I looked at the text at the bottom of the screen. Along with the camera number were the letters: MKI. That had to be the Hawaiian island of Molokai.
Phoenix spoke: “So you can bring your people here to the bunker. See for yourself; we’ve begun the battle to liberate America.”
I looked at Michaela. There was such a look of enchantment on her face as she watched those happy people in the island sunshine. They were in paradise.
That night everything changed again.
Thirty-eight
Michaela sat up in bed when I switched on the light. She looked uneasy. “They’re going to be sore if we start snooping ’round those bunker rooms.”
“You really think they’re going to throw us out to the hornets?”
“I wouldn’t like to chance it.”
“They’ll never know. They’ll all be asleep at this time of night.”
“OK. Just give me a minute to get dressed.”
I backed out through the doorway of her bedroom and waited in the corridor as she slipped on the green sweatshirt and pants. The time was creeping up to two in the morning. I’d waited until I guessed the bunker crews in the main part of the installation were asleep, and I was wagering that the sealed rooms in our annex weren’t wired to an alarm. I know there really wasn’t a good, logical reason to poke ’round in places that were off limits. But I still had a sneaking suspicion something wasn’t right. I remembered how Phoenix had put us through the degrading decontamination procedure while no doubt ogling himself rigid (and, yeah, I had a gut feeling that Phoenix was a HE, not a SHE). We knew, also, that he spied on us and eavesdropped on our conversations.
“You got the numbers?” Michaela asked as she stepped into the corridor.
“Right here.” I touched my pocket.
“You know, if sirens start screaming because we’ve tripped some alarm we’re going to be in the crap waist deep.”
“Don’t worry.”
“These military types don’t like people disobeying orders.”
“Phoenix said he was on the civilian side of things.”
“But there are army personnel here.”
“I’ll tell them I was sleepwalking.”
“Yeah, right, and you just happened to dream access code numbers to locked doors.”
“There’s probably nothing behind them anyway.”
“Then why bother risking our necks to poke in some storerooms full of pails and brooms?”
“Phoenix isn’t telling us everything.”
“And what makes you think he’s not listening to us right now? There could be bugs hidden in the walls.”
“There might,” I agreed. “But the guy’s got to sleep sometime.”
She sighed. “Let’s get this over with then.”
We walked along the corridor, past the stairway that led up to the living room level, through the double doors and into the bleak-looking concrete passageway beyond with the sealed doors that had a brooding quality about them. It was colder here, too. Michaela shivered, gooseflesh raising her arms into bumps. She folded her arms.
“No, Greg. Whichever way you look at this I don’t like it.” Her shoulders gave another shiver. “These doors are locked for a reason.”
I pulled the sheet of paper that contained the porn doodle of Dr. Roestller and the columns of numbers from my pocket. “See this?” I said, and read out the four-digit number. “Seven-six-o-eight. The letters by this one are SB.” I nodded at the door labeled SICK BAY. “I guess this one matches with that number.”
Michaela’s unease grew. “You’re not looking in there, are you? All you’ll find are Band-Aids and bed- pans.”
Glancing down at the list of numbers, I matched doors to code numbers. Beside each steel door was an illuminated keypad, inviting me to tap a number and- open sesame!-I’m in. “One of the doors doesn’t have a keypad.” I nodded toward a set of twin steel doors. I read the word stenciled there. “ Comm-Route. What do you think that means?”
“I don’t know, Greg. Come to that, I don’t really care. Listen.” She touched my arm. “I don’t think we should be doing this.”
“You think I’m being goddam nosy?”
“Yes. Phoenix has invited us to bring the rest of our people here. Don’t louse it up for Zak and the others.”
“But there’s something he’s not telling us.”
“Such as?”
“Didn’t you think that sudden invitation to Phoenix’s house party seemed convenient?”
“You saw what I did on TV. The military have launched an offensive against the hornets.”
“I know. I’m as pleased as the next man.”
“But?”
“I don’t know, Michaela. I just don’t know…” I murmured the words as I ran my hands over the twin doors marked COMM-ROUTE. These were more solid than the doors to the sick bay and boardroom. What’s more, a lip of steel ran ’round the doorway to seal them tight. They made me think of bulkhead doors in a submarine. I ran my fingers ’round the edge of the doorway. “Rubber seals,” I said. “It’s meant to be air-tight. But look at this at the bottom.” I crumbled a piece of rubber between my finger and thumb. “It’s rotted.”
Meanwhile Michaela looked ’round, as if she expected a voice to boom out, ordering us to return to our rooms.
“Hell,” I said, “this stuff is coming away by the yard.” A length of rubber looking like black spaghetti came away in my hand.
“Greg, leave it, please. They’ll go ape if they think you’re wrecking the place.”
“It’s rotted to crud.”
“Greg, I’m going back to my room. You do the same… please.”
“Michaela-”
“I don’t know what you’re expecting to find, apart from a whole heap of trouble. But we’ve got a chance to bring our people into a place of safety. Don’t you understand what that means? They can eat and sleep and take it easy just like we have. Listen, Greg, Phoenix is giving us a chance to live normal lives again. We can’t just… Greg, what’s wrong?”
I squatted by the door. Another strip of rubber seal came away. Wet and cold. Condensation had been working on the rubber for years. The rubber lay limp as a dead snake in my hand. The moment it fell from between the door and the steel frame I felt a jet of air play against my lips and nose. Cold as ice, it carried the smell of damp, confined spaces. When you lever back the slab of a tomb it must feel and smell like this. Faint toadstool odors. Moss. Damp. Decay. Chilled air that sends a shiver down your spine and fills your head with images of shriveled eyes and long-dead bones.
“Greg? You don’t look well.” She sounded anxious. “What’s wrong?”
The jet of air struck my face… something liquid about it.. . a sense of poisons floating there…
“Greg, are you-Greg, don’t!”
I slammed against the door. My fist punched at the steel. I punched again. My skin ripped across the knuckle, sending blood streaming across gray paint-work, smearing COMM-ROUTE.
I snarled through gritted teeth, “They’re in there… they’re in there!”
“Hornets?”
I nodded, my muscles snapping so tight in my stomach and back that I wanted to roar with pain. “Comm- Route… it means Communicating Route, doesn’t it?” I pushed myself back from the door to stop myself trying to
