Except in Springfield.
In Springfield, Dr. Hamlin wasn’t around to share the email with his students.
The hoard of reporters at Mrs. Hamlin’s door got their tips second hand. From their networks’ affiliates in other cities.
Wayne had been branded as the brains behind protests going on seemingly impromptu all over the nation.
It wasn’t organized, not at all. Yet in over a hundred college towns the students were out of their classes and demanding answers.
As the television networks saw it, only Wayne Hamlin had those answers. And each network was determined to beat the others to the scoop.
It was perhaps the ultimate irony that the university of the man who unleashed this revelation upon the world was the one least affected by it.
At least at first.
Oh, there were grumblings and rumors something big was up, and that it involved Dr. Hamlin in some way.
But the details were sketchy at best.
Something about him and some kind of volcano.
That didn’t raise many eyebrows at first, though. All his students knew he was a volcanologist so he might have done a lot of things relating to volcanoes.
He might have gone on vacation to see a volcano. He might have been chosen to do a research project on one. He might have been asked to testify before Congress regarding volcanoes.
It was kind of a “No duh” thing. Anything involving Professor Hamlin and volcanoes wasn’t worth gossiping about. The two went together like salt and pepper, hot dogs and ball games. College kids and Jell-O shots.
Then a new round of rumors blew through the campus. Dr. Hamlin was doing a flyover of an active volcano on the big island of Hawaii and fell out of the helicopter.
It sounded reasonable. After all, he was the type who’d happily go on such a daring excursion. And while he was the cautious type and was surely belted in, accidents sometimes do happen.
Seat belts, no matter how well fastened, sometimes malfunction.
This particular rumor was given added credence because of the constant flow of reporters and television trucks which came and went from Dr. Hamlin’s office all day.
This rumor obtained such a level of credibility that some of the students were kicking around ideas for a memorial for him. A couple of bouquets of flowers were delivered to his office and left in the corridor outside the door.
It wasn’t until a couple of Hamlin’s students went to his house to express their condolences that they found out from reporters what was really going on.
They were handed a photocopy of the now-infamous email, which was in the hands of every reporter of substance in the country.
The other universities had benefit of professors, department heads, and noted earth scientists to verify Dr. Hamlin’s conclusions.
The University of Missouri at Springfield had no corroborating voices.
But then again, they didn’t need any.
Hamlin’s students considered him a brilliant man, and knew his devotion to his field of study.
If Dr. Hamlin said there was going to be a volcano eruption that was good enough for them.
The troops finally rallied on campus, made their signs and marched to city hall.
City hall was caught off guard. They knew nothing about Hamlin, the Yellowstone Caldera, or the impending eruption.
The mayor of Springfield was included on the email. But he was on vacation and not checking his mail.
Ironically, he was lying on a beach… on the big island of Hawaii.
Chapter 50
Hannah knew something had changed but didn’t know what it was.
When they opened the box to bring her tray of food, they asked how she was feeling.
They’d never done that before. As far as Hannah was concerned, they didn’t give a damn about how she felt, or whether she was dead or alive.
The food was good. Better than it had been since her arrival.
The clincher was the counselor.
At least that’s what she called herself when the door opened an hour after her noontime meal.
She was tall and distinguished, compared to the others. She spoke with a haughty attitude. An air of importance. Almost an attitude of superiority.
Superiority not only over Hannah. It was already apparent they thought she was lower than low.
No, when the door opened and the counselor appeared, Hannah’s other captors were gathered around her.
Not too close, though. They maintained a respectful distance, not unlike the dutiful Arab wife who walks a step behind her husband.
Her other captors were almost like minions, staying just out of reach of her, their feet shoulder width apart, their hands crossed in front of their bodies in a weird kind of modified-parade rest.
She obviously held some type of esteemed position within their chain of command.
And she obviously relished in it.
The others held their ground, silent sentinels as the counselor moved forward.
She walked into the box like she owned the place. Like it was hers to rule and Hannah just occupied space there.
And truth be told, that was fine with Hannah. If she’d suggested to Hannah she had more right to be there, Hannah would have countered with, “Then let me the hell out of here, you bitch… whoever you are.”
Hannah was, by this time, tired of being held prisoner and ready to fight back a bit.
But the woman’s voice wasn’t confrontational. It was rather soothing and had a calming affect on Hannah.
“Hello, Hannah. My name is Rebecca. I’m going to be your counselor during the transition.”
Hannah was naturally suspicious. The life of a captive is a seemingly endless series of repetitive events. Sleep, wake, and eat. Interrogation, eat, nap. Interrogation, eat, sleep.
The captive gets used to the routine, as brutal as it can be.
And change to the routine, therefore, is automatically suspect.
“What transition? What are you talking about?”
“Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry. I forgot you haven’t been told yet. You’re going to be released.”
