by Peter Clines
More of the thin, twisted wires ran along the tunnel. They hung on nails in the timbers and in some places a thin spike had been hammered into the wall. Every other arch had a light bulb hanging in a small cage. Of the eight or nine Nate could see down the length of the tunnel, at least five of them were burned out.
“I counted seventy-eight steps,” said Tim. “Yes?”
“Yeah,” huffed Veek. She blotted her forehead with her hand. “Could I bug you for some more water?”
“It’s what I brought it for.” He slid the backpack off his shoulders. “Seventy-eight steps, about nine inches each,” he said as he handed her the bottle. He closed his eyes and did some mental math. “That’s...fifty-eight and a half feet. Another five stories down.”
She swallowed some water and wiped her mouth on her arm. “Wow.”
On the left side of the tunnel were several cables, each one as thick as a fire hose. They were coated in what looked like black rubber under all the dust. A length of twine was wrapped around them to form a loose bundle, or maybe just to keep them neat. Nate prodded the bundle with his foot and felt a tingle of electricity. The movement made the twine collapse into bits and one of the cables flopped onto the floor with a thwack of dead weight.
“They’re live,” said Nate.
“So that’s why we’re not on the grid,” Veek said.
Tim looked at the cables. “Maybe. We don’t know which way it’s flowing. Maybe there’s something at the end of the tunnel that needs a lot of power.”
“Occam’s razor,” she said. “Going up makes more sense.”
“I think Occam would’ve kept his mouth shut if he lived in our building,” said Nate. He followed the cables back to the spiral staircase. The bundle slipped under the steps and ran into the hub. “The center post doubles as a conduit,” he said.
Tim had set the water bottle down on the floor of the tunnel. Once the liquid stopped rocking he crouched to study it. He moved it a few feet and stared at it again. Then he shuffled a few feet and set it down a third time.
“Checking to see if it’s level?” asked Veek. She had her phone out and was snapping photos again.
He smiled. “Clever girl,” he said. “Yeah, and it’s not. It’s still heading down. I’d guess it’s a five or six percent grade.” He see-sawed his fingers in the air. “Maybe a little more, maybe a little less.”
Nate stepped back to join them. “How are we doing for time?”
Tim glanced at his watch. “You’ve got about thirty seconds to do whatever you want.”
“What if we just went a little ways?” Veek waved down the tunnel. “We could just go to the bend.”
“The bend?” echoed Nate.
She held up the phone. “Digital zoom. The tunnel either stops dead or takes a turn about fifty yards ahead.”
“Let’s go take a look,” said Nate.
“Let’s not,” said Tim. He tapped his watch. “We’re pushing it now. We should be heading back, not walking downhill.”
“It’s just a fifty yards,” said Veek. She wheezed as she spoke.
“Fifty yards downhill,” Tim said.
“You’re right,” said Nate. “We don’t want Oskar finding out what we’re doing. We should go back and wait. He’s going to be gone for almost five days.”
Veek frowned. “What if he’s not?”
“He will be,” Nate promised her. “Besides, you’re not looking that great.”
“Thanks. I’ve been thinking you’re pretty butt-ugly too.”
“He’s right,” said Tim. “You’re all flushed.”
“Mild asthma attack,” she said.
“Do you have your inhaler?”
“Never needed it. It’s nothing, I’ll be fine. Let’s just go look.”
Nate shook his head. “No. He’s right. We head back up.”
Veek glared at them and shoved her phone back in her shirt pocket. “Fine,” she muttered. She stalked past them and back to the spiral staircase.
Tim gestured with his free hand. “After you.”
“Thanks,” said Nate.
Tim shook his head. “I just don’t want to get kicked in the face if she stays pissed.”
Nate took a last look over his shoulder and reached for the knife switch. It swung down into the off position with a loud clack. The lights faded and the tunnel vanished into the darkness.
Forty Two
Once Anne had left for lunch on Thursday, Nate skimmed through his notes and found the number for the Department of the Interior. He punched in extension eight-twenty-three and waited while the system connected him. There was a pause, two clicks, and then a ringtone.
A man answered the phone. “Records.”
“Hi,” said Nate. There was an awkward pause. “I think I’ve got the wrong extension.”
“Who did you want? I can transfer you.”
“I’m trying to reach Elaine at eight-twenty-three. She was checking on some stuff for me.”
The man made a noise. “This is eight-two-three,” he said, “but I’m the only one at this extension.”
Nate’s stomach twisted into a knot. “You’re the only one there?”
“Yep,” he said. “I’ve been here for about three...Duh! You said Elaine.”
“Yes! Yes I did.”
“Sorry about that. I heard ‘Shane’ for some reason and my head was thinking of another guy.”
“So Elaine’s there?”
“Nope. She left three weeks ago.”
“Left?”
“Yeah,” said the man. “What was she helping you with?”
“What,” Nate started to say, and then switched tracks. “Why did she leave?”
Nate heard the phone shift on the other end. “Don’t know all the details,” he said. “I think she might’ve gotten transferred or something. I just know it was kind of abrupt. It was a mess here for a few days. I’ve got this desk now. I’m Russell.”
