The Adamas Blueprint (24 page)

CHAPTER 33

The next morning a new guard took Kevin to the same lavish bathroom he’d been to the night before. This time he tested the bottom shelf and found that it was sufficiently strong to bear his weight. While the fan covered what little noise Kevin made, he inventoried the items in the cabinet.

A gallon jug half full of generic ammonia, a full bottle of the Clorox bleach he’d seen last night, a spray bottle of Windex, a can of lubricating oil which was what he’d probably almost tipped over last night, two small refillable bottles of nonabrasive tile cleaner, a tube of super glue, a brown vial of iodine, a pack of Q-tips, three sponges, and a rag. That was it. Almost all of them were items he expected to find in a bathroom. The glue and oil were unusual, but he’d heard of people keeping weirder stuff in their bathrooms.

Whatever he was going to do, it would have to be with these items. MacGyver he was not, but one thing he did know was how to mix chemicals to produce an effect.

Kevin immediately saw several possibilities. He stuffed the tube of super glue into one sock and the vial of iodine into the other, knowing that they might be seen in his jeans pockets. The Q-tips might come in handy so he took 20 out of the box and put them in his underwear. He needed MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT

294

the ammonia too, but it would have to wait. He put away the rest of the items, flushed the toilet, and exited the bathroom.

After lunch, Kevin was able to make another trip to the bathroom. He ran the water in the sink and emptied one of the bottles of tile cleaner, which would be small enough to fit in his waistband and go unnoticed. As far from the door as he could get so that the guard wouldn’t smell the fumes, Kevin poured some of the ammonia into the bottle until it was full. After capping the ammonia and putting it away, he waved his arms to get what fumes remained sucked up by the fan. Finally, he took one of the sponges and the rag. The sponge he put down his pants, along with the bottle in his waistband. He wrapped the rag around his ankle and pulled his sock tight over it.

As usual, he flushed the toilet and began the walk toward his room. As he did so, he felt his sock inch down under his pant leg. The rag began to fall loose. It flopped against the inside of his pants, but he didn’t dare alter his walk to compensate. He felt it nudging lower and lower until, only five feet from the door, he was sure it was peeking out from the bottom of his cuff. If the guard saw it, he would check Kevin to see if he was carrying anything else and that would lead to a search of his room. Whatever hopes he had to escape would be over.

Kevin walked into the room and turned. He sighed with relief to see the bedroom door closing behind him. He finally looked down and saw the corner of the rag brushing against the floor, about half of it exposed. If the guard had looked down for any reason, he would have seen it.

Kevin picked the rag up and took the sponge and bottle of ammonia out of his pants. Then he went to the bathroom and removed the other items from under the sink. He thought about a more MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT

295

elaborate hiding place but decided that if they made a deliberate search of the room, no hiding place would be good enough.

He looked at the array of items before him. The guard only opened the door to bring in food, and Kevin hoped he would keep to that regimen because the desk was now covered with illicit objects. He had to work quickly to be done in time for dinner.

He spread the rag flat on the desk to protect the desk surface. The hand towel from his bathroom would have done just as well, but it would get much dirtier, which might draw attention. And he couldn’t hide it because it might be missed.

On top of the rag, he placed a thin paper plate, which would provide a flat surface but soak through. It was an extra from lunch that he’d removed from under the first plate.

He uncapped the bottle of iodine and poured some of it onto the plate. Then he poured a little water from his paper cup and mixed them together using one of the Q-Tips. To this mixture, he added some ammonia and stirred.

After several minutes, the mixture became a sticky paste, Kevin was pleased to see. While he stirred, he remembered the story about how Erica and Daryl Grotman had met, his injury from mixing a home-made contact explosive. Ammonia triiodide to be exact. With his friends in the chemistry department, Kevin had made it himself years ago at Texas A&M, along with a few other types of explosives. It had just been for fun then. They’d flick quarter-inch drops of the purple concoction onto the sidewalk, then stand back and let it dry. When it did, people would walk by and step on the dried droplets, setting off a pop about half as powerful as a firecracker.

