by Alton Gansky
From across the lake, Carl watched as Lloyd pulled Janet’s weapon from its holster and placed the barrel to her head.
Carl dropped the binoculars and began to run around the lake, stripping off his pack as his boots pounded the ground. His heart was a piston driven by the fuel of fear. He sprinted just inside the tree line, trying to conceal his presence as long as possible. He was making enough noise to frighten a bear, but he had no choice. At this point, all he wanted to do was make sure he wasn’t an easy target. He couldn’t help Janet if he were facedown on dirt and pine needles, dripping blood into thirsty soil.
He ran. He pushed. Limbs of bushes grabbed for his feet, limbs of smaller trees tried to wrap him up, but nothing short of chains or a bullet was going to stop him.
Chapter14
1974
With the manhole above and who knows what below, Henry lowered himself one rung at a time. He had expected a straight vertical descent, but the shaft angled. He estimated the incline was about fifteen degrees. It was enough that, if he wanted to, he could lean back against the wall with his feet on a rung and rest. He had no desire to relax.
Fifteen feet down, the metal tube that surrounded him gave way to smooth stone. The rungs of the ladder that had been welded to the inside of the large pipe were replaced with a metal ladder. Light from the surface washed down through the opening but faded with every foot of descent. Yet there was still enough light for Henry to see his first puzzle.
Everything was smooth.
He had expected the inside of the metal pipe to be smooth. Whoever had control of this site had inserted the metal sleeve and welded the hinged manhole cover to it. Nothing mysterious there.
Once he crossed the threshold into a simple stone shaft, he could see that its surface was as smooth as the metal sleeve. Henry knew there were several cutting devices used to make tunnels, but they didn’t leave a smooth surface like this. It looked as if someone had rubbed the surface as flat as glass.
Someone kicked Henry in the head. “Hey, ease up.”
“Sorry.” Henry recognized Zeisler’s voice. “You taking a lunch break or something?”
“The stone around us is smooth,” Henry said.
“So?”
“So, smooth is not natural. Water can smooth stone over time, but digging leaves marks. Have you ever been in a mine?”
“Why would I go in a mine?” Zeisler retorted. “Keep moving before Monte steps on my hands.”
Henry did, but he did so with a sense that he was descending into a world he couldn’t imagine.
Fifty feet farther down the “rabbit hole,” Henry reached the end of the ladder. Waiting for him were Nash and McDermott. Each held a flashlight. “Having fun yet?” Nash asked.
“Oodles,” Henry said. “You going to be the only guys with lights?”
“For now, but we won’t need them for long.”
“Well, let me borrow one.” Henry reached forward, but neither Nash nor McDermott moved. “Okay, when the others are down, I’ll be heading back up.”
Nash laughed. “No, you’re not. Guys like you can’t resist this kind of stuff. I heard what you said about the smooth rock. Most people wouldn’t even notice.”
“I’m not most people.”
“Yeah, so I’ve heard.” Nash surrendered his light.
Henry held the light in front of him and did a slow circle, letting the beam wash over his surroundings. He was in a cylindrical room, which gave Henry the impression that he was standing at the bottom of a tank set on end. The walls appeared as smooth as the shaft he had just descended. The beam traced the walls, then disappeared.
Henry moved forward, flashing the light from side to side until he had traced the opening that appeared to swallow the beam.
“Please wait for the rest of the crew, Mr. Sachs,” Nash said.
Henry was standing at the mouth of a ten-foot-wide, round corridor. He directed the light down and saw a descending stone stairway. The sides of the treads melded into the curved walls. He could not see the end of the corridor.
Without entering the tunnel, he bent and touched the first tread. It was hard and cool to the touch, just as he expected stone to be.
“Someone cut each of these treads out of stone?” Henry said. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Why is that?” Nash asked.
“Yeah, Henry, why is that?” Zeisler had arrived.
