Second Love

by Gould, Judith

  'I appreciate that,' he said thickly.

  She said, 'I don't think I need to mention that your departure comes at a rather . . . well, inopportune time?'

  'I realize that—'

  She held up a hand to silence him. 'Don't worry about it. There probably isn't such a thing as a good time for it, anyway. However, before you leave, I shall require your help.'

  'Sure.' Kurt looked eager to oblige. 'Just tell me what you want.'

  She sat back and cupped her hands over the arms of her chair.

  'As you know,' Dorothy-Anne said slowly, 'my late husband was the driving force behind Eden Isle. All this'—she lifted a hand and waved it around—'is his doing. I'll need to be familiarized with every aspect of the operation.'

  'No problem.' Kurt smiled. 'I'll be happy to take you around. Give you a cram course.'

  'You'd better assume I'm a babe in the woods. Where Eden Isle is concerned, I really know next to nothing.'

  That wasn't entirely true, but it wasn't a total lie, either. Dorothy- Anne had been kept informed of progress along every step of the way as Eden Isle underwent its transformation from an uninhabited island to the massive construction site it was today. However, what she needed was Kurt's singular take on the project. She wanted to see it through his eyes.

  'The thing to remember,' he said, 'is that Eden Isle was conceived as your ultimate vacation destination, a completely self-contained resort in every way. Anything anyone could want will be here. Hotels for every budget. Shops. Amusement park. The world's largest natural aquarium.'

  Dorothy-Anne nodded. She knew all that, but Hunt didn't, so she let Kurt continue.

  'Almost everything we're doing here has never been done before,' Kurt was saying. 'Well, at least not on this grand a scale, and certainly not on an uninhabited island this size. That's worked both for and against us.

  From his voice, his pride in the project was unmistakable, and Dorothy-Anne couldn't help thinking of Freddie. No wonder he and Kurt had gotten along so famously.

  'One of our biggest advantages,' Kurt went on, 'is that we won't have any of the problems normally associated with seaside resorts. Take pollution, for example. We're nipping it in the bud before it can happen.

  'The same with crime. Since there's no native population, there's no existing crime rate. And we intend to keep it that way.'

  Kurt smiled and sat forward.

  'Think about it! Where else can people walk the beach at four in the morning, without fear of getting mugged? Naturally, we want things to stay that way, so we're forming our own police force.'

  Kurt's enthusiasm was infectious, and Dorothy-Anne found herself getting caught up in the excitement. She glanced at Hunt. He, too, was following every impassioned word with interest.

  'Of course, for every upside, there's a downside,' Kurt admitted. 'We've encountered no end of problems. Being on an island can complicate even the simplest things.'

  Dorothy-Anne nodded. She knew this, too. It's why Eden Isle is way behind schedule. And why it's gone stratospherically over budget.

  'Also, starting from scratch meant we first had to put the entire infrastructure in place,' Kurt explained. 'That can get pretty involved when you're talking the equivalent of a town of six thousand people.'

  Hunt whistled softly. 'You're going to accommodate six thousand guests?'

  Kurt shook his head. 'Not just guests. That figure includes the staff.'

  'But won't that many people have a negative impact on the ecosystem?'

  Kurt shook his head again. 'It shouldn't. From the start, we've been determined to keep the 'Eden' in Eden Isle.'

  'And how did you go about doing that?' Hunt was genuinely fascinated.

  Kurt allowed himself a modest smile. 'During the preliminary planning stages, we had various scientists figure out the maximum number of people who could be on this island at any given time.'

  'And they came up with six thousand?'

  'Actually, they didn't. We did.' Kurt looked at Dorothy-Anne. 'Mrs. Cantwell is the expert when it comes to hotel and resort occupancy. I believe she's in the best position to explain it.'

  Dorothy-Anne looked at Hunt. 'What we did was hire five teams of scientists, all of which worked independently of each other. The figures they came up with ranged anywhere from seven to nine thousand people. Any more would almost certainly damage the environment . . . perhaps irreparably.'

  'I see.' Hunt nodded. 'So you decided to play it safe.'

