The Pandora Room: A Novel

by Christopher Golden

  Kim smiled uncertainly. “You weren’t sure I’d come? We’re here under the auspices of the U.N., Walker. Which means that this time, you’re on my team.”

  Walker smiled. “I’ve always been on your team.”

  “Dr. Walker,” Kim said, her Korean accent barely noticeable, “meet Erika Tang. She’ll be joining us at Derveyî.”

  Walker paused in the midst of belting himself in to reach out and shake hands with the other woman.

  “Dr. Tang is a biological anthropologist and epidemiologist,” Kim said loudly. “My superiors felt she’d be invaluable to our efforts.”

  Walker cocked his head. “What efforts are those? They’ve told me almost nothing.”

  Given her specialties, Erika Tang would have been very welcome on the Greenland Project he’d just left behind, but the U.N. had sent her here to join him and Kim for whatever mysterious bullshit was unfolding.

  Dr. Tang crossed her arms. She seemed uncomfortable meeting anyone’s eyes. “You mean to say, Dr. Walker—”

  “Just ‘Walker.’”

  “—that your government has sent you here without informing you of what you’re expected to do?”

  He studied Dr. Tang. “Judging by your credentials, I think I can guess.”

  Dr. Tang glanced at him, then at her feet, then away. “I very much doubt that.” She took out her cell phone and began to scroll through messages or photos or something, behaving as if the others had become invisible to her.

  As Walker fastened his seat belt, he turned to Kim for an explanation of Dr. Tang’s remarks, but she shook her head. He understood. Whatever Tang was talking about, the U.N. had given Kim instructions not to speak about it in public, even in front of the pilot.

  Just when Walker was about to ask the pilot what they were waiting for, Sergeant Dunlap reappeared at the open door with a go-bag. He climbed inside, stowed his bag, slid the door closed and latched it, then belted himself into a seat beside Walker.

  “Time to go,” he called to the pilot.

  Walker glanced at him. “You’re coming with us?”

  “Apparently, I’ve been promoted to babysitter,” Dunlap replied. “First I’d heard of it was about twenty minutes ago.”

  “You don’t seem happy about it,” Dr. Tang said.

  “I have my orders. Captain says I should think of it like a vacation.” Dunlap’s grin showed his teeth. “But this ain’t the Bahamas.”

  The helicopter lifted off, and in moments, they were tearing across the sky above Mosul. In the distance, Walker could see plumes of smoke rising. They might have come from anything—fire, a roadside bomb, or combat—but he was relieved the chopper wasn’t headed in that direction.

  Exhaling, he turned to Kim. “It’s good to see you.”

  They had met under circumstances that echoed their present assignment. Archaeologists in an unstable region of the world had found something that made people nervous. Kim had been born and raised in South Korea but worked for the United Nations in New York. It had bothered her for years, she had once told him, that so many Westerners failed to understand that Kim was her family name, and that Seong was her given name. One of the things she had liked about Walker when they’d first met was that he went only by his last name. If he could be just “Walker,” then she could certainly just be “Kim.”

  Strong, she’d said. It makes me feel strong. But he remembered other times with her, times when she wanted very much for him to use her given name, to call her Seong. Quiet times, just between the two of them.

  The earlier part of their story—their first adventure together—had started with a helicopter, too. Even a flicker of memory from that time made Walker shudder, but the two of them had made it out alive and salvaged something from the horror. Kim had moved to D.C., continuing her work as an advisor and observer for the U.N., and she and Walker had pursued a relationship unmarred by crisis or adventure.

  When the U.N. wanted to relocate her to Brussels—the capital of the European Union—she had taken a week to think it over, and then she had agreed. Kim had told him that she would be in New York every few weeks, just an hour by plane from Walker’s home in D.C., and that if they wanted to make it work, their relationship could survive the distance.

  So far, so good. It wasn’t a fairy-tale romance, but they didn’t lead the sort of lives that allowed for a lot of exotic holidays or moonlit strolls, so they took their time together when they could.