“Stairs are used to bridge a difference in elevation in a short span. I can’t see the end of this tunnel, but I can see that the downward grade is pretty shallow. Why spend the time and energy to cut stairs out of . . . what is this, granite?”
“It’s granite,” Nash said.
“Someone spent a lot of energy doing this. A ramp would have been easier to build and taken less time.”
“What would take less time?” asked a voice from behind Henry.
Henry turned and shone his light into the face of Monte Grant.
“Point that somewhere else. You’re blinding me,” Grant complained.
Nash spoke up. “Let’s hold the dialog and questions until everyone is here. No sense in explaining everything multiple times.”
Henry had questions—scores of them—but he held them at bay. He suspected that more questions were on the way. The ten minutes it took for the rest of the team to enter what Henry was now thinking of as “the lobby” trickled by. Patience had never been one of his strengths.
Ed Sanders was the last one down. Henry did a quick head count. “Where are Sanchez and Buckley?”
“Topside,” Sanders reported. Henry watched as Sanders looked up the shaft, his face lit by the dim light that poured from it, and shouted, “Okay.”
There was a clank, and the light from the shaft was gone. They had been closed in.
“I don’t much like this,” Cynthia said. “No one said anything about being buried alive.”
“Just a security precaution,” Sanders replied.
“Someone throw the light switch,” Zeisler said. “I’m getting a little claustrophobic.”
“Very well,” Sanders said. “Mr. Sachs, you’re the closest to the staircase. Would you step on the first tread?”
Henry turned his flashlight back to the corridor, then down to the floor. He saw the first tread, which he judged to be eighteen inches wide, far wider than it should be. He estimated the riser was six inches. He placed a foot on the tread.
There was an explosion of light. Startled, Henry took a step back, and everything went dark. He thought he heard Sanders and Nash chuckle.
“What . . . how . . .” Zeisler was speechless.
Henry stepped on the tread again, and once more light filled the long corridor. This time Henry held his ground.
“Stay there,” Zeisler ordered. In an instant the electrical engineer was standing next to Henry. “Must be some kind of sensor, like those used for automatic doors. Maybe you broke a light beam, which triggered the switch.”
Henry watched Zeisler examine the step and the corridor wall. “See anything?”
Zeisler shook his head. “There has to be something that responds to your presence, but I can’t find it.”
“Nash said we didn’t need flashlights. I thought he was toying with me.”
“I was,” Nash admitted.
Sanders pushed his way forward. “Come along, folks. Come along and be amazed.” He started down the hall. “Pace yourselves. It’s a long walk.”
“How long?” Cynthia asked.
“About two miles.”
“Two miles?” Henry said.
“And that’s just this corridor.” Sanders moved on.
Henry looked at Zeisler, who returned the same flabbergasted look.
Then Zeisler shrugged. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”
Henry’s legs hurt. He was fit and accustomed to hard work, but the odd width of the treads made walking difficult. He had to either stretch his stride or take two tiny steps per tread. He had been doing the former. Judging by t
he grunts and complaints of the others, they were having trouble, as well. Only Sanders, Nash, and McDermott didn’t complain. That irritated Henry.
They had been walking for twenty minutes when Henry said, “It’s time for an explanation.”
“Growing impatient, Mr. Sachs?”
“I was born impatient, and I don’t see any reason to change now. Where is the light coming from? When did the U.S. build this?”
“I don’t know, and we didn’t,” Sanders said without missing a step. “The light just is.”
Henry had been looking for lightbulbs and panels, but he found none. He searched for electrical conduit like the kind he had seen in underground bases he had helped construct in California, South Dakota, and other states. There were none. And if there were no metal conduits attached to the walls or ceiling—a difficult distinction to make since everything was curved except the stairs—then they must be hidden behind the stone surface or the treads beneath their feet.
“I have a Ph.D. in electrical engineering,” Zeisler groused, “and I’m pretty sure light has to have an origin.”
