The flow of executive traffic never slowed within the glass tower of the Federal headquarters building. Morning light from tinted windows etched faint, drifting shadows on the impersonal walls of the hallways and offices. Markman followed close behind Rogers as she wove her way down the busy hallway. She wore a light-gray skirt that came just above the knee and a gray dress jacket that had big gold buttons on the cuffs. Markman adjusted the white, plastic, temporary badge pinned to his black, turtleneck shirt. He looked down at his washed out jeans and white tennis shoes and wondered if they were too inappropriate. Rogers pushed open the conference room door and they entered the 09:00 meeting and took seats without speaking. Many of the men sitting at the dark, wood grain conference table appeared to have been up all night. Markman’s presence seemed much less unwelcome on this occasion.
Rogers brought them to a collective attention. “Okay, everyone, let’s start with the Matriarch affair. As I see it, most of our efforts must now be devoted to a better understanding of this upcoming event. It seems to be very important to Inkman and Fishkin. We now know it is going to take place sometime tomorrow. What else have we got?”
Agent Hall, sitting at the other end of the table, took the lead. “We don’t have a handle on it yet, Ann. As you mentioned, we know approximately when, but we do not know where. We think this has something to do with the godfather of their organization. Matriarch has a feminine connotation, so perhaps ‘godfather’ isn’t the best of terms. We know Inkman and Fishkin won’t meet again until this big deal takes place. The meeting is our best chance right now, and we’ve made some progress along those lines.”
Hall looked over at Al Simmons. The lab chief scratched at the back of his neck and leaned over in his seat. He brought a deep brown briefcase up to the conference table and spoke without looking up. “I’ve got them right here.” He drew a handful of black, matchbook-sized transmitters from his case, and began sliding them across the tabletop. “Most of you have used these at one time or another. They are very specialized proximity sensors. The crystals used in them were manufactured in the space station. We get better than a ninety-nine percent efficiency. We can’t risk using a normal transmitter to track these people; they’re too good at finding bugs, so what I’m handing out is the master unit of a micro-proximity sensor. These things use a signal so low and slow they’re almost impossible to detect. The companion slave unit is just as small as these, and when the two come anywhere within ten feet of each other, the power will switch on in the master unit and send out a homing signal that we can pick up from thirty miles away. We’ve already planted a slave unit in Fishkin’s suit jacket. He never goes anywhere without it. The only problem now is to get one of these master units planted on Inkman where he won’t notice it.”
Hall cut in. “The slave unit was easy. We’ve had people working at the Fishkin estate for some time now. It was no problem tagging him. He’s not the most observant person in the world. Inkman is another matter. Somehow, one of us has got to slip one of these into his regular clothes or baggage. Once that’s done, we’ll set up receiving posts all over the city. When Inkman and Fishkin finally meet for their big deal, these things will switch on and we’ll be able to pinpoint the location and be there in minutes. We’ll need a little luck, but we’ve got to get this device planted or there’s no ball game at all.”
Markman picked up one of the small black boxes. It was amazingly thin. One end of it had an unused nine-volt battery connector built into it. “Does this thing need a battery?” he asked, hoping it was not a stupid question.
Simmons replied, “Oh yeah, I almost forgot. For those of you who haven’t used one of these before, please don’t go plugging a battery into that. This unit has a very small plasma battery built into it that’s really got a kick. These can be used to turn on other surveillance devices. On the last job, we used one in a digital recorder that was hidden in a drug lord’s car. When his buyer met him to close the deal, the whole affair was recorded automatically. That connector is a nine-volt output. Keep it capped and leave it alone, okay?”
Rogers waited briefly for questions and then resumed the floor. “We had another good run in the suit last night. We were not able to track the command signals from the master computer, but we were able to connect Inkman directly to the Sensesuit programming and to the deaths attributed to them. Combined with yesterday’s very tactful pickup at the airport of his former driver, we’ve now tied him into the bombing of our aircraft and the attempted bombing of my place. If we didn’t need to get to the bottom of this conspiracy, I’d put out word to have him brought in right now. Instead, we’ll play it out and see where the proximity sensors take us. What about the reference Inkman’s driver made to S18? Have we got any more on that?”
Hall responded with frustration. “It’s another tease, Ann, something very significant that we can’t get to first base on. We know S18 is a drop-off, pickup point, but we have no idea where or even what it is. His driver said he thought it was a locker somewhere. You know how many of those there are in this city? It could just as easily be an apartment or a spot in some parking garage. We have no way of knowing. They have been very good about keeping their secrets. It’s like the list Markman overheard them mention. Wouldn’t it be nice to get our hands on that, but there’s not enough information to give us even a starting point. For the moment, both of those items are cold.”
