Nelson Demille - Wild fire

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Welcome to the Custer Hill Club-a men's club set in a luxurious Adirondack hunting lodge whose members include some of America's most powerful business leaders, military men, and government officials. Ostensibly, the club is a place to relax with old friends. But one fall weekend, the club's executive board gathers to talk about the tragedy of 9/11-and finalize a retaliation plan, known only by its codename: Wildfire. That same weekend, a member of the Federal Anti-Terrorist Task Force is found dead. Soon it's up to Detective John Corey and his wife, FBI Agent Kate Mayfield to unravel a terrifying plot that starts with the Custer Hill Club and ends with American cities locked in the crosshairs of a nuclear device. Corey and Mayfield are the only ones who can stop the button from being pushed, and global chaos from being unleashed…

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“I’ll get to that. Has the diesel service truck left yet?”

“Not as of five minutes ago. No one else has left the subject property, so I guess this guy Putyov is still there.” He asked me, “Did you see any sign of him there?”

“No, I didn’t.” I asked him, “Was I followed after I left the Custer Hill Club?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I was called directly by my surveillance car, who told me it was an Enterprise rental, and the renter was a Mr. John Corey, and I told them you were on the job.”

“Okay.” So, if that was true, then the state police hadn’t seen the vehicle switch at Rudy’s gas station. If it wasn’t true, then I was driving around in a hot van. But that only mattered if I didn’t trust Major Schaeffer, and the jury was out on that. Bottom line, I really think I would have noticed if I’d been followed.

Major Schaeffer inquired again, “What were you doing there?”

“I was sizing up the suspect and collecting forensic evidence.”

“What kind of forensic evidence?”

“Hairs and carpet fibers.” I explained what I’d done.

Major Schaeffer listened, then asked, “Where is this evidence now?”

“In my possession.”

“When are you giving it to me?”

“Well, I think there’s a jurisdictional question that needs to be resolved first.”

“No, there isn’t. Murder is a state crime.”

I reminded him, “You haven’t classified it as a murder.”

There was silence as Major Schaeffer contemplated the consequences of his fence-straddling. Finally, he said, “I could arrest you for withholding evidence.”

“You could, if you could find me.”

“I can find you.”

“No, I’m really good at this.” I said, “I’ll think about what’s best for this investigation, and best for me and my partner.”

“Don’t think too long.” He asked me, “What did Madox have to say?”

“We talked about bears.” I informed Major Schaeffer, “I put Bain Madox on notice that he was a material witness in a possible homicide investigation.” I explained how I did that, and concluded, “Now, he needs to cooperate, voluntarily, or involuntarily, and that also puts some heat on him.”

Schaeffer replied, “Yeah. I understand how that works, Detective. Thank you.” He asked me, “When did murder in New York State become a Federal crime?”

“When did Harry Muller’s death become a murder?”

Clearly, Major Schaeffer was not happy with me or my methods, so he didn’t answer my question, but informed me, “Madox may now have to cooperate in the investigation, but you’ll never see him again without his lawyer present.”

I wondered if Madox’s lawyer was coming to dinner. On that subject, I decided not to tell Schaeffer about Madox inviting me to dinner until I was well on my way to Custer Hill. I mean, I needed him to know where I was, in case there was a problem. But I didn’t want him to know about it too early in case he or Griffith became part of the problem by arresting me.

He said, “Okay, I’ve done you some favors, and you’ve done me some favors. I think we’re even on favors.”

“Actually, I have a few more favors to ask of you.”

“Put them in writing.”

“And then I’ll owe you a favor.”

No reply. I think he was pissed. Nevertheless, I said, “Speaking of diesels, did you ever find out how big those diesel generators are at Custer Hill?”

“Why is that important?”

“I don’t know that it is. I’m sure it’s not. But I saw that building there-”

“Yeah. I saw it, too, when I was hunting there.”

I let a few seconds pass, then he said, “I had one of my men call Potsdam Diesel, but my guy got the information wrong, or their office person didn’t read the file right.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, my guy said they told him the generators put out two thousand kilowatts.” He paused, then said, “ Each . Hell, that could power a small town. It must be twenty kilowatts-maybe two hundred, tops. Or maybe twenty thousand watts .”

“Is there a difference?”

“There is if you stick your dick in a light socket.” He dropped that subject and said to me, “Let me give you some advice.”

“Okay.”

“You’re not in business for yourself. This is a team effort. Rejoin the team.”

Kate raised her hand in a seconding motion.

I said to Major Schaeffer, “It’s a little late for that.”

“You and your wife should get over to headquarters now .”

It’s always nice to be invited home again, and it’s tempting, but I didn’t trust my family any longer, so I said, “I think you have all the Federal agents you need there.”

He offered, “I’ll meet you someplace that’ll make you feel… safer.”

“Okay. I’ll let you know where to meet us later.”

Before he could respond, I hung up and looked at Kate, who said, “John, I think we should go to-”

“End of discussion. New topic. Potsdam Diesel.” I picked up the phone and dialed Potsdam Diesel, whose phone number I recalled from their service truck.

A young lady answered, “Potsdam Diesel. This is Lu Ann. How can I help you?”

I hit the Speaker button. “Hi, Lu Ann. This is Joe, the caretaker at the Custer Hill Club.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I have Al here servicing the generators.”

“Is there a problem?”

“No, but could you pull the sales and service files for me?”

“Hold on.”

The speaker started playing Muzak and I said to Kate, “I’m not current on watts-no pun intended-but Schaeffer wasn’t believing six thousand… what were they called? Megawatts?”

Kate replied, “Kilowatts. A thousand watts is a kilowatt. Six thousand kilowatts is six million watts. A lightbulb is usually seventy-five watts.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of-”

Lu Ann was back. “I have it. How can I help you?”

“Well, if I lost power and the generators kicked in, could I make toast and coffee in the morning?”

She laughed and said, “You could make toast and coffee for Potsdam.”

“Yeah? So, how many kilowatts do I have?”

“Okay, you have three Detroit brand, sixteen-cylinder diesel engines, each capable of driving its matching generator to two thousand kilowatts.”

Kate and I exchanged glances.

I said to Lu Ann, “No kidding? How old are these generators? Is it time to replace them?”

“No. They were installed in… 1984… but they should last forever with service.”

“But how much is a new one?”

“Oh… I’m not sure, but the cost of these in 1984 was $245,000.”

“Each?”

“Yes, each. Today… well, a lot more.” She asked me, “Is there a problem with the service?”

“No. Al’s doing a great job. I can see him sweating from here. When is he going to be finished?”

“Well… we only have Al and Kevin… this was called in Saturday afternoon, and we’re real busy… You know you’re paying on an expedited basis?”

Kate and I again glanced at each other. I said to Lu Ann, “No problem. In fact, add a thousand dollars to Mr. Madox’s bill for Al and Kevin.”

“That’s very generous of you-”

“So, what do you think? Another hour?”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to call them, or do you want to go talk to them?”

“You call them. Look, we’re having a big dinner party, so maybe they can come back another time.”

“When would you like to schedule that?”

“November thirty-first.”

“Okay… oh… I see here there’s only thirty days in-”

“I’ll call you on that. Meanwhile, give these guys a holler, and tell them to knock off. I’ll hold.”

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