking about selling. Thinking about burning it down.”
Rudiger felt perspiration on his upper lip, resisted the urge to wipe it off. He hoped Isaacs hadn’t noticed it. He said, “Glass, steel and marble don’t burn so well. Besides, I won’t do it.”
“Carlen Isaacs could.”
Rudiger swallowed hard, noticed that his throat was dry. He looked into Isaacs’ eyes and now realized what he saw in them: fear. And desperate people do desperate things.
Rudiger’s hands and arms were trembling as he drove back to his house. He couldn’t tell whether it was because he was angry, rattled to his bones, or both.
Enough of this, he kept saying to himself over and over. Enough, I’m done.
As he walked in the door, Charisse took one look at him and said, “What’s wrong, Mr. John?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
He forced himself to smile and walked downstairs to his office. He pulled out his file cabinet and fished around for a copy of his insurance policy. It was an extended replacement cost policy, which called for repair or replacement of the house using like kind and quality materials, not limited to the company’s required insured value. He flipped a few more pages. In the past year the company had upped the required insured value to $12,287,560 based upon its estimate of the replacement cost.
Rudiger eased out a breath.
He put the policy back and pulled out his iPhone, scrolled through his contacts to his friend in Hollywood, a producer who vacationed here eight years ago and hit it off with Rudiger. Rudiger had introduced him to a number of the British Airways flight attendants who came in for two or three days at a time. The man had been grateful, and Rudiger had called in a few favors over the years.
Rudiger dialed. He got the man’s voicemail. “Jack, it’s John Rudiger down here in Antigua. I’ve got a little job I could use some help with. Give me a call when you get a chance to see if you can hook me up with somebody.” By 5:00 p.m. that day, Jack had called back and put him in touch with a colleague who did special effects for his movies. They agreed on a price of $50,000, 25 in advance and 25 upon completion. The man agreed to get on a plane the next day.
Rudiger drove out to the airport to pick him up the following afternoon.
“Hi, Steve Trilling,” the man said as he climbed into the front seat. “You work fast. I called my bank when my plane landed and your first wire transfer arrived.”
“A deal’s a deal.” Forty-five minutes later Rudiger parked at the Blue Moon so Trilling could check in. He drove home, then dropped Charisse off at the bus stop shortly after 5:00 p.m. to go visit her mother for the night. Rudiger ate dinner alone at the Blue Moon. After it was dark he called Trilling. They drove to Rudiger’s house and he brought Trilling downstairs. He walked him through the equipment room, past the air conditioners and then out the door to the enclosed cubicle that housed the generator.
“Wow, that’s a big sucker,” Trilling said.
“Twenty thousand kilowatts,” Rudiger said.
Trilling walked over and knelt in front of the generator. He placed his hand on the 2-inch natural gas line and whistled. “Enough pressure to run a 400,000 BTU pool heater.” He pointed to where the 2-inch gas line stepped down into a ½-inch line that fed into the generator. “See this? The big line feeds into the smaller line, which if I set it up right, will do the trick for you.”
Trilling opened the generator cover and started tinkering. He then pulled a side panel off. He shut off the valve feeding the gas, then pulled out some tools and started taking something apart.
Rudiger said, “So what’s the procedure?”
Trilling didn’t look up from his work. “The generator is set up to turn on automatically when the power goes off. A sensor detects the power outage, starts the gas feed and then fires a battery-operated spark to start the engine. All I really need to do is take this little sucker out, and the fireworks will start.” He turned around and held up a brass nozzle. “Removing this orifice will turn your ½-inch gas line into a high-pressure, 400,000 BTU flamethrower. You leave this outer door to the generator cubicle and the interior door to the equipment room open and the flames will shoot into the house. From there they’ll blast three stories up your central stairwell like a volcano.” He looked back down as he continued his work. “How far away is the nearest fire department?”
