Nelson Demille - Wild fire

I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or a criticism, so I didn’t reply.

We went around the Main Lodge and on to a stone terrace. We could see through the big windows into the Great Hall, and I watched the guests around the two tables, working hard at the game of civilized dinner behavior. None of them were local, of course, and wherever they’d come from, they’d arrived.

I thought of Bain Madox sitting in his great hall-fireplace, dog, hunting trophies, old scotch, a manservant, and probably a girlfriend or two somewhere. For 99 percent of humanity, this would be more than enough. But Mr. Bain Madox, though he should have been very content with his accomplishments and wealth, was being directed by some inner voice into a dark place.

I mean, thinking back on that meeting, I could see something in his eyes and in his demeanor that made me believe he was on a mission, a man of destiny, far above the rest of humanity.

I’m sure he had reasons for whatever he was up to, reasons that he thought were good and which he’d actually hinted at over scotch and coffee. But I didn’t care about his reasons, or his inner demons, or his divine voices, or his obvious megalomania; what I cared about was that he was apparently engaged in a criminal enterprise, and that he’d most likely killed a friend of mine on his way toward his larger goal, which itself was undoubtedly beyond criminal.

Kate asked me, “What are you thinking about?”

“Madox. Harry. Nukes. Radio signals. Stuff like that.”

“I know we’ll figure it all out.”

“Well, Kate, the nice thing about this mystery is that even if we don’t figure it out, we’ll know soon enough what it was that we couldn’t figure out.”

“I think it would be better if we figured it out before it happens.”

We reached the rear of the Main Lodge without encountering any carnivorous wildlife, and I saw a door with a wooden sign that said: MOHAWK.

We entered the unlocked door, and I bolted it, not sure if the door would keep a bear out. Maybe I should move the dresser in front of it.

Kate said, “Oh, this is beautiful.”

“What?”

“The room . Look at this place.”

“Okay.” I looked. It was a big cathedral-ceilinged room, paneled in stained pine. There was a king bed that looked like it could be comfortable, but it was so high off the floor, you wouldn’t want to fall out of it. On the bed was a wicker basket full of toiletries.

There was a lot of furniture in the room, and lots of throw pillows and blankets lying around, which I know women like.

As Kate went around feeling up the fabrics and smelling the flowers, I checked out the bathroom. I’m a bathroom freak, and this one was okay. I like a good toilet bowl. I washed my face in the sink, then returned to the main room.

Along the far wall was a big stone fireplace, and in the hearth were logs and kindling, to which Kate was holding a match. The fire caught, and she stood and said, “This is so romantic.”

Above the fireplace was a huge set of antlers, which reminded me that I was horny. I said, “I’m horny.”

“Can’t we just enjoy the room?”

“You said it was romantic. So?”

“Romance and sex are not the same thing.”

I knew if I argued that point, I wasn’t going to get any, so I said, “I’m very sensitive to that. Here, let me put some music on.” There was a CD player on the desk and a stack of disks.

I quickly found an Etta James CD, which I knew she liked, and popped it in. Etta began crooning “At Last.”

Kate found a bottle of red wine on a dining table, which she opened. Then she poured two glasses and gave one to me. “To us.”

We touched glasses, sipped, and kissed lightly on the lips. I’m not a big wine drinker, but I’ve discovered that wine equals romance, and romance leads to… whatever.

Kate went around and shut off the lamps. We took off our shoes and sat in comfortable upholstered chairs that faced each other in front of the roaring fire.

Kate said, “This was a good idea, except it’s too expensive.”

“Hey, I got an oil tip from Bain. We’re buying oil futures tomorrow as soon as the market opens. Then, I’m calling my bookie with my bet on the start date of the war. Do you think this war has anything to do with what Madox is up to?”

“Possibly.”

“Yeah… maybe Madox is going to nuke Baghdad and keep us from having to go to war. Could that be his game?”

“I don’t know. Why speculate?”

“This is called analysis. This is what we get paid for.”

“I’m off-duty.”

“Would nuking Baghdad raise or lower the price of oil? And how can I bet on the start date of the war if the war is preempted by a nuclear blast? What do you think?”

“I think you should stop thinking about this tonight.”

I looked around the darkened room, lit now by the fire. The reflection of the flames glowed on the shiny oil paintings along the walls. The wind had picked up, and I could hear it howling in the chimney and saw gusts of leaves blowing past the windows. I said, “This actually is romantic. I see the difference now.”

She smiled and replied, “You’re on the right track.”

“Good. Hey, do you realize that William Avery Rockefeller had sex in this very room?”

“Is that all you think about? I mean, here we are in one of the historic Great Camps of the Adirondacks, and all you can think about is that some Rockefeller had sex in this room.”

“That’s not true. I was about to comment on the pastoral movement among the rich in the early part of the last century that led to the construction of these rural homes as simple refuges from the complexities of urban life, with all its noise, pollution, and teeming humanity.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Also, the Rockefellers were horny. I mean, look at what happened to poor Nelson Rockefeller. Then, you have oysters Rockefeller. Oysters. Get it? So, for me to mention that William Avery-”

“John, you’re losing points.”

“Right.” So we listened to Etta James, watched the fire, and sipped wine. The heat of the fire was making me drowsy, and I yawned.

Kate stood, went to the bed, and removed the comforter and a pillow, which she laid out in front of the hearth.

She then slipped into something more comfortable, meaning nothing, and I watched her as she undressed in the firelight. When she was naked, she lay down on the comforter and looked at me.

I think that was my signal to join her, so I stood and undressed slowly-about five seconds-and we lay on our sides in each other’s arms.

She nudged me onto my back and rolled on top of me.

This had been a lousy day, and tomorrow, assuming there was one, wasn’t going to be much better. But for now, this was as good as it got.

Our wake-up call came promptly at 6:00 A.M., making me wonder what I was thinking when I asked for it. Little Scotsmen were hurling stones in my head.

Kate rolled over, mumbled something, and buried her head under the pillow.

I found the bathroom in the dark and used the provided sundries, then stepped into the shower, which felt like a million dollars-or at least twelve hundred dollars.

I went back into the bedroom and got dressed in the dark, leaving sleeping beauty to rest.

Actually, we’d both spent a restless night after an overstimulated day. For the first time in a long time, I dreamed I was standing under the burning towers as people jumped from the windows. I also dreamed that Harry and I were at a funeral.