K. Janssen - Hampton Manor

“Go ahead, kid. You can take a break now, but be back in five minutes. Oh, by the way, don’t say anything about this key thing to anyone. It’ll be a secret between Milton, you and me. Okay?”

“Sure thing, John. Mum’s the word. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Neil picked up his phone and walked to the bathroom down the hall. Only John knows that I made this phone call. If a bunch of cops or process servers come bursting in here, he is sure to connect the dots, but if I can keep his secret, he can sure keep mine.

Neil’s thumbs keyed in the pager number. He waited a minute and dialed again. Finally, he made the third call. There, my part is done. He looked at his watch; it was almost 8:48 and the two Hamptons were still together. He had made it.

He urinated, washed his hands and headed back to the West Wing much more relaxed than five minutes earlier and very pleased with himself. This was the easiest money I’ve ever made. I’m going to buy my mom a real nice present.

Chapter 44

The Assassin arrived at the condominium parking lot at 8:05 p.m., five minutes later than he had planned to be there. No harm done. It sure was beautiful to watch. He drove into one of the visitor parking spots facing Hampton Manor and shut off the engine. He lowered the window several inches and lit up a cigarette. The Assassin was not a smoker, but smoking was a good cover for being alone in a car in a parking lot. Sometimes he’d put a cell phone to his ear and have a pretend conversation. His head was pointed away from Hampton Manor, but his eyes were busy taking in the sporadic on and off of lights in the building. He breathed a sigh of relief when the lights were turned on at the two windows he knew to be in the den. That’s the logical place for them to meet. That must be John getting things ready. I hope everything goes off on time. I want to split this burg as soon as I can. This whole thing took a lot longer than I thought it would. Well, with a payoff this big, I shouldn’t complain.

A car pulled into the empty spot on his right. He heard the beep-beep of the remote and the shadow of a man passing behind his car on the way to the condos. He was carrying some beer. His eyes followed the man as he climbed the stairway and moved down the walk-way to the last unit on the left. Those two six-packs will keep him occupied for the next several hours. I wonder if there’s a big game on tonight. This is Red Sox country, I think.

Back to the surveillance. It was now 8:20. We’re getting close. Don’t let me down, Neil. He looked at the third remote; the one with the “C” written on it by indelible black marker. This one was special. It was jerry-rigged to send an initial signal and then to follow through seconds later with a signal at a different frequency; a genuine two-fer. Back to the watch. That’s a real nice looking building. Too bad it will be a pile of smoldering rubble in just a few hours. I wonder what my client has against those two. It must be something pretty important that he has to have them both together when they die. It really doesn’t matter, but I’m curious. I guess there is no way I’m ever going to know.

Another glance at his watch, 8:29. Well this should be it. Do your job, Neil. 8:31, no beeper. 8:33, 8:35, 8:40, still no page. The Assassin looked to make sure that the pager was on. Check that . 8:45, still no signal. Maybe the lines are overloaded because of the flood and fire. He dialed the motel and the desk clerk answered. He disconnected. That’s not it. What the hell is going on?

At 8:47 the first message showed on his pager. He erased it and waited. The second arrived and was also erased. He waited anxiously for the third message. Only two might mean that the meeting was aborted . There’s got to be a third.

He would not be disappointed. At 8:48 the last message showed up on his screen . Bingo! The Assassin picked up the remote, flipped the safety switch to the side and pressed the button. Within seconds the first device went off with a thundering boom. The flash from the blast lit up the den’s street-side windows with a brilliant ultra-violet light before changing to orange/red. Within seconds the tanks of gas, located near the flash point were detonated by the peak adiabatic temperature of the nitrex and the perfect stoichiometry of the oxygen and nitrogen joined the explosive force sending shockwaves across the west wing. Interior walls collapsed, security glass in the windows blew out and flames enveloped all contents regardless of their composition, structure or design.

John and the dogs were reduced to charred remains within seconds, never knowing what hit them. Down the hall Adam Hampton II and III were thrown to the floor as flames engulfed their bodies. They expired within minutes as the flames eagerly fed on their flesh.

In the hall, Neil Gilbert was nearing the door to the west wing as the first explosion occurred. He felt the vibration from the blast, but saw nothing as the reinforced concrete wall absorbed the impact. The shock felt like a mini-earthquake. Neil had only a second to think about what was happening before the second bomb was set off. A section of the staircase struck him in the back and propelled him into the steel front door. As the door separated from the frame his body fell onto the front porch of the manor. He was dead on impact, his clothes and skin burning brightly.

Moments before detonation of the device in the main house, Milton Cavell left the kitchen to retrieving the spare set of keys from John. He felt the tremor from the first bomb, but it was the shockwave from the second that threw him backwards onto the spear of one of several statues of aborigines that adorned the narrow hallway. There, impaled and afire, he became a human shish kebob.

Within five minutes Hampton Manor was engulfed in flame. The fire’s high temperature melted metal, vaporizing plastic and consumed all manner of structural and decorative materials as the Nitrex did its job. Two maids working on the second floor at the time were quickly overcome by smoke and perished within minutes. One of the male nurses, asleep in a room over the West Wing, was struck by a collapsing ceiling beam, pinned to the floor and succumbed to the encroaching flames. What remained of a chef’s assistant who was working in the kitchen at the time of the blast was found near the entrance to the cupboard. The Medical Examiner would have a difficult time determining the cause of her death, with so many factors were involved. This fire was going to cost the town a lot of overtime hours.

The Assassin admired his work from his vantage point. Perfect execution. That Nitrex is the best explosive and natural accelerant I’ve ever used. Good choice!

He observed a woman with a small dog walking in the road past the entrance to the Hampton house. She looked up the driveway, stopped dead in her tracks, removed a small cell phone from her pocket and pressed a few buttons with her thumb. 9-1-1, no doubt. Then her lady friends for sure. She’ll be talking all night. This kind of news will spread quickly, but, of course, not as fast as my fire will. When she completed her call she returned the phone to her coat pocket, picked up the small dog and scurried back in the direction from which she came, carelessly leaving her dog’s poop on the sidewalk. I guess being a good citizen just goes so far. Have a good night lady.

While the West Wing took the biggest hit, the explosive placed in the main house was so strategically placed that it travelled quickly down the center hall and the East Wing was now totally engulfed in flame. A perfect job if I have to say so myself. His watch read 9 p.m. I’ve stayed too long. It’s such a beautiful sight, but it’s time to leave Old Brooking and head for home . As he exited he noticed that several cars were heading up the short driveway to the parking lot adjacent to where he was stationed, looking for a vantage point to watch the inferno. Even Mister six-pack had left whatever he was doing to gape at the fire.