  “So you requested me for this?” Walker said, thinking about his promise to his son, trying not to be upset with her for unknowingly interfering with his plans.

  “I did,” Kim replied. “And I’m happy you’re here.”

  “Me, too. But I will be very angry if you get me killed.”

  SIX

  Walker liked Dr. Tang instantly, though he doubted she had that effect on most people. The lean, ponytailed woman had a gravity that he appreciated, although he could tell there was more to her severity than simple focus. She had a jittery nature, glancing sharply here and there like a nervous bird. Given her dry delivery and her reluctance to make eye contact, Walker suspected an autism spectrum disorder.

  “Is this your first time on a chopper?” he asked her as they sped over low mountains.

  Dr. Tang frowned and leaned toward him. “I’m an epidemiologist, Walker. I teach, I research, and in cases like this—when they pay my fee and it’s not too out of the way for me—I sometimes advise the U.N. on global health concerns. Occasionally, that means racing to the site of an epidemic to save lives in some of the most inhospitable places imaginable. Does it sound like this is my first time on a helicopter?”

  Walker raised his eyebrows. “Just making conversation.”

  “If that’s your best attempt to get to know me,” Dr. Tang said, “I’d prefer you use Google.”

  Blinking, Walker paused, and then gave the woman a nod. “Fair enough.”

  Neuro-diverse individuals made some people uncomfortable, but Walker felt at ease. Dr. Tang might be brusque, but she would be absolutely reliable.

  “Okay, folks!” the pilot called as the helicopter began to descend. “Special delivery to the middle of fucking nowhere.”

  Walker settled back into his seat. “Thank God.”

  They peered out of the chopper at the camp below. In its way, the terrain shared similarities with the tundra in Greenland, even the hills and mountains in the distance, but he could feel the heat baking through the helicopter’s windows and knew there would be no ice and snow here. His old injuries would be glad of the warmth.

  From above, it was easy to see there had once been an ancient town here, but all that remained were the rough outlines of dwellings and the nubs of walls. It appeared that the archaeologists were not there to excavate this town, although their camp sat on the outskirts of the ruins. Walker spotted half a dozen trailers and two prefab buildings that had likely been brought in on flatbeds. A series of military tents were being erected even as the chopper circled for landing. Dunlap had mentioned that the Beneath Project had been going on for most of a year, but with all the people crawling around, it showed no sign of petering out. More than a dozen vehicles, mostly Jeeps and Humvees, some of them military, were parked here and there.

  At the edge of the camp, almost growing up from the lines that suggested the foundations of the ancient town, a stone ridge rose from the earth. The stone was like nothing he’d seen before, reminding him of the drip sandcastles he’d made with his father on the beach as a child, or of the terrifying wasp’s nest he had discovered in the mulch of his mother’s flower bed the summer he’d turned nine years old. Like the wasp’s nest, the ridge had a single dark hole in its face, and as the helicopter settled to the ground in the whirlwind of dust kicked up by its rotors, Walker saw the soldiers who were guarding that hole, the entrance into the nest.

  “All ashore that’s going ashore,” the pilot said, glancing over his shoulder.

  Walker undid his seat belt, grabbed his duffel,
and cranked the door latch, jumping down from the chopper before turning to offer a hand to Kim. She took it and dropped to the ground beside him, narrowing her eyes against the swirling dust.

  “Kurdish and U.S. forces,” she said, studying the sentries.

  “Coalition,” Walker replied. “If that’s still what we are.”

  “Whatever they are, they’re not archaeologists.”

  Sergeant Dunlap exited the chopper from the other side. Walker turned to offer a hand to Dr. Tang, but she ignored him, jumping down unaided. The four of them set out toward the camp and hadn’t walked twenty feet before a tall, lanky guy jogged from one of the trailers to meet them. The helicopter’s rotors churned back up to speed, the chop of air and sound thumping the ground as it lifted off again. Walker tasted dirt and pulled his shirt up to cover his nose and mouth as he and the others picked up their pace.

