by James Hunt
The hallway outside was empty and quiet. Samantha felt great relief, but still shook with fear. She decided to abandon her small bag of belongings and go straight for the exit. It was time to escape. She took off her sandals and bundled them in her hands with Bryant's laptop and power cable. Her footsteps remained cautious down the cold steel floor towards the secret meeting room. Several thoughts shifted throughout her head, as her body was gripped in emotion. Her heart beat rapidly, as if it was going to burst out of her chest. She felt faint again, and tried to control her erratic breathing. The last thing she needed to do was to pass out on the meeting room floor. If the card didn't work she was stuck. If the card failed to activate the door, she may never escape. If the card didn't do what she thought it would do, she would have to face Bryant.
She walked down the narrow hall to the sealed door. Its thick metal surface looked back in defiance, seemingly mocking her. There was no time to spare. Samantha held the card up to the security scanner. The pinhole-sized light turned green, followed by a slight beeping sound. She heard a mechanism unlock within the door as it cracked open. She was ecstatic, near euphoric in response, though she wasn't sure what lay ahead. Perhaps it was another room with guards. Samantha looked back and then slipped into the darkness beyond the door, sealing it shut behind her.
Several of Bryant's associates found him later in the evening, gurgling on the floor.
"Jeff, Jeff, wake up!" a concerned man wearing a silk robe with the initials, JT, embroidered on the chest pocket said. He lightly patted Bryant's face as a shrill woman stood over holding a small French Terrier in her arms.
"For heaven's sakes, Thad, can't you see that the Senator is badly injured," she quipped.
The man looked up at his wife, and nodded his head. "We have to get the others."
"What on earth happened here?" she asked while scanning the room. There was broken glass everywhere, puddles of champagne, and of course, Bryant's beaten, unconscious body.
"It looks as if he had a break-in," Thad answered.
"My goodness, none of us our safe then," his wife replied.
Moments later, Thad and his wife, Leila, rounded up some of the others, and were able to assist Senator Bryant. They moved him to his bed, bandaged his wound, and waited for him to awake. Within the hour, his eyes fluttered open to see the faces staring at him from around his bed.
"Jeff, are you with us? What happened here?" a concerned man asked.
"Yes, please, try to remember. None of us feel safe anymore," Leila said.
"Who did this to you? We simply must know," another man chimed in.
"Samantha..." Bryant muttered. "Where's Samantha?"
"The girl you brought here? Did she do this to you?" Leila asked.
Bryant groaned as he felt the bandage over his head.
"Doesn't look like too much damage. You may have had suffered a slight concussion,” a man wearing a white doctor's coat pronounced. He was the official bunker physician.
Bryant looked over to his desk and noticed his missing laptop. He shot up from his bed, but fell back down in dizzying pain.
"Relax, Jeff, just relax. What's the matter?" the doctor asked.
"My laptop. Where the hell is my laptop?"
The group looked at each other in confounded wonder.
"We don't know, Jeff. You said that woman, Samantha did this? Is she a spy?" Leila asked, grilling him.
"Find her," Bryant said, clutching his head. "Find her now.
Chapter Eight
Finding Samantha
Well, Tommy, this is my first letter to you. I have to admit, I haven't felt much like writing anyone. Most of the time I just feel tired. I'm tired of moving around, tired of running, tired of not being home. You get the idea. I hope things are OK at New Haven and that you're feeling better. It's funny to think how much school I've missed. Weird really. Or to wonder about what happened to everyone at school. It's not like I knew that many people at Beech Creek. Most of my friends were from Philly. I think they're all dead now. It's terrible to even think or write, but what if it's true? What about your friends? Are they still alive?
Now that I think of it, there's so much more I need to ask you about. Maybe we can come back there once we find my mom. Seems like I've been talking about finding her for so long, I sound like a broken record. We made it to Denver finally, but haven't found her yet. The convention center is a madhouse. There's like a million people there. There's police and Army people everywhere controlling where people go and what they do, but of course, they can't help us find my mom.
Paul and I actually broke into my mom's hotel. We're like Sherlock and Watson. I'm obviously Sherlock and he's more of my sidekick. Poor Paul. He gets so mad all the time, I think he just needs some rest. Well, anyway, we broke into the hotel, found her room then we got chased by police and escaped into an alleyway and then some guy took us in. Pretty exciting, huh? And I'm not making any of this up. The radio guy told Paul that my mom is probably at the airport because she might be with a bunch of important government people. I don't know. I'm confused. But at least we know she's alive, and if she's alive that means we will find her and see her soon.
We went back to the parking lot to get our car back. There were these people there who told us we couldn't get the car back, but Paul told them that we were leaving Denver for good because it was too crowded there. I guess that was all it took, plus he gave them like all the cash we had left. It's like he had to pay them to let us go. So we took the car and now we're on the way to the airport. But we've been stopped so many times and Paul's had to explain what we're doing so many times, that I have nothing else to do but write you. We're almost to the airport now. I'll write again once we find my mom. I also wonder how I'm going to send this letter to you. Maybe I'll put it on a carrier pigeon or something. - Julie
The Denver airport was closed off to the public and not a car or person was in sight. Paul parked the Malibu on the first level of the parking garage thinking of their next step. They couldn't very well just walk into the airport. All doors had been shut and gates locked. The airport had been placed off limits.
