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.
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, 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.”
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.
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.
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.