“If you can find it, Dr. Zeisler, I’d like to hear about it,” Sanders said.
“What did you mean when you said we didn’t build it?” It was Grant. He sounded winded. “We all know that the government has built underground bases.”
“That’s true.” Sanders stopped and turned, perhaps to give everyone a short break. Henry didn’t mind. Grant seemed relieved. “We have underground bases to store ammunition, to provide refuge for our country’s leaders, and a place to continue government. Of course, there are underground missile silos like those in South Dakota and Wyoming, to name just a few. Then there’s NORAD in Colorado. That became operational in 1966 and took 142 million dollars. That’s 1966 dollars. It would take a lot more 1974 dollars to make that happen. It’s a work of art.” He paused and looked at Henry, then the others. “We didn’t build this tunnel, folks. Nor did we build what you are about to see, and when you see it, you’ll know why we’re concerned.”
“If you didn’t build it,” Cynthia asked, “then who did?”
“That is what you’re here to find out.”
“Maybe a different department in the government put it together,” Zeisler said. “You government types like to have secret groups. Maybe a group you’re unaware of did the work.”
“You will just have to trust me on this, Dr. Zeisler. None of our people did this.”
“Soviets?” Grant suggested.
“That’s our fear,” Sanders said. “If it was the Russians, then we have a real problem. How could they build a base under our soil, under our noses, without us knowing about it?”
Henry eyed Sanders. The man’s face was drawn; for the first time he showed concern. “You don’t think it’s the Soviets, do you?”
“You won’t either. And it’s not the Russians or the Chinese or any group we worry about. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Chapter15
Carl struggled to temper his breathing. He had run from his place on the opposite side of the lake to a hidden position ten yards from the black-clad men who held Janet captive.
He took a slow breath, held it, then let it slip from his lips. His lungs wanted more, demanded more, but he forced himself to be patient despite the burning in his chest. His hands shook with anger, but his mind refused to release its control. Cops got in trouble when they acted on their emotions instead of their training. Of course, he had never been trained for this kind of situation.
Janet lay facedown on the dirt road. Carl could see bits of grass and pine needles in her hair. Janet was as brave as anyone he had ever met, and she looked terrified. Lloyd held Janet’s 9 mm at her head. He was saying something, but Carl couldn’t make it out.
Weighing his options made him sick. He was one man with a 9 mm pistol in his hand. In front of him were four men with automatic weapons. Even if Carl started firing at the men, he might injure one or two, but the amount of bullets coming his way would be impossible to dodge. It was a stupid idea and might endanger Janet. What he needed was backup, and he had no way of calling for it. Helplessness was a new feeling for Carl . . . one he didn’t like.
Should he bluff his way out, marching from his position, gun raised? Should he wait to see what happened next? Maybe they would let her go like they did before, but he doubted it. He wondered how long it would be before someone found his body.
“Hey, can you tell me where to find a Starbucks?”
Carl snapped his attention to his right. On the road was a tall, thin man with light brown hair. “I think I may have made a wrong turn and . . . Oh, I can see that I’m interrupting. I’ll just go back the way I came.” The man turned and ran.
“What the—” Carl whispered to himself.
Lloyd stood and pointed at two of his men. They sprinted after the stranger, their guns close to their chests. Carl was torn. He wanted to follow to see what was happening over the rise, but he couldn’t leave Janet. Minutes passed, but the men didn’t return, nor had there been any gunfire. He watched Lloyd, who was becoming agitated. The “colonel” walked to the Humvee and removed a radio. He had his back to Carl, so he couldn’t hear. Carl moved closer, hiding behind another tree.
“Mount up!” Lloyd commanded. He was loud enough that Carl had heard him perfectly.
“What about her?”
“Cuff her to her car. Double-time. I’m not getting a response on the radio.”
Carl watched as Janet was jerked to her feet and led to the rear passenger door of the four-door vehicle. Her captor opened the door and lowered the window. Lloyd joined him and helped cuff Janet to the door frame.