Hannah’s first thought at the news wasn’t jubilation or relief.
It was disbelief. For surely this was just another trick. A trick to get her hopes up and then to come crashing back down again.
To weaken her resolve. To make her feel like giving up. For it was while she was in that sorry state she was most willing to give them the information they wanted.
“Okay… Rebecca, if that’s really your name. I’ll play your stupid game. Exactly when am I going to be released? And where is my baby? I’m not leaving here without him.”
“Relax, dear. This isn’t a game. You’re really being set free, as soon as all the necessary arrangements are made. And your baby, of course, will be reunited with you.”
“Where is he?”
“Little Samson was born premature, as you well know. He was a bit underweight and has been in the care of our medical staff. I understand he’s doing fine, though, and I’m sure he can’t wait to see his mommy again.
“He’s a handsome boy, with a full head of dark thick hair.”
Hannah almost went after the woman and strangled her with her bare hands. And she didn’t even know why.
Maybe it was the term of endearment… calling Hannah “dear.” It just didn’t seem appropriate, considering all they’d put her through.
Or perhaps it was the fact that she’d seen Samson, and Hannah, his own mother, hadn’t yet had the same privilege.
She somehow kept her cool. Attacking the woman who had control of her son wouldn’t accomplish anything good, and could make matters much worse.
Instead she asked, “Why all of a sudden have you decided to release me?”
“Simple. The news the Department of Homeland Security was trying to keep under wraps has gotten out. A man named Hamlin sent an email to half the college professors and half the mayors in the country, and has attached the Yellowstone
data to it.”
“I’m sorry. Who?”
“Hamlin. He’s a professor at a university in Missouri.”
“I’ve never heard of him. How’d he get the data?”
“I haven’t a clue. And in the end, it doesn’t really matter. The word is out. Every news outlet in the country is talking about nothing else. Mayors are calling their governors; their governors are calling members of Congress. Everybody is yelling at the DHS to come up with a solution to solve this problem. I only wish there was a way to do it.”
“You realize I’m not buying a word you’re saying, don’t you?”
“That’s all right, dear. I don’t expect you to. You’ll see soon enough that what I’m telling you is true. And whether you believe it or not, we had good reason for taking you and trying to get Gwen Lupson’s whereabouts from you. I don’t expect you to understand, but it’s the job of DHS to protect all citizens of the United States. We can debate all day long whether you think its methods are fair or just, but the bottom line is, the DHS will do whatever it takes to protect its nation’s secrets.
“I’ll tell you what. I thought they already brought you some clothes. I’ll let you absorb what we’ve talked about and will return in about half an hour or so. I’ll bring you some things to wear. They may not fit you perfectly, and they may not be your style, but at least you’ll finally be covered.”
Hannah almost scoffed and said, “Yeah, right! I’ll believe it when I see it.”
But she didn’t. She wanted so desperately to believe she was finally being released she just couldn’t do anything to rock the boat.
Chapter 51
Rebecca returned, as promised, a little while later. This time when the door opened her entourage was mysteriously absent.
In her hands was a jogging suit, pink in color.
Hannah never wore jogging suits. And pink was far from her favorite color.
But at least it would cover her nakedness. And it was close to the right size.
“I don’t suppose there’s a shower or someplace I can wash up?”
“No, sorry. It’s pretty bare bones out there, as you’ll soon see.
The shoes were a size too big, but she could live with that.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t grab a bra because I didn’t want to guess at your size.”
“I’ll manage. I’ll just pretend I’m back in college. I never wore one back then because gravity was still my ally.”
She managed a smile, which surprised even her.
She was letting down her wall. She hoped it didn’t come back and bite her.
“I’m going to leave the door open, and I’ll be back in a little while. Feel free to come out and wander around if you wish.”
That part seemed too good to be true. But sure enough, Rebecca walked out of the box and across a cavernous room, where she went through a heavy steel door which locked behind her.
Hannah had the sense she was all alone, and stepped timidly from her personal prison.
Once out of the wooden box she was able to survey the room, and determined it wasn’t a room at all. It was an aircraft hanger.
From the looks of it, an old one. One that hadn’t been used to store aircraft in a number of years.
The paint on the floor was peeling badly. The walls were covered in rust. It had seen much better days.
Hannah’s uncle was an Air Force officer. In her youth he took her to air shows on a couple of area Air Force bases.
She’d been in Air Force hangers before, and knew this wasn’t the way they were kept. Air Force hangers were always freshly painted and spotless. The military took pride in everything they did, down to the tiniest detail.
She imagined that civilian airlines did the same thing. Their very existence, after all, depended on their reputation and how the flying public viewed them.
She guessed they were on the far reaches of an isolated civilian airport.
Someplace where her captors could come and go without being challenged or questioned.
And where Hannah’s screams wouldn’t be heard by someone just happening by.
In the center of the room were several desks.