  'That's right. It's better than being sorry.' Dorothy-Anne smiled. 'So after deciding on our self-imposed limit of six thousand, we broke that down further to four thousand guests and a permanent staff of a thousand, as well as a rotating staff of another thousand.'

  'That's still quite a crowd.'

  'Yes, it is,' she agreed. 'Of course, we're talking maximum capacity. In the hotel business, a hundred percent occupancy rate is almost unheard of. There's always a percentage of unoccupied units. We're banking on a year-round average of seventy-five percent.'

  'Sounds to me like you'll have to charge top dollar just to break even.'

  Dorothy-Anne shook her head. 'On the contrary. We plan on being competitively priced, and intend to give steep tour operator discounts. But although we'll be a family resort with theme parks, we'll also have twenty-four-hour casinos, with roulette, baccarat, craps, poker, and eight hundred slot machines. For high rollers, there'll even be a salon privé. Most of our profits will come from gambling.'

  'Ah. The Vegas principle. Family fun and sin—all under one roof.'

  'Well, quite a few roofs, but yes. It's a combination family resort and theme part with select adult entertainment.'

  Hunt was impressed. 'This project sure is a lot more ambitious than I first thought.'

  'Wait until I take you around,' Kurt added, with an easy grin. 'Then you'll really see what's involved. Speaking of which'—he cocked his arm to consult his Mickey Mouse watch—'why don't we head out into the field? Nothing beats seeing the real thing.'

  He glanced at Dorothy-Anne. 'There's been a lot of progress since your last visit. I think you'll be quite pleased.'

  Dorothy-Anne rolled back the swivel chair and popped to her feet. 'Well?' she demanded, positively trembling with excitement and sense of purpose. 'What are we waiting for? Let's go!'

  Kurt led them out to the parking lot, where he had one of the green Range Rovers waiting. When they were seated he shut the doors, walked around to the driver's side, climbed in, and started the ignition.

  Kurt glanced over at Dorothy-Anne. 'I thought we'd start by heading north and taking the sixteen-mile drive, doing the complete circumference. If that's all right with you, of course.'

  'It's fine,' Dorothy-Anne assured him.

  They drove slowly out of the veritable boomtown of Quonset huts, manufactured homes, prefabs, RVs, and big military surplus tents, all of which served as temporary quarters, offices, and recreational facilities for the construction crews.

  They passed through a tropical forest of old-growth mahogany trees and dense vegetation. Then the road climbed the gentle slope at the very outer edge of the volcanic ridge that rose sharply to form the spine of the island.

  Kurt stopped the Range Rover at the crest of the slope. He was saying, 'Down there to the right is Sunrise Bay. This is one of the few spots from which the sea is visible from the road. The yacht you see anchored offshore is yours.'

  He drove on, and they stopped at the water treatment plant and then he took them a little further up the coast, to the electricity generating facility, a huge, sloping concrete structure abutting the side of a rocky, hundred-foot-high cliff that jutted into the sea.

  'From up here, it looks like a fortress,' Hunt observed, leaning over the railing at the top and looking down. 'Or the front of a dam.'

  'What it is,' Kurt told him, 'is the true heart of the island. Let me show you.'

  He led the way to a low, windowless structure, and used a touch-tone pad set into the wall to g
ain access. He punched 7476. 'That's July 4, 1776,' he told them. 'The signing of the Declaration of Independence.' Dorothy-Anne and Hunt followed him inside, and then down two flights of grated steel stairs.

  'This,' Kurt said, tapping the code on the electronic lock of a polished steel door, 'is the Energy Control Center.'

  The door slid aside with a sigh and they went inside.

  Hunt looked around in awe. 'Wow!' he said softly. 'Holy Moses!'

  One entire wall was of cantilevered glass, and overlooked two massive, three-story-high gas turbines. On the other three walls were banks of switches and electronic schematic diagrams of transmission lines and transformers. These were overseen by four engineers in white lab coats who were seated at computer workstations.

  Hunt stood at the cantilevered wall of glass and stared down at the gleaming turbines. He could hear and feel their muffled throbs, like a sleeping Goliath's reverberating heartbeat.

  Hunt shook his head. 'I'm sure glad it's not my checkbook,' he said.