Nate’s stomach collided with his intestines and pushed through to impact on his hip bones. It left ripples echoing up through his body. “Do you know where I could reach her?”
“No idea. Normally we get a memo for forwarding calls and email, but I think I got left off the list. Or maybe she got switched to another department altogether.” Nate heard the distant sound of computer keys. “Anyway, if you tell me what she was helping you with, I might be able to help. I’ve got all her files and requests. Although...was she helping you just before she left?”
“I think so,” murmured Nate.
“Yeah,” said Russell, “we got hit with a virus right around then. Some jackass browsing porn at work or something. We lost two weeks’ worth of requisitions and searches.”
Nate felt a drop of sweat run down his back, tracing a line between his skin and his shirt. “No kidding?”
“Yeah. If you were in there, you’re back to square one. I can help you start over, though. If it was just before she left, she couldn’t’ve gotten far.”
“Yeah,” said Nate, thinking that Elaine may have gotten far enough, “it’s not a big deal. Thanks anyway.”
“Hey, it’s not a problem,” Russell said. “Are you sure I can’t—”
Nate hung up.
* * *
Nate got home and found a spot on Kenmore in less than ten minutes. He double-checked the street-sweeping signs to make sure it was real and not just a trick of parking enforcement. He saw the days and times, felt his shoulders relax a little, and someone grabbed his arm. He twisted away and brought his arms up in something like a defensive pose, even though he still held his backpack.
Debbie had her briefcase slung over her shoulder, the handle hooked on her fingers. Her other arm was still out. “Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I just saw you parking.”
“No, sorry,” he said. “Long day. I didn’t even see you there.”
They started walking toward the building. “It’s funny, I was just thinking about you. I thought I’d have to go knock on yo
ur door later.”
“I won’t tell Clive,” said Nate. He smiled at her.
She rolled her eyes but smiled back. “He already knows. I called him from the lab.” She glanced around. “Are you guys still heading into the tunnels tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I dropped a few hints about feeling sick at work. I’ll call my boss later tonight and tell him I can’t make it in.”
“I don’t think Clive and I are going to be able to do it,” she said. “He’s got a gig he can’t get out of. And we can’t afford for him to leave it.”
Nate nodded as he unlocked the front gate. “No problem. What about you?”
She gave him a weak smile. “It’d be weird to go without him.”
They climbed the steps and Debbie stopped to look at the engraved name on the lintel. “Veek is sure this is Indian?”
“Pretty sure, yeah,” he said. “Martha-something. Why?”
Debbie shook her head. “Just had a thought on the tip of my brain, y’know.”
Nate glanced up at the letters. “About Kavach?”
“I thought I remembered something about Indian names but it’s gone.” She looked at him and shrugged. “Sorry.”
Forty Three
After some discussion Thursday night, it was decided that Nate, Xela, and Roger would be the ones to head down into the tunnels. They’d all managed to get the day off and Veek grudgingly admitted she’d slow them down if she had another asthma attack. Tim was worried if he vanished for too long the detective might cause problems. They agreed amongst themselves there was no point asking Mandy or Andrew.
Oskar left Friday at ten in the morning. He spoke to no one and they had no idea where he was actually going. “I feel kind of bad,” said Debbie as the cab whisked the building manager away. “It’s like we’re taking advantage of him while he’s dealing with a problem.”
Nate and Veek showed the sub-basement to the others while Tim brought down the packs he’d assembled. He’d gone out to Target and bought new ones, despite everyone’s protests. “We’re not doing this half-assed,” he said. “We don’t know how far you’re going, but it’s going to be like hiking a mountain or the Grand Canyon. Up takes twice as long as down.”
They had food, flashlights, and extra batteries. Xela had her camera and two extra memory cards. They’d all chipped in to buy the third one. The packs had water bottles on either side in web sleeves and sleeping pads tied across the bottom. There was also a whistle tied to each one. “Phones aren’t going to work a hundred feet underground,” Tim explained. “That’s your long-range communication. We’ll keep someone down in the break room to listen for you in case you need help.”
They all nodded.
“One last present for you,” Tim said to Nate. He held out what looked like a pager made of translucent orange plastic. “Pedometer. It’ll keep track of how far you’ve gone. If you keep a pretty steady pace and I figured the angle more or less right, every ninety feet you go is about another ten feet down.”
“More or less?” echoed Roger.
“I don’t have any surveying equipment,” Tim said. “We’re going to have to make do with ‘more or less’ and what I remember from tenth grade geometry.”
“Cool,” said Nate. “I’ll try to keep track of it.”
Tim spun the dial on the vault door and heaved it open. The ladder-tube wasn’t wide enough, so Roger climbed down into the tiny spiral staircase room and they dropped the packs down to him. They went down the ladder. Veek squeezed in after them.
Xela glanced at her phone. “I’ve already lost reception,” she said. “How about you guys?”
Nate glanced at his phone. “Me, too.”
“Flickering half-bar,” said Roger.
“So we’re cut off,” said Nate. He swung the backpack onto his shoulder and batted the whistle hanging from the strap. “We figured on that anyway.”
“Figuring it’s one thing,” said Xela. “Knowing it’s another.”