“It’s probably a couple of miles. But let me put it this way, the English Harbour police station closes around 12:00 p.m. and doesn’t open again until 6:00 a.m. the following morning. It’s only got one telephone line that doesn’t allow anybody to leave a message. I’ve never called the fire department, but I can’t imagine it’s much better.”
Trilling looked up. “Well, whether they get here or not, it should all be over in about 10 or 15 minutes.”
Trilling continued to work for another five minutes, then reattached the side panel and closed the top of the generator. He stood up.
“That’s it,” he said. He motioned for Rudiger to come over. “See this valve? I’ve got it straight up, which means the gas is shut off. Whatever you do, don’t turn it back on until you’re ready to go live. How often does the power go off around here?”
“Every other day or so, usually at night when everyone’s home from work running their air conditioners.”
Trilling grinned. “It’s gonna be quite a show. Just like in the movies.”
The next morning Charisse arrived back at the house in time to make Rudiger’s breakfast. After she’d cleared it from the table, Rudiger went back downstairs to his bedroom. He closed the door so that Charisse couldn’t see and packed two bags. The first was his suitcase, the second a smaller overnight bag. He kept it simple: four each of his standard uniform of Tommy Bahama shirts and Bermuda shorts. Sandals and shoes, three pairs of jeans and two sports jackets, plus his workout gear. Miscellaneous T-shirts, socks and underwear, and his toiletries. Finally, he made sure he pulled all his documents, including the other aliases he’d had prepared over the years, from his safe and put them in the false bottom of his overnight bag. He stashed the bags in his closet, then went downstairs to the living room to read his newspapers and drink his tea in front of the Caribbean. He dozed on the sofa until Charisse buzzed him on the intercom.
“Mr. John, it’s 11:30. You want a gin and tonic?”
“Yes, that would be nice. I’ll be right up.” By the time he got up to the first floor Charisse was finishing mixing his drink. He said, “I won’t need you anymore today. You can get over to Marjorie’s a little early. I’ll be heading over to the Blue Moon for lunch. Then some of the ladies I know from Lufthansa are coming in this afternoon, so I’ll stay over there for dinner. Pack up your things and after I finish my drink I’ll drive you to the bus stop when I head over to the Blue Moon.”
“Thank you, Mr. John,” she said.
A half hour later Rudiger drove past the Blue Moon, dropped Charisse at the bus stop, and then turned around and drove back to his house. He walked downstairs, opened the door to the equipment room, passed through to the generator cubicle and reached down and turned the gas lever on. He entered the equipment room and changed out the alarm backup battery, substituting a dead one he hadn’t discarded yet for the good one so the alarm wouldn’t come on with the power off. He walked back into the house, leaving both doors open as Trilling had advised him to do, then picked up his bags from the bedroom and put them in the back of his SUV.
He pulled into the Blue Moon and waved Jimmy, one of the bellmen, over to check his bags and valet park his SUV. He headed straight for his table at the Beach Grill Restaurant.
Three new women lounged by the pool. They must have been the flight attendants from American Airlines that Anton at the front desk had told him
about. He made a point of removing his sunglasses so that the slim brunette who kept diving into the pool and then going back to her lounge chair, each time glancing over at Rudiger, would see that he was checking her out. Her glances his way meant she had potential, although he was a little uncertain about how to play it given that Katrina would be arriving on her Lufthansa flight later that afternoon. She’d be expecting him to be looking forward to the fact that she would make herself available to him. Katrina, now in her late 40s, still full figured but a little thicker around the middle, with two children at home and a husband named Rolf who was a car mechanic, and who he really didn’t want to know any more about than that. He decided that if for some reason Katrina didn’t show, the brunette might be a good backup. But no matter what happened, he’d need someone to vouch for his whereabouts. Because if the expected Friday night drain on the power grid caused a blackout, then the 400,000 BTU fireworks on the cliff would erupt and he’d want to make sure he had an alibi.
A few minutes later the brunette took another dive into the pool. This time when she climbed out she caught his eye and smiled at him.
Rudiger smiled back. He raised his glass, pointed at it and opened his arms as if to say, “Will you join me?” He pointed to the chair in front of him. She averted her eyes and lay back down on her chaise lounge.
