There was no weld, but there was a padlock. And the padlock looked shiny and brand-new.
"Fair enough," Gus said, putting the flashlight under his arm and going into his coat pocket again. "This looks easy enough to pick, and if that schematic was close enough, this should bring us right into Battery A."
I rubbed my hands together and then rubbed at my shoulders. I was going to speak up but then something interrupted me.
It was the harsh snick-snack of someone priming a pump action shotgun and then a sharp voice: "Hold it right there, or I'll blow off your damn head."
I couldn't help but grin. It looked like the cavalry had arrived.
Chapter Nineteen
Then the clearing lit up, as a man came out from the underbrush carrying a gas lantern, which he placed down on the wet grass. The man walked true and fair, and I had to look twice before I believed what I was seeing: Jack Emerson, curator of the Porter Submarine Museum, carrying a shotgun and no cane, no cane at all.
“Hey, Jack," I started. "It sure is great to ---"
"Shut up," he said, aiming the shotgun in my direction, and I felt like a lost Union soldier suddenly realizing he's been rescued by the Confederates. I swallowed and felt like an idiot. Whizzer. The first time I had met Jack at the museum, he had denied all. Had never heard of Whizzer.
"Nice to see you, Jack," Gus said.
"You were supposed to call to set up the meet," Jack said, swinging the shotgun over to his direction. "What happened?"
Gus gave a cheerful shrug. "Circumstances changed, that's all."
Things were clicking inside my head, one right after another, and it was not a pleasant feeling. Jack stepped forward, saying, “I should shoot you down right now, you fuck. I know what you’re doing here. You found out where the stuff was hidden on your own. You're trying to back away from the deal, am I right?”
"Shoot away," Gus said. "And you won't get what's in those cases. They're triggered, my friend. You don't punch in the right combination in the little dials under each handle, and a thermite charge explodes. Fries your face and burns off your eyebrows and, oh yeah, every single hundred-dollar bill inside is destroyed."
Jack said, "Whatever's in those cases isn't enough, and you know it. I get a finder's fee, you get the delivery fee. That still ain't fair."
"Whoever said fair had anything to do with it?" Gus said. Now Jack turned his attention back to me. "What's he doing here?" he asked, and the cheerful and helpful face I had seen back at the museum had gone, replaced by a cold look that chilled me.
"He's my mule, that's what. Not to say that I don't trust you, old man, but I don't want my back exposed while moving that stuff out."
Jack snorted. "A hell of a thing, trust. Ain't no such thing. Just a deal, and you coming here by yourself, without setting up the meet like you said, tells me a lot."
"Look, you want to chat all night here in the rain, or do you want to wrap this deal up?" Gus demanded.
I spoke up, "Damn it, Jack, your son Keith's dead. Also known as Whizzer. You know who did it, don't you. And you're still dealing with him?"
Jack moved the shotgun back in my direction. "Keith's been dead a long time, boy, ever since he came back from the Gulf. What Gus did... I can see why. I don't like it, but I can see why. He was going to pull everything down, threaten everything. And we couldn't risk that. I told Gus Keith was a problem, and that was that."
Gus said, “Hey, this is all special and nice, but can we get out of the fucking rain? Please? You got a key, old man, or what?”
“I do,” he said. “But I’m not gonna open it up and have you put a bullet in me.”
"Nor I," Gus said. "Lewis, it looks like you're drafted. Old man, toss the keys over to him."
Jack kept the shotgun trained on Gus while he poked around in his pocket, came out with a key attached to a length of chain. He tossed it over to me and I caught it one-handed. I noted how Gus moved so that I was between him and the old man. Nice job description, I thought. Human shield for a couple of criminals. I went over to the door, fit the key in the lock and popped it open. I grabbed the metal door handle and the door slid open effortlessly, not a squeak or a squeal. Somebody had kept it well-lubricated. With the door open, I smelled old things, dust and dirt and things kept moist over decades.
"Reach in," Jack commanded. "To your right is a light switch. Pop it up and then we can all get out of the rain."
