Shelter

by C A Bird

  She returned to the table and again tried to start a conversation. Unfortunately, they just didn’t have anything in common. She liked sports, he didn’t, he liked television, she didn’t, she liked books, he didn’t, he liked business meetings, and she most definitely didn’t. She got a short reprieve as dinner was served.

  “So Ron, I heard you recently got divorced.” She saw him wince and realized for the umpteenth time she had made a major blunder.

  “Yeah, I just received my final decree, but I really don’t like to talk about it.” He looked down at his food and an awkward silence followed.

  Jean absently glanced around the room. He’d brought her to a very nice restaurant, The Blue Lagoon, with a magnificent view of the bay and the yacht harbor. She’d heard of it, it had an excellent reputation, but had never eaten here, unable to afford expensive restaurants. She’d hoped they would get to know one another better and he would understand her motivation for yesterday’s faux pas. But, so far, all that had happened was she had bored him to tears.

  She decided it was too soon for personal conversation and changed the subject. Although she hadn’t intended to tell anyone about the package she received today it seemed like a safer topic. She swallowed a bite of her Filet Mignon and sipped her wine.

  “Did you see the article in the paper about the black boxes being delivered to people around the Southwestern United States?”

  “No, but they were talking about them at lunch today. Some crackpot claims they’re maps to a bomb shelter.”

  “Well, guess what? I got one.” She paused to see if she’d piqued his interest.

  “You’re kidding. What is it really?” He was showing interest at last.

  “Just what you said, a map to a bomb shelter. At least that’s what the letter says.”

  “Yeah? Where’s it supposed to be located?”

  “I don’t know. The letter says the box will open automatically if there’s a war and the directions to the shelter are in the box. If you attempt to open it before then it self-destructs. At least that’s what it says.”

  “Why did you get one?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea. I can’t imagine why anyone would want me in their bomb shelter. I haven’t exactly made my mark in the world.” She immediately regretted the statement but he didn’t seem to notice. “I used to be a psychologist. But that hardly seems like a good reason.”

  “Really? You were a psychologist?”

  “It was in a former life.” She ended up discussing more of her personal life than she’d intended but at least they had something to talk about and, to her amazement, the rest of the evening went considerably better.

  As they finished their meal the conversation again turned to the box. “Why don’t you bring it to work tomorrow? I’d like to check out the mechanism,” he asked.

  “Sure, I’m kind of curious how it works myself.”

  One waiter took their plates and another offered a dessert tray, which they both declined, and their headwaiter brought the check.

  After Ron took care of the check, the valet brought his Camry, and they drove to her house, still discussing the box. When they arrived there was another major moment of awkwardness as nothing had been resolved about work and Jean knew he expected her to invite him in.

  “You know,” he said, “we haven’t discussed the problems at work. What do you want to do?” She was definitely on the spot.

  “I don’t know. Would you like to come in and we can discuss it?” ‘God, what a pushover I am!’ she thought. His attitude had seemed to change when he found out about the device, but that was ridiculous, of course. She wasn’t even convinced it wasn’t a hoax.

  After he settled on the couch, and she brought him a bourbon and coke, he brought up the meeting, the moment she’d been dreading all evening.

  “Jean, I’ve been thinking about this whole thing and I’ve decided it’s probably my fault.”

  She almost dropped her wine. “In what way?” She asked as casually as possible, crossing and then re-crossing her legs.

  “Well, we rehearsed the meeting but I didn’t tell you what not to tell them. Next time I’ll make sure you know what to present and when to keep quiet. I’ve really been very satisfied with your work. You have a wonderful talent when it comes to a project’s accurate cost analysis. Next time warn me before the meeting what the cost overruns will be and keep quiet about them at the meeting. Okay?”

  She was flabbergasted. This had been too easy. She hung on the words ‘next time’. That meant she wasn’t going to lose her job.

  “Okay, I mean sure, that’s great.” ‘You’re babbling’, she thought, and took a big draught of her wine. Her elation was short-lived, however, when she began to wonder what he wanted in return, knowing she wouldn’t pay for any favors in that manner.

  He downed the rest of his drink and stood. “Thanks for the drink. I had a really good time tonight. See you tomorrow and we’ll start out fresh, alright?” He started for the door.

  “Yeah Ron, that’s great, thanks for dinner.” She locked the front door after him and, extremely puzzled, said aloud “What the hell was that all about?”

  She was slightly disappointed he hadn’t even give her a chance to say “no”, but then decided she should count her blessings and headed for bed alone.

  August 20, 10:00 p.m.

  Sangre de Cristo Mountains, New Mexico

  The flame cast flickering shadows of leaping, dancing fire demons, on the trees and rocks around the campsite. Pete and Sandi sat on their sleeping bags and stared, hypnotized by the fire. Crickets were chirping around them and other sounds of the night, an owl hooting in the distance, reached their ears, giving them a peace unknown in the civilized world.