Rudiger shrugged. He finished his lunch and Tammy cleared it. He turned in his chair to look at his house on the cliff at the end of the bay and felt a pang, unsure if it was regret or nostalgia. A sound to his right made him turn back to see the brunette now stood beside him wrapped in a towel.
“You must be new here,” she said.
“No, in fact I’m not.”
“Yes, you must be. Because you’re in my seat.”
“This is my seat.”
The brunette just stared at him. She looked barely 30, tall and thin, not much going on upstairs in that one-piece, but long legs all the way down to the ground. She wore a grin on her face and had the longest eyelashes he’d ever seen.
“Are you gonna get up out of my seat or not?”
Rudiger smiled. He stood up.
“I’m John Rudiger.”
“Kelly Baldwin.”
“How long are you here for?”
“I fly for American. We’re in for the night, then we fly out tomorrow in the early afternoon.”
What the hell. Katrina can wait until tomorrow.
Rudiger took Kelly to Cedric’s, an authentic local restaurant about a mile from the Blue Moon. The place had about eight tables arranged in a circle around a fire pit out back behind a shack that served as the prep kitchen. Cedric would stoke the pit in the late afternoon so that by 6:30 or 7:00 the coals were red-hot. Cedric’s specialized in the local fish, whatever the catch that day, and a few specialty pork and lamb dishes. Rudiger always enjoyed sitting around watching Cedric and his chefs cook, hearing them razzing and laughing with each other. The smell of seafood and meat on the wood fire, the sounds of grease spattering onto the flames and sizzling up.
Kelly was much better looking dressed for dinner, her hair set in a wave and just enough eye makeup to lend real drama to those long lashes.
After they ordered their meals, Kelly said, “I’m not as easy as I came off back at the hotel. I was kidding around, mostly. A friend of mine flies for American, too, and she met you down here six months ago. Linda Wilson.” She looked up at Rudiger for a reaction.
He raised his eyebrows.
“She said you were a fun guy and that if I was in Antigua for a night or two I should look you up.”
“I hope I’m not disappointing you.”
She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I’m sure you won’t.”
So much for not being easy.
Later, Kelly said, “Linda also said you’ve got quite a house above the bay. I hope I get a chance to see it tonight.”
Maybe the whole west side of the island will.
Kelly was naturally chatty after two piña coladas, easy to be with, and dinner flew by. Rudiger decided she wasn’t what she held herself out to be; she was a nice girl who’d probably never gotten wild at a Club Med, or any other place in her life, and he was gonna make sure it stayed that way. It was about 9:30 as Rudiger paid the check.
When they got back into his SUV, he said, “How about a nightcap out by the pool?”
“Sounds great.”
They’d been seated at a cocktail table near the pool at the Blue Moon for about ten minutes, Rudiger sipping a gin and tonic, Kelly a piña colada, when Kelly said, “What’s wrong?”
Rudiger realized his gaze was following a set of headlights inching up the road toward the cliff at the end of the bay. It was clear the car was beyond the turnoff to the road that wound over the hill and that it was heading toward his house. He remembered the valve on the gas line he’d turned back on. He looked back at Kelly.
“I’m sure it’s nothing. But excuse me for a minute. I need to make a phone call.”
The only person he could think of who would be driving up to his house at this hour was Charisse. Once or twice in the past she’d forgotten something for the weekend and come back to retrieve it. He thought about it. Neither Charisse nor her sister owned a car, but maybe a neighbor was driving her back. He felt a flash of alarm and his heart rate increased.
He walked to the front of the hotel, scrolled to Charisse’s cell phone number in his iPhone and dialed. She must’ve had it turned off because his call went directly to voicemail. He scrolled down to find Marjorie’s phone number at her house. He called and it rang ten times but no one answered. He tried Charisse’s cell phone number again with the same result.