My hand went in and felt slimy concrete. I moved it up and down and then felt a switch, which I threw. I blinked as lights clicked on, leading down at an angle. It looked like a temporary job, black wire fastened up on the concave concrete roof, small lights dangling down every five feet or so. I looked down and saw car batteries, lined up.
"Nice work," I said. "I can't see how you did that with your cane and all."
Jack laughed. "For the past twenty years I've fooled the yard, the government, and even you into thinking I got injured. A nice little pension every month and all I had to do was play around with a cane. Seemed like a small price to pay."
"And giving up your son?" I demanded. "And helping an overseas dictator go nuclear, are those small prices to pay?"
"Shut up and get inside," Jack said. "I don't want to talk about Keith no more."
"Hold on there," Gus said. "I go in first. Lewis, you come in after me with the cases."
Gus elbowed by me and I gave one more look to Jack and said, "All that stuff about service to your country, about vets and doing your part, so much nonsense, right?"
The shotgun was aimed at my midsection. “If so, I didn’t make it nonsense first. Plenty of others did. I worked and slaved and sacrificed for this country, all for a pension and a Social Security check that might disappear next year or the year after that, 'cause we give billions each year to idiots overseas. Time for me to take care of myself. Now, get on in there."
I picked up the two cases, my hands wincing from the familiar pain, and in I went. Jack followed, swinging the door behind him, the clanging noise as the door closed echoing down the cement tunnel.
I took in our surroundings. We were in a dome-shaped alcove, with the tunnel leading down into the darkness at a slight angle. Once again, Gus maneuvered himself so that I was between him and Jack. The old man shifted the shotgun in his grasp and said, "Here's the deal. I lead the way down the tunnel, and you follow. Lewis behind me, and you in the rear. The uranium is well-secured, and if you have any ideas about arriving there by yourself, Gus, just know that it's secured by more than just a combination lock."
Gus smiled. "Makes sense to me. And why do you get to go first?"
Jack's answer was interrupted by a shrill ringing noise, emanating from me, of all places, and both men stared at me and Gus said, "What the... you carrying a cell phone?"
"I guess I am," I said. "All right if I answer it?"
Gus smiled again. "Tell you what. Hand it over and I'll answer it, okay?"
I set down my cases and took the ringing cell phone out of my coat pocket and handed it over to Gus, and even though I was expecting it, his move startled me, it was so quick and sudden. He threw the phone against the wall, where it shattered, and then he stomped three times on the pieces. The ringing finally stopped.
"I guess the caller is either busy or has left the service area, huh?" Gus said.
Jack spoke up. "Let's get a move on. Gus, you get behind Lewis. I'll lead the way."
"You didn’t answer my question, old man,” he said. “Why do you get to go first?”
“Because I know the way,” he said.
Gus looked around him. "I only see one way in and out. What's the big deal?"
This time, Jack was smiling. "Like I said, I'm the only one who knows the way."
Then the lights went out.
Gus started yelling and shouting and threatening and when there was a pause in the cursing, Jack said from the darkness, "Are we going to talk, or are we going to just listen to you go on?"
"Turn on the lights,
turn on the lights right now."
"No," Jack said. "They're on a timer. They kick off ninety seconds after they're turned on. And I'm the only one who knows where the other switches are."
"Fine, I've got my flashlight and ---"
"Turn on that flashlight, and you're dead," Jack said. "Honest to God, I mean it. Turn it on and I see where you are, and you are dead. I keep the uranium, I get the cases with the money, and it may take a year or two years, but I'll figure out a way of getting that money out of those cases without triggering whatever kind of booby traps you have."
A hand grabbed me by the throat, and Gus's voice was louder. "I got Cole, right here in front of me."
Laughter. "I gave my son up to you, and you think I give a shit about a stranger? Go ahead and stand there and use your light. This shotgun's got a nice wide pattern. Guaranteed to knock both of you down, and then I can take my time with whoever's left alive."
Dark-I could not believe how dark it was. Even in a dark room in the middle of the night, there's ambient light, coming in from streetlights, the moon, the little LEDs on your VCR. Here, surrounded by concrete and a heavy metal door, there was no light, nothing at all.
The grip on my throat eased up. "Not bad, old man," Gus said, his voice loud in my right ear. "Not bad. How do you want to work this?"