“You guys be safe,” said Veek. She gave Nate a crooked smile. “Don’t do anything too stupid, Shaggy.”
“Like going down into a hundred-year-old mine shaft?”
“Yeah,” she said. “That’d pretty much max out the stupid-meter.”
He smiled back at her. “This is new territory, isn’t it? I don’t think Shaggy ever went off with Fred and Daphne and left Velma alone.”
“I won’t be alone,” she said. “We’ll be busy here going over the break room.”
“Who’s Fred and Daphne?” asked Roger. “Thought it was just going to be the three of us.”
Veek shook her head and the others chuckled. They walked down the spiral staircase and passed from sight. A moment later Roger’s voice echoed back up. “Right,” he said, “like Scooby-Doo. That’s funny.”
They’d gone twenty steps when Xela paused to examine one of the small light alcoves with intact glass. There wasn’t enough room on the staircase to pass one another, so they had to wait for her. Roger discovered the tingle of the central post, and Nate explained the power cables down below. Even with the pauses, it felt like a quicker trip down the staircase to Nate. Probably because I know what’s there this time, he thought.
After a few minutes they stepped out into the tunnel. Nate found the knife switch and turned on the lights. The bulbs glowed for a moment before illumination burst along the length of the tunnel.
“Whoa,” said Roger. “You weren’t kidding about this place.”
“It’s not as hot as I thought it was going to be,” said Xela. “Veek made it sound like an oven.”
Nate slid his pack off his shoulders and dug through the pouch. He’d brought along a few things to let him make as many observations as possible. One of them a small thermometer from Veek’s apartment wall. He propped it up as straight as he could against his backpack and had a sip of water.
Roger and Xela spent a minute examining the wooden arches and the cables running along the wall. Nate had another drink and checked his pedometer. A few clicks reset it to zero. He slid the bottle back into its sleeve on the backpack and picked up the thermometer. “Ninety-four degrees,” he said, jotting it down in his notebook. “What was it up top? High eighties?”
Xela nodded. “Think so, yeah.”
“Saw eighty-five on the news,” Roger said.
Nate looked around the tunnel. “So it’s almost ten degrees hotter down here,” he said. He slung the pack back onto his shoulder. “Wonder what it’s going to be like deeper down?”
“Only one way to find out,” smiled Xela.
Forty Four
According to the pedometer, it was two hundred-seventeen feet to the bend. They’d already dropped another twenty feet. The tunnel made a hairpin turn marked by half a dozen wooden beams and supports. The cables stayed tight against the wall and wrapped around the corner.
Xela stopped, closed her eyes, and turned back and forth for a moment.
“What’s up?” asked Roger.
“I’m trying to figure out where we are,” she said. “The spiral staircase kind of screws things a bit, but I think this tunnel points northwest.”
Nate looked from the stone walls to Xela and back. “You sure?”
“Spatial relations,” she said. “It’s what I do.” She glanced back down the tunnel towards the spiral staircase, then looked up. “I think we’re under the road right now. That T-intersection on Beverly where Kenmore does that little jog, between the garage and the store. We’re maybe thirty, thirty-five feet under it.”
Roger nodded. “Yeah, I think you’re right. Listen, you can hear the cars.”
Nate looked down the next leg of the tunnel. “So we’re heading back toward the building now?”
“I think so, yeah.”
They started walking again. Every fifty or sixty yards the tunnel would switch back in the other direction, sending them deeper and deeper into the earth. The wooden arches counted off ten-foot sections. The dust-covered bulbs lit the way with sepi
a light. There weren’t any landmarks or signs, and the tunnel legs began to blend into each other.
“So, Xela,” said Roger after an hour, “how’d you get into art?”
She glanced over at him. “What?”
“Art,” he said. “You always like art as a kid or did it happen at college or what?”
“Why do you need to know?”
He shrugged. “Just figured we could talk about something or we’d all go nuts.”
“It’s pretty boring,” she said.
“That’s okay,” he said. He slowed his pace and dropped back a few feet. “I can just hang here and watch your ass for a few hours.”
Xela chuckled. “Oh, my,” she cooed, “my shoe’s untied.” She bent over and thrust her hips back at Roger. With the backpack, she overbalanced and staggered forward. Nate grabbed her arm before she sprawled on the sloping floor.
They all laughed. “That’s very entertaining,” said Nate. “If you keep doing that we don’t need to talk.”
“Only one show per customer,” she said. She adjusted her pack, tugged at her jeans, and continued down the tunnel. “I believe we were talking about art?”
Roger grinned. “Think so, yeah.”
“The short answer,” she said, “according to several psychologists, is childhood rebellion.”
“Psychologists?” echoed Nate.
“Oh, yeah,” said Xela. “I mean, for someone to keep ignoring her parents and wasting time on pointless things, there has to be something wrong with them, right? Probably something the nanny did.”
“You had a nanny?”
“No, but you know how it goes. ‘How our kid turned out is everyone’s problem but ours’.” She shook her head. “You sure you want to hear this? I swear, it’s like a bad sitcom plot.”
“Sitcoms are cool,” said Roger.