Now he could feel his heart starting to pound. He thought of running back to the table to excuse himself with Kelly, then decided he didn’t have time. Just then the hotel went dark, the power out. He saw his SUV still in the circular drive; the valet hadn’t parked it yet. Feeling a rush of adrenaline, he climbed in and stomped on the gas.
Oh no. No, no, no.
As his SUV fishtailed out of the Blue Moon’s driveway onto the road he could already see the glow of flames through the windows of his house. He pushed down harder on the accelerator, gripped the steering wheel tighter. He reached the turnoff for the road to his house, his SUV swerving on a patch of gravel. He clenched his teeth as he got the car back on track, afraid to take his eyes off the road in front of him, but aware of the orange glow increasing in intensity on top of the hill.
Another quarter mile.
At that moment a huge fireball erupted into the night sky as if a bomb had gone off. He felt it like someone slammed him in the chest, gasped and stomped the accelerator to the floor. As he got to the top of the hill he saw an SUV sitting in his driveway framed against the flames that were shooting everyplace out of his house. As he approached he realized it was a Jeep, and as he got closer, saw police markings. His pulse rammed in his ears.
He screeched his SUV to a stop and got out, ran as close as he could toward the heat of the flames, then saw the car number 27 on the side of the Jeep. He felt a flush of relief and crashed to his knees.
It was Isaacs’ Jeep.
He stood up and looked closer. Isaacs was nowhere to be seen, but he could see a 5-gallon metal gasoline container in the back of the Jeep. So the man really was gonna burn down his house, and must’ve been caught inside when the natural gas fire from the generator blasted the place.
Serves you right, you dumb son of a bitch.
Rudiger decided he’d better get out of there, so he climbed back into his SUV and drove back toward the hotel. When he was halfway there his cell phone rang. It was Charisse.
“Mr. John, I’m sorry I was away from the phone. I saw you called. Everything okay?”
He decided he’d break the news to her another time. “Yes, everything’s fine. I was just lookin
g for something, but I found it. Have a nice weekend.”
Rudiger left his SUV in the circular drive of the Blue Moon and walked toward the pool. Everyone, including all the staff, was standing out by the pool and on the beach watching his house burn. He stood and watched. “Look at it.” “Wow, you see that?” “Amazing,” hotel guests were pointing and saying. About 15 minutes later he heard sirens and saw headlights heading up the hill toward his house. He walked toward the pool, realizing he’d forgotten all about Kelly. She was standing near the table where they had been seated, her back to him, watching the flames.
Rudiger walked up behind her, placed his hand on her shoulder and said, “Guess you won’t get a chance to see my house tonight.”
It had taken the fire department half an hour to turn off the gas main so they could get close enough to Rudiger’s house to start dousing the flames. By then there wasn’t much left inside it to burn; the place was a total loss. Rudiger spent most of the next morning, Saturday, at the site with the police and fire departments. He watched from a distance for a while. After he identified himself, they finally let him through the yellow police tape to approach the house. As they brought out a body bag on a stretcher, Rudiger walked up to the fireman who seemed the dumbest, the one everyone else either bossed around or ignored, and said, “What’s the status?”
The man said, “Still investigating, but look like foul play.”
Rudiger felt tension in his scalp. “What do you mean?”
“We see. May take time to identify body. Maybe Senior Sgt. Isaacs caught in his own ruse, maybe not.”
Rudiger waited for the man to go on. When he didn’t, Rudiger said, “Anything else?”
“Generator gas line may been tampered with. Our men working on that now.”
Rudiger’s face felt like it flushed with heat. He saw the man look at one of the senior firemen observing them. The man walked away from him.
Not good. Now his scalp was tingling and his head felt light. He watched as two policemen stood by Isaacs’ Jeep, talking to each other and taking notes as they looked at the gas can in the back of it. After that, Rudiger called the insurance company to report the loss. The insurance company had an adjuster based in Barbados and would send him later that day. They told Rudiger that since there was a fatality, they would need to wait for the police report before paying the claim. That gave Rudiger a wrench in the gut.
