Дэвид Балдаччи - End Game

“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.

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. “Hank, 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.

“No sir, not one bit. I was just showing them around. They are not here in their official capacity.”

Randall hitched up his pants, placed his hand on the butt of his weapon, and said, “That’s a good thing. I don’t like legal problems. Got a whole army of lawyers to handle that crap.”

“I’m sure you do,” said Reel.

“So we’ll just be going,” added Robie.

“I don’t like government folks,” continued Randall. “They just get in the way of people that know what they’re doing. They mess every damn thing up. It’s like we’re living in a communist country sometimes. I can take care of myself. I don’t need the damn nanny state holding my hand while it sticks the other hand in my wallet.”

“Okay, so when someone robs you, don’t bother calling 911,” snapped Reel. “Handle it on your own.”

Randall patted his gun. “I got no problem with that, hon.”

“Oh, I think you’d have a big problem with that. And don’t pretend otherwise. I mean, isn’t that why you bought your little insurance policy here? So they could protect you from the big, bad riffraff banging on the door to get in?”

His wife stepped forward. “Who the hell do you think you are? Do you know who he is? He could buy and sell you.”

“Hank, why don’t you go on and head out now while I show the Randalls to their quarters?” said Lambert quickly. “I just don’t see the direction of this conversation as being productive.”

The hulking Hank, an AR-15 slung over his shoulder, came forward. “Yes, sir, Mr. Lambert.”

The chauffeur had popped the trunk and was pulling out massive pieces of luggage.

Reel eyed this and turned to the wife. They were about the same height. “Just a piece of advice, hon , in an apocalypse, no one is going to care what you’re wearing.”

Mrs. Randall glared at Reel. “You little bitch!”

Reel moved closer. “I’m someone with a badge, so lose the attitude and go check out your luxury digs while we get on with our petty little lives.”

Reel had turned away when the woman grabbed Reel by the shoulder. “Hey, I’m not finished with you yet.”

Reel moved so fast, it was hard to follow.

She pivoted, kicked out with her right leg, and took out the back of the woman’s knees. Mrs. Randall cried out in pain and fell back on her butt. The next instant Reel was straddling her, pinning her arms to her side.