by James Hunt
Arthur flinched and raised an arm in defense. "I'm not suggesting anything. Maybe she was desperate for help. Ol' Bryant can be quite the charmer."
"Or maybe she was kidnapped," Paul added.
"What do you mean?"
Paul backed away from Arthur and knelt to retrieve some of the newspapers off the ground.
"I mean that her hotel room door in the Marriott was busted open. Her stuff was there, but she was gone."
Arthur thought to himself.
"I don't know what to tell you, Paul. Senator Bryant is a snake. I've long reported about his involvement in secret organizations. All this shit you see. All this death and destruction. They engineered it, and they engineered it by design."
"Why the hell would anyone do such a thing?" Paul asked. "We're talking about the deaths of millions of people here."
"Absolute power," Arthur answered. "To make an omelet you have to crack a few eggs."
"You're a sick man," Paul said in an accusatory tone.
He rolled a few newspapers together and stood up, ready to go.
"My daughter and I are leaving. This airport theory of yours, is there really a chance that there's an underground bunker there?"
"Seen it with my own two eyes, Paul. A palpable fortress for the elites."
"How did you see it?"
"Pictures. Plain as day. A source sent them to me."
Paul was disappointed. He needed tangible verification, not the word of a radio talk show host.
"You go to that airport, you might catch your wife before Bryant puts her on a private jet. After that, you may never see her again."
Paul took a step back. He wanted to charge Arthur and punch him. But it was only words. Arthur had done nothing but made claims. Claims, Paul couldn't verify. Claims that could be the only chance they had to find Samantha.
"Julie, let's go, we're leaving," Paul said. He then looked to Arthur. "How do we get out of here?"
Arthur stared back, smiling. "Allow me to escort you," he said in the tone of a butler with his arm outstretched. He leaned into his mike once again for some closing words. "We'll be right back," he said. Then he hit the pause button.
Chapter Seven
The Bunker Life
Samantha sat on her single mattress bottom bunk sipping a cup of coffee from a batch she had recently brewed. It was no hotel bed; that much was certain, as everything was smaller within their cramped conditions. She was unsure of the time or day. Over two weeks underground in a secured bunker had altered her perception of hours, days, and weeks. The only information she had to go on was what Senator Bryant told her. One of the first things she discovered was that there was no way out. The doors were sealed and only manageable through security key cards. There were close to thirty other people in the bunker with her. They were a unique bunch, very accustomed to an opulent lifestyle, and the sacrifices they had made from their previous lives of luxury were evoked constantly on a daily basis. However, there was no shortage of creature comforts around them, even underground. They had fine dining, personal chefs, a game room, a pool and hot tub, a tanning salon, and a private movie theater. They were important people, so they made clearly known, while Samantha was an outsider.
"Where have you taken me?" she asked Senator Bryant after waking up in his strange underground fortress.
"You're safe here, Samantha. You have nothing to worry about. This place has been designed for the sole purpose of protection against a nuclear attack. Several of my friends and colleagues have joined us. Pretty soon you'll get to know everybody," he reassured.
"But I don't even know you," Samantha replied.
Bryant laughed. "There will be plenty of time for us to get to know each other."
"Senator Bryant--"
"Please, call me Jeff."
"I have to find my family. My husband and daughter could be in great danger."
Bryant raised his hand up. "All in due time, Samantha. First you need to rest. You had quite the episode back there. You're lucky we found you when we did. As soon as communications come back through, I'll help you get in touch with your family."
With a pat on her bed, Bryant stood up and left Samantha alone in the sleeping quarters. His voice trailed off into the other room as he met with other guests. Samantha removed the washcloth from her head and sat up. Several other bunk beds lined the room against cold concrete walls. The arrangement looked similar to a summer camp or military bunker. She couldn't decide which one.
In addition to Senator Bryant, the other occupants consisted of top government officials, business magnates, and wealthy politicians among the group. Though they gave the impression they didn't seem much concerned with what was going on above ground, as potentially horrifying as it was. Samantha had been placed in the same sleeping quarters as the "help"; personal chefs, trainers, and assistants to the prominent members of Senator Bryant's entourage. How she personally factored into everything, she didn't know. Her days had consisted of monotonous routines of eating, exercising, and sleeping. She felt tired each day, before and after meals or exercise and would often sleep the hours away. This further disoriented her sense of time and place.
Senator Bryant's crew threw lavish parties nightly that she ignored for the most part. They met daily behind closed doors conducting meetings Samantha was forbidden to attend. They took little notice of her, often mistaking her for the help. When asked, Senator Bryant would remind them that Samantha was his "friend," and leave it at that.
"Well at least put her to work, Jeff," an elderly socialite woman remarked during one of their dinner parties. "She should do something here besides eat our food. Pretty soon she'll be into the caviar."
The other guests at the long candlelit dining table chuckled in boorish laughter. At the head of the table, Senator Bryant slammed his fist on the table.
"Now, Edna, that is entirely inappropriate. She is our guest. I will not have her talked about in such a manner."
"Seems to me that you have a slight thing for this woman, Jeffery," a grinning man in a fashioned tuxedo claimed while taking a sip of champagne.