  Their campsite under the pines was on the edge of a small clearing and would catch the sun’s morning rays. If he’d been alone, Pete wouldn’t have built a fire, but he thought Sandi would appreciate the warmth and security that only a campfire seems to bring. After dinner they hung their packs from a rope high in the trees. He didn’t think bears would bother them but he’d seen a Golden Marmot in the meadow during their afternoon hike, and those pesky varmints could rip a pack apart looking for food.

  The evening was warmer than he’d anticipated and they decided to sleep outside the tent. The stars shone with that special brilliance seen only at high altitude, twinkling with all the colors of the spectrum. The stream gurgled happily where, nearby, it flowed into the lake. Pete had fixed the trout for dinner and Sandi, on clean-up detail, had finished with the camp chores. They were enjoying the woods, the fire and each other.

  The conversation drifted among a myriad of topics as they talked about school, their parents and their dreams for the future.

  “I want to teach third grade. It’s such an impressionable age with the children just beginning to develop into individuals, and they’re still really excited about the new things they’re learning. Of course, teaching’s not a very glamorous vocation. My mother doesn’t understand why I find it appealing.” She smiled fondly, “My Dad keeps her off my case, though.”

  “You don’t like your mother very much, do you?”

  “Actually, I really do love my mother, but it’s just that she doesn’t like me very much. I was never pretty enough, or precocious enough, or anything else enough. I’m sure she dreamed of having a baby Shirley Temple or something. I think she was sorry she ever had a child since I never seemed to do anything that pleased her. I try not to let it bother me, though, and my father’s always been a buffer zone between us. He and I are very much alike and we’ve both learned to live with Mother.”

  He leaned over and put another log on the fire, causing it to flare up brightly, spitting incandescent sparks, then after a moment it, and he, settled back down.

  “Where will you go when your folks get back from Europe? Are you going to live at home?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t know where home is. I grew up in Albuquerque and most of my fr
iends are there. My credential will be in New Mexico, but my parents are in Arizona. I guess I’ll make up my mind after I get my degree.”

  They were silent for a while, each thinking their private thoughts.

  “Pete, why did you bring me along on this trip?” Sandi broke the spell of the fire.

  “Because I needed someone to protect me from the wolves. Besides, I kinda like you even if you are a girl.”

  “Gee, thanks for the compliment, but I’m serious. What happened to Tricia?”

  Pete had a girlfriend when he and Sandi met. The relationship had been stormy, using way too much of Pete’s energy trying to maintain it. Trish demanded constant attention, or else. They broke up recently, and Pete was much relieved about being done with Tricia Wentworth.

  “It’s over. What about Tommy?”

  Sandi didn’t smile. “It’s over too.” She replied bitterly.

  “You don’t sound too convinced about that,” Pete said, surprised at the sadness in her voice. Many of their conversations over the past summer were about their respective partners but Pete hadn’t realized until now how important Sandi’s relationship with Tommy had been.

  “No, it’s really over.”

  “I’m sorry Sandi. I hope it’s okay.” He reached over and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned into him and looked up at his face. Neither of them had intended it, but by the light of a campfire, on a beautiful summer evening in a New Mexico wilderness, their relationship moved to a new level.

  August 20, 11:00 p.m.

  Laguna Beach, California

  The party, a fund raising affair for one of Katherine’s favorite charities, was lasting longer than he had intended or desired. Will considered canceling it when the international situation deteriorated, but everything was arranged and Katherine’s best friend, Lillie, had been in charge. He just couldn’t say “no” to Lillie. She had been a great comfort to Will after Katherine’s death.

  Mark and Will were on the veranda, Mark looking through the terrace doors into the Great Room, still filled with guests in formal attire. The one-thousand-dollars-a-plate poolside dinner took place earlier in the evening, but more guests had arrived for the after dinner party, at two hundred-fifty dollars apiece. Guests danced to the music of a full orchestra while others held impromptu business meetings, taking advantage of having a great number of their counterparts in one location. The room, designed for entertaining a large number of people, had two immense crystal chandeliers hung overhead while the end had two sets of double doors opening onto the veranda.

  Will detested these charity events, preferring to be with his flying buddies, talking aviation. Mark, on the other hand, enjoyed them immensely. He enjoyed fine clothes, fine food and the company of hard working, intelligent people who’d been successful in life. Most of Will’s guests had made fortunes in business or in the entertainment industry, including a few who were writers, producers or actors, and there were a large number of highly prosperous business owners.

  Although he came from an early background of substance abuse and bad business dealings, Mark had spent most of his formative years living with the Hargraves and the finer things in life seemed completely natural to him. Not that anything was given to him without tremendous effort on his part. Unlike Clay, Mark had worked hard to complete his education, and he worked extremely hard, often fourteen to sixteen hours a day, to earn his seven figure salary as CEO of a major Aerospace Company. He never took his wealth for granted.

  Mark watched Will Hargraves pace on the terrace, the phone glued to his ear, nodding every so often, or murmuring into the receiver. His frown deepened, “I understand the situation is bad Chuck, can’t you give me something a little more specific?” He stopped pacing; his eyes meeting Mark’s, and he shook his head. “Okay, call me if he does.”