Ugly and gray and very old.
Made of very heavy steel, but built to last. She guessed they were probably manufactured during or just after World War Two.
They appeared to be military issue. Perhaps they weren’t at a civilian airport after all.
Perhaps they were on an abandoned military base.
The chairs weren’t the kind she was used to. They were heavy steel, padded with thick cushions on the seat and back. The cushions were covered in badly worn vinyl, in the ugliest shade of green she’d ever seen.
Her instincts were correct. Stenciled in block letters on the back of one of the chairs were the words:
USAF 81st TFW
She knew what USAF stood for. The rest was just a bunch of numbers.
But the chair told a story. They were indeed on an abandoned Air Force base.
She’d been on enough bases with her uncle to know they all pretty much looked the same, with high fences and concertina wire, guard shacks and security forces patrolling in pickup trucks and Humvees.
Even if most of the personnel were gone from the base, surely the razor wire would still be there. And they’d have security of some type to keep her from escaping.
She had no choice, but she’d have to forego any plans to run for the time being. She’d continue to play Rebecca’s game, and hope it wasn’t really a game at all.
Just out of curiosity she went to the heavy steel door Rebecca had disappeared through to see if it would open for her.
It required a key card, which Rebecca apparently held in front of her, hidden from Hannah’s view, when she exited.
The card reader was the only thing in the entire hanger manufactured within the past fifty years, and looked out of place.
She hadn’t been able to walk for days, save her pacing four steps at a time, back and forth in her cage.
It felt good to stretch her legs and body again.
It felt good to wear clothes again.
Tony talked her into spending a weekend at a nudist colony the previous summer. He enjoyed walking around naked and, as he put it, “being free and one with nature.”
She admitted to him that walking through the woods nude did indeed have a certain feeling of unencumbered freedom, and they agreed to go back again sometime.
Now she wasn’t so sure. After being forced to stay naked for several days and feeling the eyes of her captors staring at her body, it wasn’t as fun as it was at the nudist colony.
On the contrary, she found the feeling of clothing against her body gave her a sense of comfort.
It was not unlike an old friend wrapping her arms around her.
As she walked around the hanger, examining every little nook and cranny for things that might aid in an escape if Rebecca wasn’t being straight with her, she noticed something else as well.
The air in the ancient structure was musty and stale.
But it was so much better than the stench of her wooden cage.
Chapter 52
By the time Rebecca returned Hannah was sitting in one of the ancient desk chairs, leaning against one of the equally ancient desks.
“Good,” Rebecca yelled from across the hanger. “You picked a good place to park yourself. I have some paperwork for you to fill out.”
“Paperwork?”
“The usual stuff. You can’t be released until you sign it.”
Perplexed, Hannah reached out and took the forms she was handed.
The first one read, across the top:
NONDISCLOSURE AGREEMENT
Rebecca saw Hannah’s puzzled face and explained.
“That one’s pretty simple, really. It’s where you agree never to disclose to anyone what happened here. If you violate the agreement you can be convicted of a felony and imprisoned up to ten years or fined up to ten thousand dollars.”
“No. Not even to your husband.”
“So we have to pretend this never happened? What if I refuse to sign?”
“Then you won’t be allowed to leave.”
She hesitated, and then said, “This is un-American, you know that?”
Rebecca didn’t seem to be too concerned.
“Look, our job is to protect the United States and its citizens. Sometimes we have to trample on the rights of the few to protect the many. It’s unfortunate, but it’s the way it is. If we always lived by the rules the courts and the laws set for us, we’d never catch any terrorists. We’d never catch any spies or malicious hackers. Our computer systems would be destroyed and buildings all over America would be blowing up. We do what we can with the guidelines we’re given.
“But sometimes, unfortunately, we have to cheat a little.”
“A little?”
“Okay, a lot. Sometimes we have to cheat a lot.”
“You seem to be shooting straight with me, Rebecca. Can I ask you a question? And will you answer it honestly?”
“If I can answer it without giving away any government secrets, sure.”
“You said my husband has been arrested too. And other people have disappeared or been killed. And in the end, the word about the Yellowstone Caldera is getting out anyway.
“Why on earth did the government think it was so damn important to hide the information from the public? And in light of the fact the information is coming out anyway, don’t you think it was a great waste of lives and effort to prevent it?”
Rebecca paused for a minute before answering.
She didn’t want to admit the government’s role in killing innocent people. Her first inclination was to deny it.
But this wasn’t a courtroom. She wasn’t under oath. If Hannah told anyone she admitted to the Department of Homeland Security killing Americans, she’d simply deny it.
That made it a little easier to answer honestly.
“Hindsight is twenty twenty, Hannah. It’s always easier to look back at a failed operation and say, ‘We should have done things differently’ or ‘Why did we waste our time?’
The Yellowstone Event (Book 2): A National Disgrace Page 17