  They went back to the Rover and continued onward, driving north through dense foliage and dappled shadows.

  Kurt swung a right at the next turnoff, and the Rover once again left the ring road behind.

  As the foliage petered out, Hunt lowered his head and leaned forward between the two front seats. He wished he had thought to bring a bathing suit. The palm-lined beach up ahead looked like confectioner's sugar, and the sea was inviting: emerald green inside the reef, and a deep dark blue beyond it.

  'Today's a bit hazy,' Kurt said, 'but if you look closely, you can just make out the southern coast of Puerto Rico. It's twenty-two miles from here over to Phosphorescent Bay.'

  Now that he looked for it, Hunt could discern the silhouette of a bluish landmass poking up along the horizon.

  Kurt pulled up and parked, and they got out.

  'This is where the adults-only complex will be. Right on the beach will be the Planter's Mansion.' Kurt used his finger to point to the spot. 'Directly behind it will be the casino for high rollers. No slots here. It'll be strictly salon privé. There'll also be beach bungalows and a golf course.'

  Hunt walked over to a drop-off and looked down. It was an eight- foot-wide concrete trench with gutters running along each side of the bottom. He reckoned it was around seven feet deep. At regular intervals, he noticed ladders embedded in the walls, as well as electric utility lights in wire cages.

  'Let me guess,' he joked. 'Booby traps for unwelcome visitors? Or preparations for trench warfare?'

  Kurt came over to him. 'That's one of the service trenches,' he explained. 'A concept we borrowed from Walt Disney World.'

  'Service trenches.'

  'That's right. They're so shift changes, routine maintenance, emergency repairs, or just litter collection—all the unglamorous, behind-the- scenes stuff—will be invisible to the guests. We dug forty miles of these. They're all part of one big interconnected network.'

  Hunt stared at him. 'Did I hear you say forty miles?'

  'You did.'

  Hunt whistled softy. Then, leaning forward some more, he scanned the length of the trench more closely. Now that he knew what to look for, he detected where another trench bisected this one a hundred feet away.

  'It must be a maze! Won't the people who work here get lost?'

  'Not at all,' Kurt replied. 'It's really very simple. Think of Manhattan above Fourteenth Street. Now. You see that solid yellow stripe painted down the middle?'

  'Yes.'

  'That stripe indicates that this trench runs longitudinally. Like an avenue running uptown to downtown. Now see that big G stenciled on the wall every so often?'

  Hunt nodded.

  'Well, G is the seventh letter of the alphabet. Therefore, this is the seventh 'avenue' over. There are seven in all. A is the nearest to the western coast, D runs more or less down the middle of the island, and G here is closest to our eastern coast.

  'You're right,' Hunt said. 'It is simple. I take it the cross trenches are numbered consecutively? Like city streets?'

  'You got it. There are eighteen in all. One is at the top of the island, and eighteen is at the bottom.'

  'But what about the center of the island?' Hunt asked. 'It's extremely mountainous. Do the trenches stop there?'

  'No.' Kurt shook his head. 'In places, the trenches get deeper, and they become tunnels where necessary.'

  'And transportation?' Hunt asked. 'Obviously these trenches are roadways of some sort.'

  'That's right, they are. We'll be using a fleet of narrow electrically powered carts specially built for us by Mitsubishi.'

  Kurt paused.

  'So what do you think?' he asked.

  Hunt thought it was ingenious.

  The tour lasted most of the afternoon.

  Next on the agenda was the amusement park for preteens. Its focal point, the shallow one-acre swimming pool, was empty but had already been poured and tiled. Permanently 'anchored' at one end was the towering hull of Jolly Roger's treasure galleon. On the opposite 'shore,' the cinder block walls and towers of the Castillo awaited its final coat of patinaed, stone-scored concrete, heraldic pennants, and pretend princesses.

  Then they stopped at the family-oriented Grand Victoria Hotel. It was a sprawling behemoth, the timber framework near enough complete so that the towers, turrets, deep loggias, and steep roofs revealed the architectural fantasy it would shortly become.

  The three of them headed toward the empty free-form pool. Situated between the front of the hotel and the beach, it was so huge it seemed like an ocean in its own right, with concrete islands and a rope suspension bridge.