"But why would they shut down the airport?" Julie asked. "Just doesn't make sense."
"I don't know, Julie, but they did. No one gets in, no one gets out."
Paul's voice trailed off. Julie turned to Paul, curious.
"What are you talking about?" she asked.
"Nothing. Just something that man, Arthur, told me."
"So they closed the airport. How are we going to find my mom?" Julie asked.
Paul turned the engine off, and looked to Julie sympathetically.
"My hope is that we find her before she gets on a plane with this Senator Bryant guy."
"Why would she go with him?"
"Maybe because she's scared like you said. Honestly, Julie I don't know. You see, when things like this happen, elected officials are protected and taken to safe areas. Your mother may have seen an opportunity."
"Since when has anything like this happened?"
Julie stared at Paul, waiting for his response.
"Let's go," Paul said, opening the car door. "We're going to find her."
They walked cautiously to a nearby staircase as their footsteps echoed throughout the empty parking lot. Paul kept a cautious eye on everything around them. Oddly enough, no one seemed to be around. The airport had been effectively shutdown, which continually amazed Paul. Julie wasn't sure what to think. They trotted the stairs and made their way to the airport terminal. There was no activity of any kind. No families driving up to the curb and unloading their luggage. No good-bye embraces between young lovers. No tourists being dropped by hotel shuttles. Each automatic glass door into the terminal was shut tight. No lights were on. No baggage handlers. No ticket agents. No rental cars. There was nothing; nothing except flashing siren lights moving towards them from down the street.
"Hide!" Paul said.
They ran behind a stone waste receptacle near the curbside baggage che
ck-in just as the police vehicle's headlights beamed up the inclined road.
"Stay down, and stay quiet," Paul whispered to Julie as they crouched.
"I know," she hissed back.
The car raced past them with its blue and white siren lights flashing frenetically with eerie silence. The engine roared as it approached the highest point of the hill, pushing the car forward into a blur. Soon the car's insatiable pursuit trailed off into echoes on an empty street. Everything went quiet again.
"I wonder what that was all about?" Julie asked.
"We just need to be careful, stay out of sight," Paul insisted while peeking out.
"Can't we ask them where my mom is? Maybe they know."
Paul thought it a foolish thought, but maybe Julie had a point.
"The problem is, I don't think we're allowed to be here," Paul said while scratching the side of his neck.
"Why don't we just tell them that you're a senator and ask them to take us to the guy my mom is with?" Julie asked.
Paul stood up and stretched as Julie followed. They walked along the terminal looking into the windows that offered nothing but empty ticket lines. Suddenly, Paul snapped his fingers. "You may be on to something, Julie," he said.
"What's that?" she asked."
"We're looking for Senator Bryant. I'm a congressman, you're my daughter. We go right up to the gate and tell them that we're with the Senator's party."
"Dressed like this?" Julie said, pointing out their clothes.
"If they ask, we're dressed this way as to not bring attention to ourselves," Paul responded.
"What if they want to see like, your ID or something?" Julie asked.
"Then I'll be Congressman Paul Thompson if I have to," Paul answered.
They approached the end of the terminal, and saw nothing beyond the usual emptiness. Paul turned as they made the reverse trek to the other side of the building. "There has to be an opening somewhere. Somewhere we can get into the airport," he said.
"We can always smash the windows," Julie said smiling.
Paul glanced at her with disapproval as they continued walking.
"That got us in quite a bit of trouble last time. Let's try to avoid doing anything that makes us look like vandals."
"I'm just saying we would have never got into my mom's hotel room if we didn't do it. Desperate times--"
"Call for desperate measures, I know. But we'll do that if nothing else works."
After finding nothing, they left the terminal and walked towards the only landmark they could see from afar: the air traffic control tower beyond a steep chain link fence. The airport runway was in view. Instead of fleeing the authorities they were now actively pursuing them. Paul felt hopeful, slightly aimless, but hopeful, nonetheless.
From beyond the sealed door, Samantha plodded along a long corridor, hoping that it would bring her above ground. She anticipated the fresh air hitting her face, the sounds of nature and everything she had been deprived of the past couple of weeks. She began to second-guess physically harming the Senator. She feared the consequences of assaulting him. Could they throw her in jail for what she did? Was she officially a criminal?
She gripped the laptop tightly in her arms. It was Bryant, she felt, who was the criminal. Though she hadn't pieced everything together yet, having no way to do so, there was something nefarious about what she had read on his laptop. Given what she read, she had only touched the surface of a potential conspiracy responsible for the deaths of millions of Americans. Just saying the word millions made her sick to her stomach. "Oh my God," she kept saying. It was hard to even attempt to fathom it.
At last, Samantha came to the end of the corridor. The wall had bars that led to the top. It looked to be the only way out. She set Bryant's laptop on the ground and hoisted herself up the bars, step by step. She climbed the ladder twenty feet to reach a closed steel dome. Her eyes had adjusted only so well to the darkness, but she could make out its enclosed surface. She struggled to push it open, and wasn't surprised to see that it wouldn't budge. She heaved with all her might only to find that lid immovable. Her head touched the surface of the dome and bumped against a thick iron lever.