Rogers sat back in her chair and nodded. She paused hoping someone would have something more to offer. No one did. She turned to Simmons. “Al, am I to understand you still have not been able to determine how this building was entered the other night? Can we or can we not consider this place secured?”
Simmons shook his head. “Maybe we should discuss it at length a little later, Ann. You are correct; we have not found their point of entry.”
Rogers was taken aback. Her voice became stern. “Okay, then, we need security teams set up on every floor as of now. I want headset communications between everyone assigned. The arrangement will continue until you bring me some answers, gentleman. In the meantime, we don’t let Fishkin or Inkman get out of our sight again for one second, and get Inkman tagged as quickly and discreetly as possible. His proximity sensor must be in place in time for their meeting. Are there any comments or questions?”
Silence.
Rogers nodded appreciatively to her associates. “Thanks, everybody. I know the pressure’s on. Let’s keep at it. Tomorrow will be pivotal. I’ll be in touch with each of you individually between now and then.”
Rogers sat back and took a deep breath. The group began to rise tiredly from the table and file out the door. She looked at Markman.
“I know, you want me to go get a cup of coffee or something, right?”
She smiled back at him and gave a little laugh. “Actually there’s one more item that I didn’t mention, but I guess I’d better tell you, even though you’re bound to make a big deal out of it.”
“I’m listening....”
“You remember Mr. Gomez, the old man who keeps his daughter always looking for him and insists the dead come out the reservoir at night to roam around like it’s Halloween or something?”
“Of course, what about him?”
“He’s disappeared again. Must’ve wandered off yesterday evening. They still haven’t been able to locate him.”
“Oh, really? You know that little party of zombies that showed up at your place the other night reminded me a little of the walking dead.”
“Oh, come on, Scott. You think the walking dead are going to slowly wander into a high-security building and back out without being picked up?”
“Yeah, pretty wild, I guess. This whole Virtual thing has me ready to believe anything. Guess I just ought to forget it.”
“Wow, I’m surprised. Don’t go getting too level headed on me all of a sudden, will you?”
“What? Are you starting to believe the dead are coming to life and visiting your place?”
Rogers laughed loudly. “Of co
urse not, but it’d scare me even more if you started acting normal.”
Markman scowled.
“Anyway, Scott. I’ve got some new problems. I can’t sit on the Sensesuit any longer. There is a certain high-level government agency that’s responsible for containing advanced technology of that sort. I’ve been forced to bring them in on this. I doubt you’ll be taking any more trips in the suit.”
“Aw, shucks....”
“I’ve got a meeting with them in ten minutes. It’s confidential. You’ll have to go get that cup of coffee after all. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can, okay.”
“Sure thing. I’ll just hang around here and wait, I guess,” he said, as he stretched back in his chair and locked his hands behind his head. Rogers stood and gathered her things from the desk. She cast a distrustful look and left.
One minute later Markman was headed for the lobby. On the way he found a vacant computer terminal with the internet still up. He quickly located an appropriate sporting goods shop and a hardware store, then retrieved his rental car from the basement parking garage.
The sporting goods store turned out to be an unexpectedly good pick. Even in the off-season, it was a treasure chest for divers. Using his David Julian credit card, he fitted himself with a heavy duty, hooded wetsuit, a full-face mask-regulator, and a lightweight tank and backpack. Including the large-beam underwater light and the other required accessories, the bill came to just over four thousand. He wondered briefly how high the purchase would measure on Rogers’s Richter scale. The sale had left a broad smile on the face of the salesman. A quick stop at the hardware store provided nylon line and bolt cutters. His car fully loaded, he headed north, feeling independent and unencumbered, like a teenager who had just climbed out of his bedroom window.
He arrived at the Gomez neighborhood by late morning. Hillock Street seemed completely deserted. The Gomez place looked as though no one was at home. He drove past the high chain-link fence, along the pothole-covered street. Around the corner, a short, unpaved county access road cut across a vacant lot. At the end of it, he found a double gate in the brush-entwined fence. It was chained and locked. Warning signs filled with small caliber bullet holes cautioned against entry. The bolt cutters dropped the chain effortlessly. The underbrush was a much more formidable barrier than the gate. Since driving the car through it was out of the question, he slung his clean, new dive pack over his back and headed in on foot.
The long abandoned access road that led to the reservoir was so overgrown it was barely passable. The air within the woods was cool and smelled musty and damp. He struggled to drag the heavy pack through the dense underbrush. Through a cluster of baby oaks, an eerie emptiness finally came into view. The brush concealed the edge of the hole so well; it gave the false impression of a clearing. He approached cautiously and took care to check the footing. As expected, the ground dropped off sharply just beyond the last of the undergrowth. The huge, deep basin came into full view. He peered carefully over the edge at the still, black water that loomed fifty feet below. The rocky, mud cliff walls did not look inviting.