The person would jump and Kevin and his friends would laugh hysterically.

MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT

296

But Daryl Grotman found out how dangerous it could be in larger amounts. And from the state of the mixture in front of him, Kevin was confident that he’d remembered how to prepare it correctly.

After he was sure it was ready, he hurriedly emptied out the rest of the iodine bottle into the sink. The mixture would dry quickly in the open air, and he had to get it stored quickly before he put a hole in the desk. Kevin scooped the paste carefully into the empty iodine bottle. He capped it and wiped it clean with the corner of the rag, which was now soaked with iodine. Then he ran water over the paper plate to remove the remaining residue and rinsed the rag out. All of the objects went back under the sink.

The whole process had taken about two hours, which left him with plenty of time to go over his plan. He stood at the window, staring at the woods flanking the front drive. They were thick with foliage from a warm, wet summer. They would be perfect for a nighttime escape.

* * *

Kevin’s dinner consisted of another sandwich and chips. Apparently the chef had the weekend off. Kevin didn’t really mind. It was the way he usually ate anyway.

Twenty minutes later, Franco was back. As he cleaned up the remnants of the meal, he asked if Kevin needed to go to the bathroom. Kevin declined. There were still about two hours of daylight left. He had to wait for dark.

During the wait, Kevin wondered if his plan would actually work. Despite his efforts, the plan still relied on a great amount of luck, and he would be making it up as he went along once he got to the woods. But he was always bothered by people who passively accepted their fate, letting events happen and taking what they could get. Kevin believed that he had to make his own luck, MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT

297

even if that meant running into fate head on. Tonight was definitely going to be a test of that philosophy.

Finally it was dark. Kevin quietly leaned the chair against the door and pushed the top of the cane-backed chair up to the knob. He removed the bottle of ammonia triiodide from its hiding place and poured six-inch-diameter circles on the floor six inches from where the chair legs were wedged against the floor.

He closed the bottle and put the remaining triiodide and the super glue in his waistband. Then he moved the chair back to its normal position at the desk and turned off the lights. Standing close to the door, Kevin knocked and told Franco he was ready for the bathroom. The door swung open, and Kevin noted with relief that the door’s arc did not overlap the painted circles.

Franco didn’t see them, or if he did, he didn’t remark on them.

Once in the bathroom, Kevin poured another larger circle on the bottom of the under-sink cabinet. He used up the rest of the triiodide and set the bottle aside. From the tall cabinet, he retrieved the bottle of Clorox, the ammonia, and the can of lubricating oil. He put the can of oil next to the triiodide circle under the sink. Then he poured most of the Clorox down the sink and waited. When he thought the triiodide had enough time to dry, he poured some ammonia into the bottle of Clorox, screwed on the lid tightly, and placed the mixture and the bottle of ammonia next to the ammonia triiodide circle. He closed the cabinet door and knocked on the door, knowing he didn’t have much time.

When the door opened, Franco said, “Did you take a leak?”

“Of course I did,” Kevin said, too defensively.

“Then flush the toilet, for God’s sake.”

MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT

298

With horror, Kevin realized he had completely forgotten about the facade. As he walked quickly to the toilet and pushed the handle, he told himself he couldn’t afford any more mistakes like that.

“Happy?” he said.

“Come on,” Franco said, pushing Kevin into the hall.

Kevin tried to walk casually down the hall, but the urge to run was strong. He had only a minute at most. At last, he opened the door to the room, slowly, to avoid a fast change in air pressure that might set off the explosive. Kevin cast his eyes downward, peering to see the dark spots on the floor. If he stepped on one of the circles, he might lose a foot. He turned without moving farther into the room and closed the door behind him. Franco gave him a funny look, probably wondering why he was doing it instead of letting Franco, but Kevin didn’t have time to worry about it.

When the door was closed, he heard the rattling of the lock. When it was silent again, Kevin took the super glue from beneath the sink and squirted it into the lock mechanism.