"Son of a bitch!" she said, holding the top of her pounding head. She nearly lost balance and feel completely off the ladder, but managed to hold on instinctively. Frustration, anger, fear, and pain culminated throughout her body from head to toe. Her attempt to escape felt hopeless, though she had come a long way.
Samantha took a minute to regain her strength. The lever presented another option. She placed one hand on its handle and pushed it clockwise. She was met with immediate resistance and pulled it counterclockwise as a result. The lever turned slightly after much force.
"This is it!" Samantha thought.
She gripped the bar on the ladder tightly with one hand, and grabbed hold of the dome lever with the other. She pulled and pulled until the lever eventually moved one complete rotation. A clicking noise sounded, similar to what she had heard from the bunker door. She pushed the dome with her free hand pushing it slightly opened. Its weight was remarkable and she feared it might come crashing down on her if she failed to hold it open.
"Open damn you!" she shouted in frustration.
The lid slowly moved and sprung open to release the cool, night air into the hole. Samantha almost slipped off the bars again, but caught herself just in time. The fresh oxygen was glorious to take in. She climbed a step further, peeked her head above the dome, and breathed in deeply. Her newfound freedom was a rush, and at the moment she had no fear of what was outside. She could feel Paul and Julie right around the corner, as if they were going to greet her at any moment. Samantha looked around. All she could see was an empty runway. Where in the hell was she?
Suddenly, she remembered the laptop, which was fortunate, because she had been ready to run.
One trip down the ladder, then back up, and Samantha soon found herself in virtual freedom. She fell onto the cement pavement underneath her and rejoiced in the night air. Before she could get too comfortable, however, there was the matter of finding out where she was. "We're in a bunker under the Denver airport," Senator Bryant had told her.
From the looks of the runway there was no doubt that she was at some type of airport. There were numbered gates a half mile from where she stood. Some were empty; others had planes parked at them. There was no movement. The place looked as if it had been shut down. The closest thing in view was a single lone one-story white building where she could see lights through the windows.
Samantha looked to the opened lid behind her. It was best to close it as to limit any pursuit from Bryant and the other. The mere thought of going back in the bunker pushed her further. She closed the lid and rotated the outside lever clockwise as to seal it shut. There was no time to take in anymore of her surroundings, she had to move. There was an air traffic controller tower on her other side, at the end of the runway. It looked unoccupied, possibly barred up and locked. She wanted to get as far away from the airport as possible, onto a main road, to a gas station to find a phone, or back to her hotel room. She wished she had never left the Marriott in the first place.
"Too late for second-guesses, Samantha," she thought. "Just get out of here and find Paul and Julie."
Samantha moved briskly down the runway towards the airport, looking for a way out. Ten feet away, a large spotlight suddenly flashed directly on her.
"Stop right there!" a voice said.
Samantha froze, and squinted into the light. "What is it?" she asked. "What do you want?"
The man moved the light off of her and stepped out from his golf cart. He approached Samantha cautiously, with one hand on the butt of his pistol and the other brandishing a long steel flashlight. He looked like a police officer, but was in fact, an airport security guard.
"I'll ask the questions around here," he said, moving closer to Samantha.
She wrapped her arms tightly around Bryant's laptop, prepared to run if she had to, bu
t where?
"Who are you and what are you doing out here? This is a restricted area," the man said.
Temporarily frozen, Samantha thought to herself, then answered. "I'm just trying to get out of here. Can you help me?"
The security guard took a step back. "Oh no, no. This is a restricted area. No one is supposed to be anywhere within the proximity of this airport. I need to know what your business is out here, walking along the runway."
Samantha rubbed her head.
"I just got lost. All the commotion and everything. My car broke down, and I must have wandered out here. Please, I just want to leave."
"Ma'am, why don't you come with me and we'll straighten this whole thing out," he suggested.
"I really don't have the time; I need to go, please. I'm not harming anyone."
"I'm sorry; I can't allow you to go any further. Let's just run your background, see who you are, and if your story checks out, you'll be free to go."
Samantha had no choice but to follow the guard back to his golf cart. There was nowhere to run and she didn't need to attract unwanted attention. Bryant would be looking for her soon. It seemed possible that if she just went with the guard and had a plausible story, he would let her go. It was a setback. "A major setback," Samantha thought as she rode with the guard to the lone security office.
"Where is everyone?" Samantha asked, as they entered the building.
"The airport has been shut down indefinitely due to risk of a terrorist attack."
"If that's true, aren't you afraid to be here?" Samantha asked.
"Not really. Why would they waste all the effort on little ol' me?" he asked.
The guard had a point. Samantha took a seat in a long line of chairs in front of the counter. It looked like some type of office where they issue badges and ID cards. Bright long bulbs radiated overheard. The place had power. Samantha's eyes lit up when she noticed a phone resting on the counter next to a bottle of pens. Over the counter there was a station with several small black and white security screens aligned in three columns. The guard walked behind his counter and grabbed a handheld radio.