He set down his pack at the cliff edge and made his way back for the rope and tank. There was a strange quietness in the air, as though he was on the verge of invading a monster’s hidden lair. But that was not a concern. He had learned long ago that the real monsters live in the deep, bottomless pools inside men, the places they most feared to tread. He had slain his long ago at the base of a waterfall in the mountains of Tibet.
When the remaining equipment had been retrieved and unpacked, he set up for the descent. The trunks of two baby oaks made perfect anchors for the descent lines. It was a violation of standard rules to dive alone this way, even for an advanced diver, but the pool could not be that deep. Except for the drop-off, little danger should exist. The worst he might find would be a body, weighted to the bottom, but it would not be his first.
He knelt on the ground and set up his tank and regulator. Carefully, he tied off one of the drop lines to the backpack, fins, and spotlight, and lowered them down to water level. He stripped down and squeezed into the skintight, black wet suit, and hung his new, black vest loosely over his chest. He cinched up the weight belt and checked his weight. This was fresh water; he knew the requirement well. With his depth gauge strapped high on his forearm, he wrapped his climbers’ harness about him and threw the remainder of the two hundred foot line over the side. With a last look over the area, he clipped on, edged over the cliff, and slowly lowered himself down the vertical wall. Dirt funneled down the sides as he pushed off. The descent was easy. The black water looked grim.
He eased himself into the still water and felt it slowly seep into the waistband of his suit. It was freezing. Ignoring the discomfort, he turned his line loose, wrestled the fins free and squeezed them on. With added control from the rocket fins, he positioned the tank and backpack, making sure the main valve was in the full-on position. He looked up for a brief moment at the top of the pit. The eerie silence persisted. The tops of the trees hung over into the hole, backdropped by the blue sky and late morning sun. He fit the mask over his face and sucked air. The faint ringing from within the tank was reassuring. He untied the light and switched it on. With one hand holding the safety line, he kicked over and started down into the blackness.
The underwater light was powerful. It cut a beam through the cloudy emptiness, occasionally bouncing off the muddy wall on his right. The water in the suit was warming from body heat and had become almost comfortable. His exhaust bubbles gurgled and tightened as he continued down. The hole was deeper than he expected. The big beam tunneled through the murk and disappeared into oblivion. It began to seem as though there was no bottom at all.
Suddenly there was a glimmer of something moving in the water. It was snakelike, an eel waving its body languidly. He waved himself cautiously to a stop and fixed the light on the spot. It was only a piece of rope, moving in the current, tied to an old tire half buried in silt. This was the bottom. He panned the light slowly around. Brown bottles, rusty cans, stones and a few unidentified objects, one of which may have been a shopping cart at some time in the distant past.
The depth gauge read 045. He suddenly realized there was current here. Dragging the line along with him, he headed slowly in its direction, staying high enough above the bottom to keep from clouding the cold water. The rising wall on his right led the way. Foot-long weeds grew from it in some places, flowing listlessly in the steady current. He wound his way along the underwater junkyard and realized this place had probably never before been seen by human eyes. The cliff wall continued to guide him into the current. His spotlight danced from one direction to the next. Cautiously, he peddled forward.
Something ahead carved into the cliff wall suddenly caught his light. A teardrop-shaped darkness etched out of the pit wall. It was large enough to drive a small car through. It was an eerie entrance to a horizontal shaft. The staunch current originated from within it and flowed outward like an underwater wind. The beam from the spot disappeared into the opening, verifying it was not a simple alcove formation, but more likely a lengthy waterway. Its walls were smooth, old and waterworn.
For the first time he cursed himself for coming alone. Diving without a partner was indiscreet enough, but to enter an unexplored cave was really pushing it. The fact that he did not have surface support was equally unsettling. He floated in a position next to the intriguing opening and allowed the tips of his fins to touch the silty bottom for stability. He pulled in the large excess of surface line that had been trailing behind him. Plenty was left—enough to venture well into the cavern.
It had to be done. As long as the shaft remained large and undivided, there would be no real danger. Using both hands, he began to coil the excess line for carrying. The beam from the dangling spotlight jumped around wildly. He looked up briefly to regain his bearings, and something just inside the mouth of the cave glittered off a flash from the light. He stopped winding and fixed the beam on
it. Glass. With a gentle wave, he maneuvered himself into the cave’s mouth and retrieved the object.
A man’s eyeglasses. New. Someone on the surface must have dropped them, and they had come to rest here. But how could that be? They were well inside the cave and would have had to fall against the current. It didn’t make sense.