  “What did he say?” Mark asked.

  “The President’s taking a wait and see attitude which I think is very dangerous. He should be on the hotline, talking to various heads of state. He should be talking to China, for Christ’s sake!”

  Will was getting angrier as he spoke. “I don’t think he understands how serious this thing is. He thinks war is impossible and he’s counting on China to back off. Doesn’t he realize this nuclear test represents a new political strategy for them? Doesn’t he know they wouldn’t have demonstrated their power unless they were prepared to use it?” He walked to the western wall of the terrace and gazed out at the dark ocean, moonlight flooding its surface with a ghostly radiance. “NORAD has gone to Defcon 2. I think you’d better call Jill, and without alarming her, convince her to get a reservation for a flight to Albuquerque tomorrow morning. If nothing comes of this you can surprise her with a Santa Fe vacation, or some other pretense. If we get through tomorrow we may have some breathing room.” He handed Mark the phone.

  A waiter came on to the terrace with a tray of after dinner drinks. “Mr. Hargraves, your guests are asking for you.” The two men had excused themselves when the call came from the Secretary of State, but they’d been absent from the party for too long.

  “I know you haven’t wanted to talk about your shelter, Will, but I would like to know more about it.”

  Will had started back to the party but stopped and looked at Mark. He had a great affection for this young man. Mark had kept the business going after Katherine’s death, when Will went off and buried himself in sorrow. By building the shelter for Katherine’s children he felt as though he’d never let her go. He’d always been reticent about discussing it with anyone in his everyday life. Somehow, that would make it seem too real instead of something between him and Katherine.

  But Mark had a right to know.

  “Let’s rejoin our guests and we’ll talk about it in the morning. Can you spend the night?”

  “Of course. You’re even making me edgy. I’m not letting you out of my sight until you tell me all about your shelter, and until this crisis is behind us. I’ll call Jill. Can you tell Chris I’ll be right in? Wouldn’t want her to take up with someone else.”

  “I think you’re too late. She’s been talking to that fellow she invited from Scripp’s Institute.”

  “Yes, well, I think he’s just a co-worker.” Mark said to him as Will went back inside.

  He started to call Jill, but remembered the hour, that it was two hours later in Dallas, and realizing she wouldn’t be calling this late for a reservation anyway, he decided to contact her in the morning when, after talking to Will, he’d have more information. He re-entered the room, scanning it for Chris and accepting an after dinner drink from a waiter who immediately came by with a tray. He spotted her on the dance floor and, sipping the cognac, watched her swaying to the music. God she was beautiful!

  She was radiant, in a black, form-fitting gown that accentuated her sleek athletic body. Her hair, caught back and pinned up with a banana clip, cascaded over the clip and down her back. She wore a diamond necklace and earrings, and a diamond bracelet. He thought she was the most beautiful woman in this room full of beautiful people.

  Clay was also dancing, with a young actress who’d recently received her pilot’s license. Almost everyone in the room, including the celebrities, was connected to aviation in some manner. Mark downed the last of his drink and ordered bourbon, straight up.

  It was one o’clock in the morning before the last of the guests departed. Chris left with her friend, promising her father she wouldn’t be gone long. Jealous, Mark retired for the night.

  THREE

  August 21, 5:00 a.m.

  Laguna Beach, California

  Mark wandered into Will’s large, first floor study wearing pajamas and a robe, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. He found Will sitting behind a huge cherry wood desk, intently watching a bank of six television monitors in a wall-to-wall, state-of-the art communications system that, tuned to news stations around the world, kept Will informed of global events.

  Mark sleepily gazed out the east facing windows where the
morning dew dripped from a huge, ancient fig tree onto the sill. The eastern sky was beginning to lighten, shades of pink and yellow visible above the horizon, with sunrise only minutes away. Mark rubbed his eyes, wondering how the older man looked so refreshed after last night’s reveling, and after the paltry three and one-half hours sleep they’d managed since the last of the party-goers departed.

  “What’s going on? Any news?” As if on cue the phone rang. Will put it on speakerphone.

  “Will, this is Chuck. We’re in big trouble. The Russians have formally denounced the Chinese and China essentially told them to go to hell! You know what? I personally think China’s been planning this for a long time. You should get airborne just in case you need to evacuate from the coast.”

  “I’ll arrange for the plane to be readied immediately. What happened to your Moscow trip?”

  “Can’t make it now. Hell, this thing is escalating rapidly. We’ve received intelligence reports, with Lacrosse satellite verification, that the Chinese have apparently refitted their entire arsenal with the red mercury super warheads… and they’re armed. The system is operational! How they’ve kept it secret from our intelligence community is the question of the century but there you have it. We’ve been too distracted by all the terrorism crap. Get in the air, I’ll notify you of significant developments. Talk to you later.”

  Hargraves pushed the button disconnecting the phone, momentarily hesitated as he considered the options, then turned abruptly to Mark. “Call and have the jet prepared for immediate take-off. Run by your place and get your personal belongings together. We’ll meet you at the plant by six-thirty. And Mark, take anything that’s precious to you.”