"Nonsense, Warren. She's a personal friend. Now I won't hear her spoken of again in any disrespectful terms."
Though he defended her during private dinner parties and denied any real attraction, Senator Bryant was strangely enamored with Samantha. She was the incarnation of lost love he had suffered so many years before. He believed her husband and child already dead, and felt it only a matter of time before she came around to seeing things his way. Of course these were infantile thoughts. The kinds of thoughts he had early in the morning when he awoke in his own private quarters. How long before Samantha became weary of sleeping in the same room as the "help"? How long before she would wander into his quarters looking for some comfort during such troubling times. Though plausible, he would eliminate such thoughts from his head after waking up in order to focus on the large issues at hand, though she was never far from his mind.
The country was doomed, that much Bryant knew. No word from Washington and nothing from his upper contacts had started to worry him. He had played his role, done what he had to do to ensure that events would fold out as they had. Now he awaited further instructions. Awaiting the signal to reemerge from their lair beneath the Denver airport and ensure total control over the new America. The secret society that he was privileged to be a part of had seen things this far, but there was one final piece to ensure their plan that had not gone into effect. The high-society types among him were privy to certain details of the plan. Not a single person knew the entire objective or more than the other. As they plotted and waited, they did so in an extravagant style of fine living. After their secret meetings, there was exquisite dining, games, and dancing. For Samantha, it was hard to witness and believe.
She found their indifference appalling. They seemed to care less of the millions of people reportedly vanquished by nuclear blasts than what was on the menu any given night. It made her sick to witness, and the gr
owing desire to leave grew heavy. One evening, she overheard talks between a group of elegantly dressed middle-aged men smoking cigars. They theorized on the prospects of a new civilization, a perfect society. This naturally led to the discussion on obtaining more women to fulfill these desires. As she walked past them--dressed-down, worn and tired--their eyes followed with a slimy combination of arrogance and lust. Who were these people? What the hell was she doing here? She felt like a prisoner. There was no connection to the outside world. No television. Certainly no cell phone reception or other means of contact. To be trapped in this endless nightmare, she thought, was worse than facing whatever it was that awaited them outside.
She confronted Senator Bryant during their celebratory evening dance. He was talking to a few associates when she stormed out of her quarters, stepped right into his circle, and spoke directly into his face.
"I want to leave here tonight," she demanded.
Bryant's smile dropped to a surprised frown. He grew serious in the company of the others.
"Samantha, this is hardly the time or place for this discussion. Why don't we talk about this later?"
An intense scowl grew on her face in response to his flippant evasiveness. "You people stand around smoking and drinking like you don't have a care in the world. People are dying out there! I can't stand another minute down here. I want out, now!"
Senator Bryant's associates looked down embarrassingly after Samantha's outburst. They scurried away awkwardly after patting Bryant's shoulder. "We'll talk later, my man," they said, leaving him in Samantha's heated glare. Senator Bryant gulped his champagne then placed the empty glass on a nearby tray.
"We're only celebrating to take our minds off of the bad things. What happens out there, we have no control of. You cannot keep a large number of people contained in a confided area for very long if spirits are low. Morale is central to our survival. Why do you think I plan these lavish parties? These people that you speak so lowly of are some of the country's top influential business leaders and public servants. Many of them have done great things in their lives and they will continue to do great things when all of this is over."
"And where do you fit into all of this?" Samantha interrupted.
"Me?" Senator Bryant asked with his hand over his heart. "I simply wish to look out for their well-being. It's better for all of us in the end."
Samantha thought to herself for a minute. "How much are they paying you?"
Bryant let out a sharp laugh. "I can assure you, it's not like that. They're colleagues and friends. I like to take care of my friends. I mean, we're friends aren't we?"
Samantha rolled her eyes in response then tried to tone her anger down. "I'm not saying I don't appreciate your help, initially. But this place--I don't even know where we are and what we're doing here. Enough is enough. I have to find out where my family is, end of story. I can't stand to be away from them like this."
"I told you, we're in Denver at a secure underground facility."
"I would like to leave now, please," she said sternly.
Senator Bryant looked around in frustration. Everyone appeared to be having a good time. There was music, food, drinks, and dancing. He didn't understand why Samantha couldn't give it a chance. She insisted on dwelling on the past when a new magnificent future soon awaited them. For Senator Bryant, she was the one he wanted to accompany him to a new world. After twelve failed marriages, she was the one he had been waiting for his whole life. He couldn't explain it to himself, but somehow he knew. He placed a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and then looked into his deep blue yearning eyes.
"Chemistry, Samantha. I felt it the moment we shook hands. You have to admit that you feel something."
With one hand on her shoulder, he gripped her other hand, interlocking his fingers over hers. Perhaps he had a little too much champagne, but it was his most forward behavior yet. Samantha was stunned by his abrasiveness, too frozen to pull away. He leaned in closer, as if wanting a kiss.
"Soon enough, nothing will be left of the old world, and all we'll have is each other. Will you embrace it, or will you walk away?" he asked as his lips got closer to hers.
Samantha placed her hand over his then pushed it away from her shoulder. Bryant's eyes startled open. She pulled her other hand out from his and took a step back with fierce resistance.