He thought of his limited air supply and quickly conceded the mystery. He tucked the puzzling lenses into his vest pocket, pulled in the remainder of the line, and kicked forward into the cave. Exhaust bubbles drifted to the rock ceiling and flowed back with the current in search of the surface. Their gurgle, combined with the soft ringing from the tank were the only sounds. Further inside, the shaft seemed to slant upwards. But there was very little along the way to provide bearing or landmark. He peddled steadily, rotating the spotlight in all directions. The walls continued, unmarked and smooth. Up ahead, they seemed to be narrowing. He wondered if the journey was nearing its end.
To his surprise, just beyond the most narrow part of the tunnel the ceiling gave way and climbed steeply. The walls branched apart, forming a much larger chamber. On the right, the floor formed a gentle shelf and sloped upward. Markman ascended.
Keeping one hand extended ahead for protection, he searched for signs of jagged rock or ceiling. There were neither. A familiar, glistening blanket appeared against his light. It was the surface.
He emerged above the water and was startled to find light other than his own. Quickly he pointed his spotlight down and clicked it off. He was in a large inner chamber. The dark rock formed a smaller, half-filled tunnel to the left, and a large, shallow balcony of rock floor on the right.
It took his shocked mind several seconds to believe what he saw next. The other light was tinted yellow and came from the backdrop of the dry rocky shelf. There, several strange-looking people were busily attending to unrecognizable tasks. A single file line of them was coming from a walkway along the tunnel on the left and approaching a door-like opening in the rock wall. A much brighter yellow light shone from within it. At the jagged doorway, another of them stood waiting. He wore a torn Hawaiian-style shirt that fell open at his left shoulder, baring a good portion of his chest.
His skin was pale white, his eyes blank and darkened, and there was a bruise around his nose and mouth. The line of morbid people met him at the entrance. After a pause, the guard backed away and allowed them passage. The group moved with short steps and downcast faces, and they kept their line very straight. They disappeared through the opening in the stone doorway and immediately the ghost-white guard shuffled back into position.
Markman peeled back his face mask and a rancid stench hit instantly. It was the same sickening smell that had awakened him in Rogers’s apartment. The thick, putrid odor of decay was everywhere. Holding his breath, he frantically pulled the mask back over his face and sucked at the air from the tank. He had seen enough. Still grasping the surface line in one hand, he dove down into the darkness, rationing his breath to avoid making more bubbles than necessary. Fearing his bright underwater spotlight might be noticed, he blindly followed the safety line back through the darkness to the tunnel. Once inside, he switched the light back on and let the current carry him quickly out to the pit. He rushed out into the open hole and gently pushed upward to the surface. No sooner had he pulled his mask back than a familiar feminine voice called out.
“Markman, I was wondering, has anyone else ever realized you’re nuts?”
He peeled off the face mask and focused up at Rogers. Her long, slender legs were amply exposed by her tight, gray skirt, as she leaned precariously over the grassy edge. He ignored her sarcasm.
“I knew the minute I left that conference room you’d be gone. Of course, I also knew exactly where I’d find you. By the way, did you ever hear of the buddy system, Scott?”
Markman continued to ignore her taunting remarks. He struggled out of his backpack and tied it off to one of the lines hanging down from the cliff. He unhooked his weight belt and wrapped it on top of the tank, then fastened his flippers to it. Without looking up, he hooked his carabineer to the line.
“So you found bottles and cans, right? Nothing but old rusty cans and empty bottles,” called Rogers in an amused tone. “But at least you got it out of your system. Right?”
He looked up with a sneer. He braced both feet against the rocky wall and began to bring himself up along the blue nylon. Rogers frowned and rolled her eyes impatiently, waiting for him to reach the top. As he did, he cast her an incriminating stare.
“Nothing but bottles and cans. Right?” Her tone was more hesitant and uncertain this time.
He pulled himself over the muddy ledge and went straight for his pack. He peeled off his diver’s hood, grabbed a towel from his things, and began drying his hair.
“People.”
Rogers tilted her head slightly forward in disbelief. “What?”
“People. There are people down there.”
“You mean bodies? Murder victims at the bottom of this thing?”
“No, live people. There’s a horizontal shaft at the bottom. It opens to a large underground cavern. There are people doing something down there.”
Roger’s expression instantly turned to one of doubtful shock. “Doing what?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t stick around to ask them. There’s quite a few.”
“Come on. This is a joke, right? There wasn’t a thing down there, and this is your way of trying to avoid being embarrassed.”
Markman looked at her and unzipped his wetsuit top. “Oh yeah, there is one other thing. These people stink, just like the ones that raided your apartment the other night. No, it’s not a joke. Horizontal tunnel, big underground chamber, people who smell bad. It’s all down there.”
Rogers stared with disbelief down into the hole as though attempting to see some part of his wild description. She took a step back and looked again at Markman, as he pulled up the line holding his equipment. In a dazed tone she mumbled, “Los muertos salen del hueco y caminan por la noche, the dead come out of the pit and walk in the night.”
Chapter 25