A chuckle from the blackness. “There, now that’s what I call cooperation. Tell you what. First, you drop your pistol. Then, you take your flashlight out and light it off, pointing it at the floor. Okay?”
I could sense movement and there was a thunk as Gus dropped his pistol. Then I shut my eyes against the sudden glare when Gus switched on his flashlight. Jack was over by the door, shotgun pointing right at the two of us. He nodded with pleasure. "Very good. All right. Now, drop it on the ground, kick it over here."
The light fell down, and Gus gave it a swift kick. The motion across the floor tossed lights and shadows about us on the concrete, and then Jack bent over, picked it up, and smashed it against the wall.
Darkness returned, seeming blacker than before.
Jack's voice came out from the void. "Lewis, pick up the two cases and come out three steps."
I bent down at the knees, flailed around with my hands, found both cases. I stood up and took the requested steps. Jack's voice was now quite close. "Good. Put the cases down, and reach out slowly with your right hand."
I did that and felt cloth. Jack's coat. "Raise your hand up and grab my shoulder."
I felt like asking Gus whether, if I attacked Jack, he would call the whole thing off, but I didn't want to push what little luck I had remaining. My hand went up and grasped the thin shoulder, and from the way he was talking, I could sense he had turned around, so his back was facing me.
"Your turn, Gus," Jack continued. "Come forward until you touch Lewis."
I cringed, waiting for his touch, which came at me a few seconds later. Jack said, "Got his shoulder?"
"I do," came the voice.
"Then that's how we're going inside," Jack said. "One happy little family, like three little elephants, tail to nose, to tail to nose. We'll shuffle right along, and it'll take some time, but that's how we’re going to do it. Lewis, grab one of the cases.”
I did that and said, “That leaves one behind.”
"Sure it does," Jack said, "and that's what Gus is going to pick up."
Gus muttered something and I yelped as a black case banged against my knee as Gus retrieved it. Jack called out, "All set?”
"Yes," I said, and Gus said, "Yeah, yeah, can we get a move on?"
"Sure we can," Jack said. "We can get a move on, and it's going to be my move, setting my pace. I know the tunnels and the rooms inside of here, and I'm not going to say a word for the next ten or fifteen minutes, 'cause I'm going to be keeping count of my steps. And don't get any nice ideas of overpowering me and then finding your way out. You move around in the dark and pick the wrong turn, you'll be heading into some dangerous areas. Some of the work in here has collapsed over the years. One wrong turn and you might fall down a deep hole where there's water and no way of coming up. Or you might fall down and there's no water, just chunks of broken concrete. Either way, you're going in with me and you're coming out with me, or you're going to end up dead."
My legs were quivering again, my mind racing with the thoughts that I was trapped, trapped inside this dark and closed in space with two men, either of whom would kill me in a second if it suited him. I kept my eyes open, looking around, trying to make out my surroundings, to see anything, but there was nothing. Just blackness. It was as if I had been struck blind.
"Off we go," Jack said. "We move slow and take it easy." My left hand held onto the case and my right hand stayed on Jack's shoulder, as we started shuffling our way into the unknown. We moved slowly, the sound of our feet rasping against the concrete echoing back and forth, almost matched by the sound of our breathing. I was reminded of a famous painting by John Jay Jasper, called The Gassed, depicting British soldiers in World War I, blinded on a battlefield, being led off to a medical aid station. And here we were, effectively blinded, being led into the depth of an old gun station that had never fired a shot in anger, veterans of a sort of different conflict.
Except for the time in Nevada, I had never been on a more terrifying journey in all my life. We stopped when Jack said, "Rest break, just for a moment," and I dropped the case I was carrying and lifted up my hand to my face. The old cliché of not being able to see one's hand before one's face came horribly alive. There was nothing but the darkness, nothing at all except the smells of decayed objects and wet concrete, and the sounds of our breathing and of our feet on the ground and of dripping water, and the touch I had of the person in front of me, and the touch on my shoulder of the person behind me.
Gus spoke quietly. "Hell of a thing, ain't it."
I turned my head, replying just as quietly. I didn't want Jack to lose count. "Let me guess. Among the other lies you've told me, you were in charge of photographing and removing the Libyan body. And you took off the lapel pin, right?"