  'The islands are hollow for holding soil,' Kurt shouted. 'We're putting in grown palms. The pool itself is over nine hundred feet long.'

  As soon as they'd toured it, Dorothy-Anne was ready to move on. 'Where to now?' she demanded of Kurt, her eyes positively shining.

  'The Oceanographic Institute. It's close, so we might as well go on foot. And after that, there's the lagoon—'

  'Well, come on!' Dorothy-Anne cried out over the din from all around. She led the way, grabbing Hunt by the hand and tugging him along.

  The Oceanographic Institute was a few hundred yards down the beach, near the southern tip of the island. Built on a rocky spit of land created by a long-ago lava flow, it had an imposing presence, and although it was newly constructed, looked as if it had occupied the site for centuries—a direct result of being based on a seventeenth-century mansion in Old San Juan.

  The details were in keeping with Spanish Colonial vernacular: mellowed, patinaed pink stucco walls, ground-floor arches, wrought-iron balconies, and wooden shutters. It was surrounded on three sides by a balustraded, limestone-paved terrace.

  'Except for the exhibits,' Kurt said, 'it's finished.'

  'Well?' Dorothy-Anne said. 'Why don't we see how the inside of this place turned out?'

  Kurt led them across the terrace and under the arches. He held the front door open. 'I think you'll be pleased,' he told Dorothy-Anne.

  She nodded wordlessly and went inside, gazing around the high-ceilinged lobby. Straight ahead, a wide limestone staircase rose up to the second floor. It was flanked by two tall, symmetrically placed doors. The one on the left had a sign that read Entrance; the one on the right was marked Exit.

  Kurt made a beeline to the left and they followed him into a long, dark windowless hall. Then he flicked a switch.

  Eerie greenish lights flickered on, illuminating the insides of enormous, empty aquariums. They lined both walls completely.

  'These tanks are for endangered aquatic species,' Kurt said. 'We're committed to breeding them and setting the offspring free in their natural habitats. At least, that's the idea.'

  'You sound slightly skeptical,' Hunt observed.

  'That's because it's difficult to predict how animals will behave in captivity. Some adapt better than others. Still, we have to try. Before it's too late.'

  Next, Kurt took them upstairs to a
room that had large-screen televisions recessed in the walls. Beneath them, earphones hung on hooks.

  'Using animation, we're going to use these to illustrate the effects of global warming,' Kurt explained. 'People will get to see how much land- mass will be under water with every degree of rising temperature. An independent studio is producing the videos for us.'

  He ushered them into another, larger room. 'Here,' he said, 'exhibits will educate the public at large about the dangers of pollution, drift netting, and overfishing. We'll also teach people ways they can personally help—by cutting up plastic six-pack holders, for instance, so fish don't get caught in them.'

  Finally, he took them downstairs to a cavernous subbasement at sea level. The floor was metal grating, and underneath it was water.

  Kurt said: 'A natural underwater cave lets out directly into the lagoon from here. And these two babies'—he indicated a pair of small, two- person red submersibles with Plexiglas bubble tops, which bobbed gently at their slips—'are Neptune I and Neptune II.'

  Hunt eyed the vessels admiringly. They each had two cylindrical air tanks attached to each of their sides. 'I gather these minisubs aren't for guests?' he said.

  'You gather correctly. They cost far more to run than we could charge for the ride. They're for maintenance in the lagoon, and are battery powered so they won't cause any pollution.'

  'And those arms at the front . . . the ones with those wrench like ends? They're robotic hands?'

  'Right again,' Kurt said. 'They can be manipulated from inside the vessels.'

  They went back upstairs and out into the sunshine. After the darkness of the subbasement, the bright light hurt their eyes.

  'And now,' Kurt announced, 'comes the piéce de résistance. Predators' Lagoon.'

  Hunt flicked him a squinty glance. 'Sounds ominous.'

  'Really, Kurt,' Dorothy-Anne said, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. 'Why don't we hold off on that until it's finished? Hunt will never imagine the full effect just by walking along the shore.'

  Kurt grinned. 'Who said anything about walking along the shore?'