Doomsday

Deepak said, but his reply was lost in a sudden uproar.
A few more people were trying to squeeze into the elevator and those already in, packed shoulder to shoulder, were pushing them back out. “Take the next one,” one man said each time he pushed.
“There’s room for one more!” a tall man in a brown suit snapped. He had a nose like a beak and an Adam’s apple as big as a golf ball. “I’m Adam Pierpoint, Vice President of Earthfind. I insist you make room for me.”
Deepak knew Pierpoint fairly well and didn’t like him.
Earthfind was the company Deepak worked for as a programmer and systems analyst.
“There isn’t any room!” the man who was doing most of the pushing insisted. “Take the next one.”
The doors started to close. Adam Pierpoint stepped between them and thrust both of his spindly arms out, stopping them. “Let me in or you’re not going anywhere.”
“Is that so?”
The man in the elevator punched Pierpoint in the mouth. The V.P. tottered back, more shocked than hurt, although blood trickled from his bottom lip. Then the door hissed shut and pinged, and the indicator light in the wall panel showed that the elevator was descending.
Pierpoint touched a hand to his mouth and stared aghast at the blood on his finger. “Did you see what he did?” he asked no one in particular.
Another elevator was rising. It was two floors below and would be there any moment. Those waiting surged forward. One man bellowed for another to get off” of his toes.
That was when Patrick Slayne faced them and held out his arms. “The next car is spoken for. All of you will have to wait a little longer.”
“Says you!”
“Who do you think you ate?”
Deepak was dumfounded. He realized Slayne was doing this for his benefit. “I’m not going to hog one to myself.”
If Slayne heard, he didn’t respond. He turned to confront Adam Pierpoint, who reared angrily over him.
Blood flecked Pierpoint’s chin. He balled his bony fists and shook one at Slayne. “I’ve had enough of this. No one has the right to deny anyone else. You will step aside and let us enter, or else.”
Deepak wondered what the “or else” meant. He tried to push past two men but they wouldn’t let him by. “Excuse me, please.”
“Go to hell.”
Then Patrick Slayne did the last thing anyone expected.
Certainly, Deepak didn’t expect it. Slayne drew a gun.
Seattle
Ben Thomas stood with his hands on his hips and stared at the vehicle being loaded into his trailer. “What is that thing? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
McDermott didn’t look up from his clipboard. “It’s a special order. A custom job for some nutcase movie director. I guess for one of his movies. He calls it a SEAL.” “A what?”
“You know. Those animals with flippers that balance balls on their noses.”
McDermott scribbled something and regarded the vehicle with amusement. “SEAL is a—what do you call it when each letter stands for a word?”
“An acronym.”
“How the hell did you know that?”
Ben took slight offense. “What? I must be dumb because I’m black?”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant. Damn. How long have we known each other and you say a thing like that?” McDermott shook his head. “Anyway, SEAL is a—whatever you called it—for Solar-Energized Amphibious or Land recreational vehicle.”
“It doesn’t look recreational to me,” Ben observed. “It looks like something the army would use.”
McDermott glanced around as if to make sure no one was close enough to overhear, then leaned toward Ben and whispered, “You didn’t get this from me, but there’s a rumor the thing is fitted out like a tank. With teal weapons and all.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It’s just what I was told. I’ve love to take a peek inside, but the doors are locked and I’m under orders not to. You’ll notice we’re not driving it into the trailer. We’re winching it.”
“I wondered about that.” Ben was wondering about a few other things, as well. “Movie director, you say?”
“Yep. Some guy who’s made a lot of scary movies and action flicks.” McDermott tapped the clipboard. “I’ve got his name right here. Carpenter. Kurt Carpenter.”
20
“I’ve seen most of his movies.” Ben rattled a few titles off. “Is that the guy we’re talking about?”
“I wouldn’t know the titles. But I bet the weapons this thing is supposed to have are fake.”
“I bet you’re right.” Ben’s phone beeped and he answered it, but couldn’t hear for all the noise. Covering his other ear, he said loudly, “Hold on!” Then he moved toward the opposite corner of the warehouse, where nothing was going on. “Who is this again?”
“Becca Levy, Mr. Thomas. Are you on your way yet?”
“Not yet, no. Your package is being loaded right now.” Ben paused. “Why didn’t you tell me you work for Kurt Carpenter?
When you called, you said you were with some outfit called Home Enterprises.”
“Mr. Carpenter has many business interests. H.E. is one of them.” Her tone became concerned. “How soon can you leave Seattle?”
“I won’t get out of here for half an hour yet.”
“I’ll be candid, Mr. Thomas. We’re worried. Very worried.
The SEAL is crucial to Mr. Carpenter’s plans. It was supposed to have been delivered six months ago, but a few design flaws had to be worked out. It’s a prototype, you see. That means there’s no other like it anywhere in the world.”
“I know what prototype means.”
“It’s almost seventeen hundred miles from Seattle to Lake Bronson State Park. Yet you honestly believe you can make it here in forty-eight hours?”
“Less if I don’t have any problems.”
“I would expect problems, Mr. Thomas. We’re on the verge of World War Three. Much of the Middle East and North Africa are in flames. Beirut is gone. Tel Aviv has been vaporized. In the United States, all contact has been lost with San Diego. There are reports of foreign troops in
Canada, pushing south. Riots and looting have broken out.
Martial law is to be imposed nationwide at ten AM tomorrow.”
“Forty-eight hours or less,” Ben insisted.
“You’re very