“Is everybody here?” Patricia asked.
Evans was looking around as well. “I don’t see Alan Brennan.”
The others were looking around as well. “There are only 14 people here,” Thompson said.
“Remember, he was feeling sick all day and I remember he had to leave the table before this happened,” said Hudson, finally shaking loose from his haze. “Maybe whoever it was didn’t get him,” he said.
“There’s some bottled water over here,” said Sharon Roberts, one of the four woman mayors in the group. She began tossing the plastic bottles around the room. “I suggest everybody drink one before trying to get up.”
By now everyone was stirring. Each reached out for a bottle and quickly down its contents. To Patricia, nothing had ever tasted so good.
There was a sound of a metal door opening. A figure appeared at the cell door with a television camera. He stuck the lens through the door and began taping. Several of the mayors struggled to their feet as he did so. After a few minutes, another figure appeared at the door and placed his hands on his hips. Each of the people in the room turned to stare at him. He was heavy set and dressed in a dark sort of military uniform with a beret type cap. His face was framed with a Van Dyke style beard and mustache. It was set in a scowl.
“I see you are awake finally. As I am sure you have guessed, you are now prisoners under my care,” he said as a smile gently eased onto his face. It was quickly replaced with a frown as he continued. “I see you have found the water. I am instructed to give you all you desire.” There was a rattle of some pots being brought into the outer room. “Your food is here and as long as you are compliant, you will be fed regularly. However, any mischief on your part will be rewarded with the loss of food. So that means that if you want to eat, you must obey my every command. There shall be no disrespect to me or my people. Be good, and you will be treated well.” A door opened up on the wall and paper plates and plastic utensils were shoved in along with a plastic garbage bag. Two of the mayors took the items along with two pots of something warm. “Ask your questions now,” the man said.
“I want to know who you are and who has abducted us,” demanded Curtis Walker, one of the men as he got up from the floor.
The reply was swift and painful. The cell door was flung open and the man struck Walker across the face with a baton before stepping back outside. Walker fell back against the wall and slid to the floor; his eyes now burning with hatred. Two others stumbled to his aid. The rest reacted in horror that such a thing would happen.
The soldier shook his finger at them. “Remember, I said you must be respectful. It is none of your affair who has brought you here or who I am. You must simply obey.”
Sharon Roberts raised her hand like a schoolgirl. He nodded at her. “My I ask where we go when we need to use a bathroom?”
The soldier smiled at her. He pointed to a corner of the room. “It is right over there,” he said with a smirk. Everyone turned to look at what appeared to be a bucket covered with a piece of canvas. When the canvas was lifted, there was a wooden toilet seat laid over it. She looked over at Patricia and rolled her eyes.
“How may we address you,” asked Patricia. “Since we don’t know who you are, we need some way to ask for you or to ask questions,” she said calmly. The anger was rising within her and she had to control it.
“You may simply call me Sergeant, for now.”
Mitchell called out, “Sergeant, I need my medications. They are in my bags at our hotel. I have a heart condition that requires me to take these medications each day. Can someone get them for me?”
The sergeant gave a grunt. “Do I look like an apothecary? I am afraid it is impossible to go to your hotel and retrieve them. You will just have to do without.”
Mitchell turned slightly pale. “I’ve been told I must have them or my heart might quit on me,” he nearly pleaded.
The Sergeant leaned angrily toward the man, pointing his finger at him. “It is not my problem. Do without,” he said emphasizing by shoving his finger toward the man. It was obvious the Sergeant enjoyed pushing others around.
“Do without!” exclaimed Patricia. “You were the ones who brought us here and now this man may die because you didn’t think about the possible repercussions! I respectfully ask to see your superior, Sergeant,” she demanded.
The sergeant lifted his baton again, and then growled an order in Spanish. Two men quickly opened the cell door, entered the room, and retrieved the food pots from one of the mayors before locking the door again. A smile appeared on the sergeant’s face. “It appears you already need to be taught a lesson. You see, I am in charge here and I won’t tolerate any disrespect. No more food until tonight. Now, the question and answer time is over,” he said before turning and exiting the building. A younger guard dressed in a similar uniform sat down outside the room on a bench. His rifle was laid across his lap. The young man simply stared vacantly into the cell.
The mayors let out a small sigh and looked round at each other. “Pat, you gotta learn how to watch your temper,” said Roberts with a grin.
Patricia nodded. “I know. People like that infuriate me. Sorry guys,” she said.
“Yeah, I know. He has empowerment issues,” Roberts said. “We’re just going to have to find a way to suck up to this guy so we can survive, that’s all,” she said with a grin.
“In the mean time, come get some food,” said Tim Sweeny in the front corner of the room. The mayors looked in amazement at fourteen plates of some sort of stew sat on the floor.
“How the hell did you do that?” asked Kay May, staring at the plates in amazement.
Tim chuckled. “Knowing how outspoken some of you are, it figured he might take the pots away, so I poured it out and then stood there with the nearly empty pots.” He began handing out the plates of food. “One thing I noticed. The young guards who took the pots definitely noticed they were empty. They didn’t say a word,” he said.
George Kaye, the middle aged mayor of Jefferson, Tennessee, thought a moment on that one as he quickly began eating the bland meal. “That tells me not everyone agrees with our illustrious sergeant,” he said with a knowing eyebrow raised.
Roger Hammond stirred from his sleep as the sun eased above the horizon and into the bridge windows of the ship. He opened his eyes to a familiar sight, across the window sill out over the ship’s two forward turrets and across the bow. It was almost as if they were underway once more. His thoughts were interrupted by hushed male voices on the other side of the bridge. That was when he noticed the blanket covering him. Wondering where it came from, he looked around behind his seat.
The young female sentry had been replaced by another young petty officer standing by the rear entrance to the bridge. A Secret Service agent was just visible on the deck outside the bridge. The sentry was quieting someone inside the armored citadel.
Moving the blanket aside, Hammons eased down from his chair and walked back to the huge 17 inch thick steel door. He urged the sentry to remain silent. Three young Boy Scouts were inside looking at the gear.
“This is where we steer this thing,” said Hammond, startling the boys inside.
“Whoa,” said one of the boy almost jumping against the bulkhead at the sight of the man in an admiral’s uniform.
“It’s okay, guys,” Hammond said with a chuckle. “I’ve spent many a day on the bridge of this ship,” he said.
The oldest of the three scouts had a questioning look. “Were you the guy I read about during the war?”
Hammond raised his hands. “Guilty as charged. I’m Roger Hammond,” he said extending his hand.