End Game

by David Baldacci

  as the extreme end of the survivalist’s spectrum. On doomsday this is where you want to be.”

  He led them inside.

  Chapter

  40

  LAMBERT WALKED THEM over to a bank of elevators. “In the silo we’ve got a dozen floors and private apartments on each. Some are half-floor units that go for about two mill, but most of the owners have taken the whole floor for around four million.”

  “How many people total can you support in here?” asked Malloy.

  “Around a hundred, but we’re looking at ways to stretch that number a bit to allow some flexibility with staff and such.”

  “You mean pilots, guards, and their families,” said Reel curtly.

  “Well, yeah. Immediate families. I mean, we can’t take cousins and nephews and in-laws. We just don’t have the room. Now, we have enough food and fuel for five years, but we also have renewable energy capabilities that we keep improving upon, along with raising our own food, so we could possibly stay in here indefinitely.”

  “Who pays for all the guns and food, upkeep, security guards, the improvements you’re talking about, and all that?”

  “Monthly fee tacked onto the purchase price, like a condo fee. It’s paid into an escrow starting from day one. So we have a nice buffer already built in. If doomsday happens and the monetary system goes down, well, we’ll all be in survivalist mode. I don’t think anyone will be worrying about a paycheck. They’ll just want to stay in here and get by until it’s okay to leave. But with that said, private security ain’t cheap. Hell, none of this is cheap. That’s sort of the point. Separating the wheat from the chaff.”

  “Or the clamshells from the pearls,” amended Reel.

  Lambert pointed at her and chuckled. “I might use that analogy in my future marketing materials.”

  “Was Walton interested in anything in particular here?” asked Robie.

  “He asked questions about the silo’s configuration, entry points, square footage, defensive mechanisms, even where I got the workers to do the job. Told him as much as I could.”

  “And where did you get the workers?” Reel wanted to know.

  “Some local, some not. And no, I didn’t use any illegals. This is specialized work. I needed trained folks who knew what they were doing.”

  “Illegal status doesn’t mean they’re untrained,” pointed out Robie.

  “Yeah, but you can get into a lot of legal hassles if you do use them, and I couldn’t afford the headache.”

  They rode the elevator down to the bottom of the silo.

  Getting off, Lambert said, “We’ll work our way back up. In addition to the apartments we built out in the silo, we converted the launch operations area and part of the missile launch section into the public use areas. As you’ll see, they’re pretty extensive.”

  They climbed on a golf cart parked near a raised overhead door and Lambert drove them down a long tunnel that was well lighted and had a concrete floor. “This was the connecting tunnel I told you about.” They arrived at the other end of the tunnel and climbed off the golf cart. Lambert led them into a space filled with raised wooden boxes with plants growing in them. Special lighting illuminated the room.

  “Our hydroponic gardens. We grow vegetables with special lamps. We also will be raising fish for proteins. And we’re thinking about having a chicken coop for eggs and the occasional white meat. No room for cattle down here,” he added, grinning. “Behind those doors are our food storage areas. No perishables but nutritionally balanced provisions. We hired an expert to help us put the mix together. We also have state-of-the-art water, and NBC, or nuclear, biological, and chemical, air filtration systems. If the outside gets radiated, we’ll be fine in here.”

  He led them through various other rooms containing a bowling alley, spa, gym, swimming pool, theater, and medical wing with a dentist chair and an operating room.

  “Two of our owners are health-care execs and also doctors, so we lucked out there. They can perform any necessary medical procedures for the rest of the population.”

  He led them next to a wine cellar. “Some of our owners are collectors and they’ve brought some of their stock here. One of the perks of owning here. Some of the bottles in there are worth tens of thousands of dollars. Me, I’m a beer man, but I could be tempted.”

  “I’m sure you could,” noted Reel.

  He unlocked one room and they passed through.

  “This is our armory.”

  On the walls and secured by chains and padlocks was an impressive arsenal of pistols, rifles, and submachine guns as well as grenades, RPG launchers, and boxes of ammo.

  “Even though we have professional guards, you never know, so this is just in case we’re breached or our guards go down during an assault. Each owner has been trained with these weapons. Next to the armory is a shooting range. One requirement of purchasing a property was that every adult had to be certified in weaponry.”

  Reel eyed the guns. “You’re loaded for bear here.”

  “Well, bears might be coming,” said Lambert quite seriously. “We’ve also got sniper posts outside in certain locations that I can’t show you.” He paused and added, “You can never be too careful around here.”

  “Have you had any threats?” asked Malloy.

  Lambert seemed to choose his words carefully. “We have received some…communications from certain elements hereabouts that they’ll be coming for us if the sky falls. Poor-versus-rich sort of thing.”

  “Are we talking the white supremacists, the motorcycle gangs, the Nazis, assorted others?” asked Malloy.

  “Yes we are, but I can’t elaborate further. But now you can see why we have the armory and the requirement that every owner here be willing to defend the silo. That’s just the way it has to be. One for all and all for one.”