  The slim, scruffy guy looked to be in his midtwenties, tanned, with pink spots showing through on his forehead where burned skin had begun to flake away. Walker figured he was the kind of white guy who turned remarkably pale in the winter or any time he wasn’t spending months in the sun in northern Iraq.

  “Martin Jungling!” he shouted over the noise of the departing chopper, not bothering to shake anyone’s hand. “I’m the site supervisor. Follow me.”

  Then he turned and trotted off toward the wasp’s nest in the side of the hill. Walker shifted his duffel and turned to the others.

  “Hell of a welcome,” he said.

  Dr. Tang hoisted a heavy-looking backpack about half her size onto her shoulders and started walking. “He seems in a hurry,” she said, glancing at Dunlap. “I was under the impression I was here to consult, not take action. Should we be worried?”

  “There are men with guns,” Kim noted. “I always worry when there are men with guns.”

  Martin Jungling led them to the entrance. A stack of metal crates with numbers stenciled on the side drew Walker’s attention along the way—supplies coming in, or artifacts going out?

  The two American sentries at the entrance watched them with narrow-eyed suspicion, but they saluted Sergeant Dunlap, and the action alone seemed to relax them.

  Martin showed his ID badge. “This is the group from the U.N. that Sophie told you guys about.”

  “ID?” said one of the sentries.

  “They’re earlier than expected,” Martin replied. “The IDs are in a box inside. Alton has—”

  “You know the deal, Martin,” one of the soldiers sniffed, casually holding his weapon as if it were an umbrella he’d taken out with him just in case of rain. “No ID, no entry. All parties agreed on that.”

  The burned patches on Martin’s forehead flushed a bit darker. “Look, Taejon, I know the rules. But it’s not like you didn’t know they were coming. I’ll bring them in on my authority—”

  “What authority?” asked Taejon, a corporal.

  The other sentry smiled. Walker didn’t know Martin Jungling, but he felt embarrassed for the guy and angry on his behalf.

  “Mr. Jungling, we can wait,” Kim said. “Go on and get the IDs.”

  Martin looked as if he might argue, then he ran a hand across the back of his neck and marched, huffing, through the hole in the hillside. Walker shot Corporal Taejon a hard look, but the soldier only smiled.

  Sergeant Dunlap started to speak, but Dr. Tang cut him off.

  “Corporal, this is a crisis situation—”

  “Ma’am, there’s no crisis here.”

  Dr. Tang stepped up to within inches of him, her ponytail bouncing innocently as if to suggest there was nothing about her that should be feared. The look in her eyes said differently. Apparently, Dr. Tang could make very effective eye contact when she had the right motivation.

  “I don’t get invited to anything but a crisis,” she said quietly, shrinking him with the ferocity of her gaze. “And it’s ‘Doctor.’”

  After that, they stood in silence until Martin returned and handed out lanyards with their badges on them. There were no credentials for Sergeant Dunlap, as he’d been a last-minute addition, but this time, when Martin began to explain to the sentries, neither of them seemed to feel like delaying their entrance any further.

  Martin led the way inside, and they stepped into the strange, yellowish gloom of a small chamber that Walker could only think of as the cave’s foyer. He heard a chuffing sound beside him, and it took him a moment to realize it came from Dunlap, who’d been laughing quietly to himself.

  “Sergeant?”

  “Sorry. I just enjoyed that a little,” he said, glancing at Dr. Tang. “Were you ever in the military?”

  “Never. But I’ve been around a great many soldiers in my time.”

  “You’d have made a hell of a commanding officer.”

  * * *

  Walker had never seen anything like it. When he’d heard the words underground city, he had imagined architecture like something from a 1950s science-fiction movie. But the moment they began to follow Martin through an enormous atrium, along tunnels, and down circling stairways, he felt the presence of the real people who had once worked and slept and cooked and borne children here. He glanced into well-lit rooms where members of the archaeological team seemed to be dismantling their own camp, preparing to depart. They had been here a while, but like him, they were visitors. The original inhabitants had been gone a very long time.