Gus just laughed, for a moment. I went on. "How did you two get hooked up? Did you intercept the first contact between him and the Libyans?"
Gus laughed again, but again kept it short. "Man, you are as dumb as the day is long. What do you think, that old yard worker up there dropped a postcard to Libya and they opened up negotiations? Hell, no. He contacted us. Found an article about us in Popular Science or some damn thing, sent a threatening letter to NEST. Said he had this uranium and would dump it in Boston's water supply if we didn't pay him a half million dollars."
I took a breath. "And the letter came to you, didn't it."
"Uh-huh. Nobody else saw it except me. So I decided to take some initiative. Contacted him and offered something a bit more rich. A million-dollar finder's fee if he turned the uranium over to me, and I would turn it over to the Libyans. Keep it nice and simple and quiet, just the two of us. But the damn Libyans, I thought they bad a more secure communications system than the one they used, ‘cause having Laura Reeves and other fools crawling around wasn’t part of the plan.”
“Killing the Libyan contact, was that part of the plan?” I asked.
“No, that was the idea of that idiot in front of you. Jack demanded a one-on-one with the Libyan guy, sort of to size him up. You know, man-to-man crap, stuff like that. I thought it was a dumb idea. Just made sense to get the deal done. But Jack had the uranium, and I didn't. And they had the meet and it went wrong, didn't it, Jack."
No answer, just breathing from the old man in front of me.
Gus continued. "From what little that geezer told me, it seems Jack took offense at some things that the Libyan was talking about. You know, stepping onto the grounds of the Great Satan, dealing with whores and thieves, blah-blah-blah. I guess Jack lost it and popped him one. Right, Jack?"
Again, just the steady breathing. I spoke up.
"And what about the pot shot at me yesterday? Wh
ose idea was that?"
"Oh, his, who else?"
"And you were the shooter, right?"
"Right." Gus squeezed my shoulder and I felt nauseous.
"Lucky you, Jack didn't want you dead. Just wanted to scare you away, make you go to ground for a couple of days. Looks like you guessed wrong, Jack, huh? It would've been better if I had splattered ol’ Lewis's head across your museum parking lot."
There was another squeeze of his hand and I shook my shoulder in irritation. I said, "Next time, Gus, you're going to be in my gun sites, and I promise you I won't be as agreeable as you were."
"If there's a next time, sure," Gus said.
Jack spoke up. "Stop your yapping, both of you. It's time to get moving."
The shuffling started again.
Over the next few minutes my mind began to play tricks on me. At first I imagined I was seeing a glow out in the distance, like a burning candle or lamp, and only if we moved faster would it get brighter, and I was frustrated by the slow pace. And then the glow would disappear and I wouldn't see anything, and I knew my mind was trying to bring something to the fore to reassure me. Other times I was convinced that I had gone blind, that something in the dark bowels of the tunnelworks had caused me to lose my sight, and that Jack’s method of getting to the uranium would fail and we would wander in the darkness, getting tired and hungry and thirsty, finally dying in here listening to one another's yells and shouts.
The sound of our footsteps seemed to change, to get more dim, and I sensed that we were in a larger room. Jack stopped and said, "We're moving to the right. You move along with me and we'll get there just fine. Any problems, I might choose the wrong corridor, and you'd end up in the bottom of a gunpit, broken bones and all, dying of thirst 'cause nobody comes down here. Nobody at all."
"But Keith did, didn't he? How did he know about the uranium down here?"
Jack ignored me but Gus took the question. "Sure he did, but who's going to believe a fool like that? Ol’ Jack's dad, he was the one who stole the uranium out of the shipyard. The war in Europe was over, massive layoffs were coming down, and some of the less-legal members of the workforce started taking souvenirs. Jack's dad grabbed the uranium and stashed it here, just as this place was winding down and being decommissioned. And here it sat, year after year, gathering dust, 'cause old Grandpa died in a drunk-driving accident a year or two later. The old man's grandson Keith, he started going through dear old Grandpa's papers and found out what had been stored here. He passed that along to Jack, and then Jack wrote a letter to me."
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