  “Did Walton ask you about that issue?” said Reel.

  Lambert paused at the door and looked at her. “Am I missing something here? Why do you keep asking about what Walton wanted to know about this place?”

  Malloy said, “Because maybe it had something to do with his disappearance.”

  “Now hold on, I had nothing to do with the man going missing.”

  Reel, scowling at Malloy, said, “We weren’t suggesting that you did. We were just interested in why he wanted to see the silo at that exact moment in time. He must have had other opportunities.”

  “Well, I suppose he did. But he never asked before this trip out.”

  “How did he seem?” asked Robie.

  “Tight-lipped, like I said before,” replied Lambert. “Any conversation with that man you can guarantee that he found out more about you than you ever did about him. Except you had no idea he did until long after it happened.”

  Robie and Reel exchanged a brief smile. That description fit Blue Man perfectly.

  The room next to the armory was padlocked.

  “What’s in there?” asked Malloy.

  “Something you would be familiar with, Sheriff.”

  Lambert unlocked the door and they looked inside. There was a toilet, a shower, and a bed.

  “It’s a jail cell,” said Malloy.

  “We actually like to call it a chill-out room,” amended Lambert.

  “Who decides who goes in?” asked Reel.

  “We have a governing body. They make the decisions while the silo is closed up. And in the event of a catastrophe, no one will be allowed to leave, because that might jeopardize the rest of us if that person were captured and revealed some intelligence about our systems, defenses, and such. Or they could be used as leverage against us.”

  “And if someone really wanted to leave?” asked Robie.

  Lambert pointed at the tiny room. “They go there to chill out. This and all I’m going to show you is spelled out in the marketing materials and in the ownership documents that everyone has to sign. We didn’t want anyone to be surprised.” He wasn’t smiling now.

  “And if you have a mutiny?” asked Ma
lloy.

  “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. People who bought here are reasonable and think logically. I doubt they’re going to lose their cool and spoil it all.”

  “That’s the theory, anyway,” said Reel.

  Lambert stared at her for a moment before continuing. “And people will have chores to do. We rotate them so no cliques are formed. Four hours a day. Builds camaraderie and cuts down on boredom. We also have computer network technology tied to a satellite, data storage files, and a business center so that the owners can keep up to date on what’s going on outside.”

  “If there’s anyone left outside,” noted Reel.

  “Well, we need to stay positive,” said Lambert curtly. “There’s also a dog park because several owners have pets.”

  “You seem to have thought of everything,” said Robie.

  “We try. Now we can look at one of the apartments.”

  They drove back through the tunnel and rode the elevator up, stepping off on a floor that had a single door.

  Lambert opened it.

  Robie said, “Wait a minute, the apartments aren’t locked?”

  “No, we thought it best to have them unlocked in case of emergency. We have to have an element of trust here.”

  They stepped inside.

  He pointed around the space. “It’s about two thousand square feet. I know that sounds fairly large for an underground apartment, but keep in mind that the owners are used to living in mansions ten times that size, with full-time staffs, but there was no way we could duplicate that here. But we do try to make it as luxurious as possible, as you saw with the common areas. Now, we have nine-foot ceilings throughout, granite counters, Wolf and Sub-Zero appliances. This particular place is owned by an investment banker. His wife had her designer fly in to do the customized interior.” He pointed to a window showing a scene with trees and a statue.

  “That’s Central Park,” said Malloy.

  Lambert nodded. “These are LED video screens. It’s important when living underground that you have lots of light to stimulate people. You can customize them to whatever you want. There’re also sounds associated with them, and the scenes are on a rotation so they change every few minutes. This couple is from Manhattan and wanted to replicate that experience. We’ve got another couple from Minnesota that prefers winter images. One guy from Hawaii likes waves and beaches. We have one guy who was born in England before moving to the U.S. as a teenager. He has an entire video wall in his bedroom with scenes from London. It’s all in what you want the experience to be.” He suddenly laughed. “In 1961 JFK called on all Americans to work together to build fallout shelters because of the Cold War. But somehow I don’t think he had this in mind.”

  “No, I don’t think he did,” said Robie.

  “But you look at Congress. They had that big underground shelter at the Greenbrier Resort in West Virginia. The press found out and they discontinued its use, but don’t tell me they don’t have other places to go in case the world goes to hell.”

  “Well, places like that are to ensure continuity of government,” Reel pointed out.

  “Well, places like this are to ensure that highly successful people survive and then come out and work to rebuild the world,” said Lambert. “It’s all in our marketing brochures. It’s like we’re doing a public service, really. These people are leaders. Frankly, I believe they’re far better leaders than the do-nothings in Washington. How do you know a politician is lying? He has a pulse.”

  “That’s one way to look at it,” said Robie.