  They passed through junctions where they could look across an open space and see more levels above and below, tunnels branching off. In some places, the walls were totally bare—just that yellowed rock—but in others there were ancient mosaics, cracked but still vividly colorful. Walker noticed benches and fireplaces, as well as a system of ordinary vents. All of it looked as if it had been carved from beige stone, stained yellow by the industrial lighting rigs that the archaeologists had set up throughout the place, although strategically placed openings brought sunlight down in narrow shafts—an ingenious element of the original design.

  Walker could almost hear the sounds of those original inhabitants, or hear their footfalls. A similar sort of frisson had passed through him several times in the past, in catacombs and cathedrals and in a Civil War fort on a Boston Harbor island, where men had waited for a conflict that never reached them. It felt strange to breathe history.

  “This place…,” Sergeant Dunlap said, but he let his words trail off.

  “Yes,” Kim said as they turned a corner, following Martin down a ramp.

  They passed men carrying sealed plastic boxes and another with a ladder on his shoulder, and then they reached a larger room, where another pair of armed sentries flanked a doorway that had been barred by a sawhorse and a sign that had been posted in four languages. Simple, clear words. NO UNAUTHORIZED ADMITTANCE.

  Martin flashed his ID. One of the soldiers picked up the sawhorse and moved it.

  Then Martin turned toward them. “I’m sorry, Sergeant Dunlap. You haven’t yet been cleared by Dr. Durand. You’ll need to stay here.”

  Dunlap’s forehead creased with irritation, but then he glanced at the sentries and nodded. “All right. Don’t all gossip about me while you’re gone.”

  Walker saw Kim smile, and for a moment, he didn’t like Dunlap quite so much. He had changed a lot as he grew older, and it surprised him to know that jealous part of him still remained, down inside, waiting for a trigger. It made him feel faintly ridiculous.

  “Ready?” Martin asked as if they were about to step into some amusement park ride.

  Visibly disappointed at their lack of enthusiasm, he led them down another level, and they turned right into a large circular chamber, its ceiling supported by five columns. Across the room was another stairwell, this one short, with one of the round stone doors at the bottom. Voices came from beyond the door.

  “Only six people have been allowed inside the Pandora Room. The three of you make it nine,” Martin informed them as they descended.

  Walker frowned. “What the hell is the Pand
ora Room?”

  A woman stepped out through the door. She held a thick notebook in one hand and had a pencil balanced atop her left ear.

  “The Pandora Room, Dr. Walker,” she said, “is the reason you’re here.”

  “You’re Dr. Durand?”

  She smiled thinly, glancing at the group gathered on the stairs. “You mean you haven’t done your homework?”

  “I mostly slept on the flight.”

  She stepped aside and gestured for him to pass through the hole in the wall. “Well, you’re well rested for the tour, then. Best we get to work.”

  The woman had an aura of certainty about her, a confidence that spoke of expertise and authority. He’d seen a file with her credentials, but no photograph. Perhaps five foot nine, Dr. Durand seemed fit, but nothing about her height explained how physically formidable she seemed. Perhaps it sprang from her obvious desire to skip the pleasantries and get to work. Walker admired that quality. With her hair collected in a tangle of thick braids, rich brown eyes, and strong, angular face, she would have been attractive regardless, but her presence had very little to do with her looks. Sophie Durand was in charge.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Walker said as he stepped through the door and into a small chamber.

  “Hold on a moment, please,” Dr. Tang called after him.

  Walker turned to see that she’d set her backpack down on the steps and unzipped it. Now she drew out a thick black filtration mask made to cover nose and mouth. Dr. Tang slipped the mask over her own face. It amplified the sound of her breathing slightly, but not to Darth Vader proportions.

  “Military grade,” she said. “Just a precaution.”

  Then she dug into the backpack and pulled out two more, handing one through the entrance to Walker and one to Kim. “Put them on. No arguments.” She glanced at Sophie. “I have another, if you’d like.”

  Sophie stood on the threshold and smiled. “I’ve been in this room off and on for days. I think I’m fine.”