“You’re with me.” Lloyd started for the Humvee. He tossed Janet’s weapon in the rear seat and slipped behind the wheel. His man joined him in the front seat. Seconds later the big vehicle came to life. Lloyd backed it up in a three-point turn and headed over the rise.
Carl didn’t wait. He had no idea how much time he had or who the tall, brown-haired man was, but he wasn’t going to waste time thinking about it. He sprinted to Janet.
“Carl!”
“Keep your voice down. Are you okay?”
“No. I’m handcuffed to my patrol car.”
“Yeah, I didn’t much like it, either. Did they leave the key?”
“No, but I keep a spare in the holder.”
“Turn around.” Carl looked at Janet’s utility belt. Like many officers, she carried more than one pair of handcuffs. He opened the leather holder, removed the metal cuffs, and fished out the spare key. A second later, Janet was free.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Carl snapped as he went to the back of the SUV, opened the rear door, and removed the twelve-gauge shotgun from its rack.
“Neither should you. I was sent looking for you.”
“Whitaker sent you up here after what happened to us?”
“Well, not directly. I was just supposed to make sure you weren’t doing something stupid, which you are.”
“Get in.” He fast-stepped to the passenger side of the SUV. “You’re driving.”
“Where to?”
“That guy on the road is going to need help. If they don’t show a uniformed deputy any respect, they aren’t going to go easy on some civilian.”
Janet started the SUV and turned it around. “We’re still outgunned.”
“I know. I don’t know what else to do. I can’t leave the guy on his own. I couldn’t live with myself if he wound up dead.”
“You were always the responsible one.” She gunned the engine.
Carl turned off the light bar. “No need to announce our coming. Slow down. We don’t know what we’re facing.” He snatched up the radio microphone and tried to reach dispatch, certain it was a wasted effort. He was right. The valley boxed in the signal. There would be no backup.
They crested the rise, and Janet hit the brakes, uncertain what to make of the scene before her.
Perry heard the sound of the com
ing SUV, its wheels crushing the small stones of the dirt road. He tensed, then relaxed when he saw the sheriff’s cruiser top the rise and start down. It came to an abrupt stop. That puzzled him for a moment until he realized the curious scene he and the others must present. He gazed at the patrol car and saw two people where he had expected one. He knew the woman sheriff’s deputy should be there, but he didn’t know who the other person was. The Ford SUV crept forward.
Perry took the two steps necessary to ask the leader of the four men a question. Three of those men now sat in the middle of the road, their backs to each other, their legs straight in front of them. Making sure they remained where they were, Gleason held on them one of the armed men’s automatic weapons. It was the sole weapon still loaded and capable of being fired. The M16s and sidearms had been stripped of their clips. The one man not seated was facedown on the ground with Jack sitting on him. He was not happy.
“Tell this gorilla to get off my back!” the man demanded as Perry crouched next to him.
“Easy now. Jack is a sensitive soul and name-calling hurts his feelings. Isn’t that right, Jack?”
Jack nodded. “I feel a tear coming right now.”
The man struggled, but he had a better chance of moving the ground beneath him than the man above him.
“There’s a man with the deputy,” Perry said. “Is he one of yours?”
“I’m not telling you anything.”
“I don’t think he got his nap today,” Jack said.
“Let me up, we’ll see who takes a nap,” the man threatened.
“You had your chance, pal,” Jack retorted.
Perry rose. “Be alert, Jack. We’ve got another unknown.” Perry glanced over his shoulder and noted that Gleason had positioned himself so he could see the deputy’s car. Perry nodded, then looked in the Hummer. Dr. Zeisler looked back, showing no fear. In fact, he seemed entertained.
The driver’s door and the passenger door of the patrol vehicle opened. The woman deputy looked confused but not frightened. Her uniform was askew and dirty.