"I'm walking away, Senator Bryant," she said. "I'm going to walk as far away from this place as I can."
She left the large dance hall, leaving Bryant standing alone with his thoughts. He nervously grabbed for another glass of champagne on the tray near him and gulped it down. Moments later, one of his tuxedo-wearing guests stumbled over in jest. "Looks like that went well, good Senator," he balked.
Bryant stared at the man, then to Samantha's fleeing figure. "All in due time, Sebastian, all in due time."
Samantha went to her room, grabbed what little things she had left, and stuffed them in a small bag. She had looked for a way out before, but always ran into a dead end. With everyone in the dance hall, Samantha entered the meeting room and found it empty aside from a wide oval table with a thick glass surface, encircled by twenty-seven chairs. In the center of the table was a conference phone. Samantha ran to the phone and pulled the receiver from its base as soon as she laid eyes on it. Miraculously, she heard a dial tone. She immediately, almost instinctively, dialed 9--1--1, but nothing went through. No matter what number she dialed, she received a busy tone in response. She smashed the phone down against the table in frustration.
Footsteps were coming. Samantha looked up in a panic. She didn't know of any "official rules" the "normal people," like her, had to follow, but she did know that the meeting room was designated as off limits. A large presentation board was mounted to the wall at the end of the table. On one side of the board was the Colorado state flag in a flag pole. On the other side was the American flag. Samantha moved away from the table and into the corner of the room where she was concealed by shadows. She looked above her and was overwhelmed by an elaborate mural that covered the entire wall.
She stepped away from the brightly colored painting, confined within the silhouette of a giant pyramid. She found herself lost in its imagery. Children marched in unison on opposite sides of each other wearing red-colored military style uniforms. Circling the children above were people of all nations and backgrounds joining hands, smiling, and throwing roses below. A large eagle clutched a bundle of arrows with its talon while gripping some of the thrown roses in its beak.
It was the strangest painting Samantha had ever seen. It seemed to say nothing and everything at the same time. Was she really within the throes of some secret society? And what did that mean for her chances of survival? One thing was certain: she needed to leave before they caught her. The entrance to a hallway leading out of the room was to her right. She moved swiftly down its narrow opening. Small, tiny bulbs illuminated the pathway before her. She followed the walls as they twisted and turned, hoping to finally reach an exit. She moved with haste knowing that Senator Bryant would soon be after her, most likely drunk and demanding affection.
She blamed herself for calling Bryant at the hotel in the first place. What had she been thinking? She eventually arrived at an impenetrable door constructed of thick iron. She pushed against the door and was unable to come close to even budging it. She looked for a door handle, finding nothing. It wasn't a door--it was a dead end. There was no moving it. Bryant had sealed it shut for a reason. She moved her hand along the walls next to it, feeling for something in the dim light. Her heart raced with anticipation.
Suddenly, an electronic panel stationed directly next to the door lit up in a green neon glow. A small iris in the middle of the panel flashed red. The digital display above the panel
read: Please Swipe Access Card.
"Access card?" Samantha said.
She took a step back from the door. Things were beginning to become clear. Over time she had indeed become Senator Bryant's captive, and it was
n't long before he would come after her again. She had to find an access card if she was ever to have any chance of escape. Samantha turned from the door and walked back down the hallway. The hem of her cocktail dress that Bryant had given her swayed through the artificial air of the bunker as she hurried back to her quarters. "Tomorrow," she said.
More than two weeks underground and Samantha began to grow fully wary of her surroundings. One of the reasons, she had discovered, was that someone was contaminating her meals each day. Something was being put into her food that made her sluggish and complacent. That was her suspicion. She could barely gather the energy needed to go to the exercise room at the end of the day. After a week of this, Samantha stopped eating prepared meals, and instead rummaged the kitchen late at night for whatever she could find.
Senator Bryant and his fellow dignitaries needed people like Samantha and the "help." She was the only one among the people in her barracks that didn't fill a specific role. She didn't work and nothing was asked of her. But with Bryant on the prowl, her role soon became clear. She was to be his. The "help" never complained. She had trouble engaging any of them in conversation. They were as unsure of her as she was of them. Ten persons in all, they were made up of six men and four women. Some spoke Spanish, some French, and others Italian. It was pointless trying to get answers from them. They were far too complacent to do whatever was asked of them by Bryant's entourage. In the meantime, his advances grew heavier. Each day Samantha would ask to leave and would be told that it was too dangerous for any of them to leave in response. Nuclear war was on the horizon. They had strict protocol on who could leave and who could enter. He talked endlessly about the need to stay underground until some determined time frame, until she gave up and walked away.
The circumstances Samantha found herself in were by design, courtesy of Senator Bryant. Manipulation was one of his strongest traits. The more the "help" ignored her, the more uncomfortable she would feel, eventually having nowhere else to turn. That seed had been planted. His next plan was to rid her of concerns for her family. He would devise a story of their deaths, eliminating the source of her desire to leave. If she cited any other relatives, Bryant would find a way to spin their deaths as well. It was all part of his carefully designed plan.