  Lambert quickly eyed him. “Hey, I know you’re with the Feds, and I got great respect for people putting their lives on the line for their country. I was in the Army for a while. Some of the best lessons I ever learned. My problem is with the empty suits spouting bullshit and not helping anybody. Maybe if they did their job we wouldn’t have to build stuff like this.” He grinned and rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry, I tend to get on my soapbox sometimes.” He looked around at the space. “As elaborate as this is, there are other folks doing much bigger things.”

  “Such as?” asked Reel curiously.

  “I hear they’re developing a subterranean community near Dallas. Single-family homes, equestrian center, beaches, golf course, polo fields, zip lines. Three hundred million bucks or more it’s costing, all underground, and all protected against an apocalypse. And there’s a huge development of former military bunkers in South Dakota. That will house about five thousand people. And it’s not just in the U.S. They’re doing this at an old military bunker in Germany that’ll have triple the number of residences that I have, and then there’s the Oppidum in the Czech Republic. They’re calling it the ‘Billionaire’s Bunker.’ It has an aboveground estate and nearly eighty thousand square feet underground. Makes what I’m doing here seem like small potatoes.”

  “I hope no one ever considers something like this small potatoes,” commented Robie.

  “Anybody in residence now?” asked Reel. “Or do they just come when the nukes get dropped?”

  “Most of the owners have come out and spent time here just to get a feel for what it’s like. But they won’t really know what it’s like until there is a catastrophe. I mean, we don’t put them to work or put them in the chill-out room now. That’s only in the event of an emergency. There’s a couple coming in tomorrow. They bought the last unit. He just turned thirty-eight, but he inherited a bazillion dollars from his old man. His wife was a model. Still could be. She’s a knockout. They pretty much bought the unit sight unseen. Now they’re coming to live here for a couple days to get a feel for it.”

  “Where’s your apartment?” asked Robie.

  “The bottom one,” said Lambert.

  “So they have to go through everybody else to get to you?” said Reel, staring at him with a knowing expression.

  He grinned. “Nice observation. Hell, there’s got to be some extra perk for the guy who built the damn place.”

  “And that’s not in the marketing materials,” said Reel.

  “Must have left that one out,” he said.

  “Must have.”

  “So that’s our little fallout shelter,” said Lambert, making a mock bow.

  “Well, let’s hope you never have to use it for real,” said Robie.

  Chapter

  41

  AS THEY WERE leaving the silo, a stretch limo pulled up and the driver, a man in his sixties with curly gray hair and dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform, quickly climbed out and opened the rear door.

  Out stepped a tall, handsome, well-built man in his late thirties. He was dressed in corduroy pants and an ammo vest over a white shirt. What looked to be work boots right out of the box were on his feet. A compact nine-millimeter pistol rode in a hip holster.

  He reached his hand back into the limo and helped out the woman. She was around thirty, with long dark hair that swirled around her shoulders. She was nearly as tall as the man and had the sort of long-limbed and narrow-hipped body that fashion designers craved for the catwalk. She had on faded jeans with a series of slashes at the knees and thighs. Her blouse bared both her tanned shoulders, and when she reached up to tousle her hair, the blouse pulled up to show rock-hard abs.

  Lambert scurried forward to greet them as the woman checked her face in a mirror she pulled from the large Prada bag slung over her shoulder.

  “How are you doing, Mr. and Mrs. Randall? I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.” He looked anxiously back at Robie, Reel, and Malloy.

  “Change of plan. Suzy wants to go to our place in the Hamptons earlier than I thought. So let’s hit this thing, Roark. I want to see what four mill bought me. And it better be damn good. Some of my friends are going the island route. I don’t want to be left thinking I made the wrong decision. That’s when the lawyers get involved.”

  “Absolutely, sure thing, I know you’ll be pleased,” said Lambert hastily. He called over his shoulder to the hulking guard standing next to the Hummer. “H
ank, can you run these other folks back into town? You can take my truck. I’ll be here for a while taking care of our clients here.”

  He tossed the truck keys to Hank.

  Randall eyed Robie and then Reel and then said to Lambert, “Are they staff?”

  “How do you know we’re not owners?” said Reel.

  Randall snorted. “Look, lady, I know what it costs to have a unit in this place. And I’ve been around big money all my life. I can smell the people who have it and I can definitely tell the people who don’t have it. And you’re definitely in the latter category. No offense, we can’t all be rich, right? I mean, what fun would that be?”

  “Well, you’re right, actually, we’re not owners. We’re federal agents.”

  Randall eyed her and then looked at the uniformed Malloy and said to Lambert, “Why are Feds here checking out things? We don’t have a legal problem, do we, Roark? That would definitely not make me happy.”

  His wife interjected, “Jesus, Scotty, can we just get this going? This wind is drying my hair out. I did not sign up for this shit. I mean, I didn’t even know you could land a plane here. This is the part of the country you fly over, not come to.”

  “Just a minute, hon. I need to get to the bottom of this. Well, Roark, do we have a problem with the damn government?” he said, eyeing Reel suspiciously.