He went over to the chair and lifted it, carrying it to the door, always keeping an eye on the two purple dots on the floor. With the top of the chair wedged under the door knob, he placed it gently on the floor and shoved until it was held tightly in position. He glanced at the watch they’d let him keep. He only had seconds left. He needed to get to the window.

Hand towel and rag in hand, he moved the desk so that the top was even with the window.

Luckily, the desk was light enough so that he could lift it without making noise. He sat up on the desk with his feet toward the window. Kevin waited.

MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT

299

He didn’t have to wait long. A loud bang echoed through the hallway, followed almost instantly by another, larger explosion. The concoction had worked exactly as planned. The mixture of ammonia and bleach had blown the bottle apart as it formed gas, setting off the ammonia triiodide contact explosive poured onto the shelf next to it, igniting the can of flammable oil and bursting the bottle of ammonia. If he was lucky, a fire was now raging in the bathroom.

His answer came a second later as an ear-splitting alarm sounded throughout the house, no doubt set off by the smoke detector. He heard the guard outside yell “Motherfuck!” and then race down the hall. Now was his chance. He hoped they were too distracted by the fire to worry about him.

Kevin held on to the desk and kicked at the window with both his feet. The glass shattered.

Normally it would have set off the alarm, but the fire had already started it. As he had hoped, the fire alarm and the burglar alarm were one and the same.

The cross struts of the window splintered but held and the glass shards were caught by the screen on the other side. More shouting came from down the hall, but it didn’t sound like it was aimed at him. He concentrated on the struts, kicking them until they separated from the sturdy window pane. He cleaned the remaining shards sticking out of the window with the hand towel and rag wrapped around his hand.

With the glass shards out of the way, Kevin raised the screen and looked over the edge. No guards were in sight. Twenty feet below the window was a hedge about four feet high. To his left was the top of the portico covering the front porch. He had hoped there would be a car that he could take, but a quick scan of the parking lot to his far right revealed it to be empty.

MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT

300

Another shout down the hall. This time Kevin heard his name. Footsteps pounded toward the room. He began to climb out feet first.

The lock rattled.

“Hurry up!” someone said.

“I’m trying!” yelled Franco.

“Open it!”

“It won’t work!” said Franco. “That fucker did something to the lock.”

Kevin’s legs dangled over the side. He slid his waist across the edge and supported himself with his elbows.

“Forget about the goddam lock!”

The door shuddered as someone kicked it. It held, but several more would cave in the flimsy wood.

He had to jump now. As Kevin pushed off, another kick caused part of the frame to crack.

Kevin saw the chair slide three inches toward the purple spots. Then he was freefalling.

If he hit a sturdy branch in the hedge, his ankle could be easily twisted or he could even break his leg. His butt came in contact with the hedge first, but the myriad tiny branches brought him to a gentle stop. The hedge’s sharp needles scraped him in dozens of places, but otherwise he was fine.

Above him, a third kick impacted the door in the room, immediately followed by twin explosions as the chair legs hit the ammonia triiodide.

“Holy shit!” Franco yelled. “He’s got a gun!”

Shots blasted into the room.

MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT

301

“What the hell are you doing?” screamed the other voice. “We can’t kill him!”

Their voices lowered, becoming inaudible to Kevin. He didn’t care. In a few seconds they’d realize that he was no longer in the room. He had to get to the forest before that happened.

He rolled off the top of the hedge and crouched on the ground with his back to the front porch, ready to sprint.

A chill gripped his stomach as he heard a voice behind him say, “Very good, Mr. Hamilton.”

He slowly turned to see David Lobec and Clayton Tarnwell standing on the porch twenty feet from him. They must have been there all along, shielded from the second story window by the portico. Kevin didn’t even consider running. Lobec had a pistol trained on him.

“Even in this light, Mr. Hamilton, I can assure you that I could hit you from this range. I can tell you from experience that getting shot in the leg is not pleasant.” He threw a sideways glance at Tarnwell. “Didn’t I tell you this would be amusing?”