Agent Out

by Francine Pascal

  And then, after a moment, he could see.

  Gaia had dropped to the floor below him. After a moment he did the same thing, and they stood side by side, looking around.

  They were in a small chamber, the size of a one-car garage. The stone ceiling was very low. The air was filled with dust. The floor was flat cement, covered in dust, crumbling cement, and rough blocks of stone. The only light came from a weak overhead bulb that was protected by a steel cage. A yellow-and-black radiation symbol was on the wall.

  Fallout shelter, Will realized. This was the courthouse’s fallout shelter. Probably nobody even knows it’s here anymore.

  Ahead of them nearly one entire wall had been destroyed. It was now a big, ragged hole leading into more darkness. A cool, wet wind blew at them through the hole.

  “The bomb,” Gaia said, pointing upward to where Will could just make out the two wires that led from a hole in the ceiling. The wires extended a few feet and then stopped suddenly—their ends were burned and melted. “The explosives were down here, but the timer was up in that other room.”

  “Lucky for us.”

  “Right, but look,” Gaia said, walking through the dust cloud, moving closer to the blasted hole in the wall. “They used, what do you call it, shaped charges—seismic charges. You remember from class? How you can use C-4 plastique to channel an explosion in the direction you want?”

  “You’re right,” Will said. The explosives themselves had vaporized, but the pattern of the debris matched that in the photographs Agent Baxter had shown them of demolition-bombing sites. An expert had blown this hole leading—where’?

  Gaia and Will stepped closer to the hole, gingerly leaning on its ragged edges, which were still warm.

  “Water,” Gaia said. “There’s water flowing down here.”

  And leaning his head out through the hole, Will realized she was right.

  The hole went into a circular tunnel that stretched off into the far distance in each direction. There were weakly shining work lights at regular intervals. A wide, metal-grid catwalk with a railing led along the edge of the tunnel. And far below, in a stone channel deep along the tunnel’s floor, water was flowing—a small underground river that moved through the tunnel.

  The water pipes, Will realized. That’s what the map is about. He remembered Gaia’s description of the document she’d printed out, which apparently showed the Philadelphia water supply pipeline radiating out from the intersection of Decatur and Main.

  On the opposite wall of the tunnel, on the stained, smooth concrete surface, someone had drawn an arrow in yellow chalk. Pointing down the tunnel to the left.

  Gaia and Will looked at each other in the darkness. Will could only see the silhouette of her head through the dim, ghostly light from the work bulbs. Below them the rushing water roared past them, flowing like a bloodstream beneath the Philadelphia streets.

  “Now what?” Will asked. His voice echoed crazily against the cement walls of the tunnel.

  But he already knew what she was going to say.

  spooked

  A CHORUS OF WILLS

  Gaia was crouched in the hole the bomb had blasted in the wall. Leaning out and peering straight down, she saw that there was a ten-foot drop at most—and at the bottom of that drop, she could see the steel grating of the catwalk that stretched off endlessly in both directions.

  Simple to climb down, she realized, gauging the distance. Not so simple to climb back up.

  The chalk arrow on the wall pointed left. It didn’t look like something a Philadelphia engineer would have put there.

  So who did? And why right there?

  But the answers were obvious. In her mind, the Socorro plan was beginning to make sense. Someone had found the spot in the tunnel that butted up against the courthouse sub-basement—and had marked it.

  As if somebody was supposed to come through the hole—once it had been blasted out—and follow the arrow.

  Follow it where?

  Gaia could only think of one way to find out.

  “Gaia?” Will was asking. His voice echoed in the tunnel, repeating back over and over like a chorus of Wills. “I said, ‘Now what?’”

  “You knew there was a bomb,” she remembered. She pulled herself out of the blasted wall opening, back into the comparatively quiet sub-basement room. “Because you did research on Rossiter, right?”

  “He builds bombs,” Will explained. “There’s like three dozen incidents in the FBI database—Rossiter’s blown up all kinds of things. Do you know him?”

  “We’ve met,” Gaia said, laughing humorlessly—a laugh Will had heard before. Gaia remembered the beard, the stinking breath, the weight on her back—where the bruise had almost completely faded—and the hands around her neck. “I’d love to meet him again.”

  “So what do we—?”

  “Why do you keep asking that?” Gaia interrupted impatiently. “We follow the arrow. We go down the tunnel.”

  “And go where?” Will protested.

  “We can’t find that out,” Gaia said doggedly, “without going there. It’s obvious.”

  Will was already shaking his head. “There could be anything down there. Any number of people or guns. It’s stupid to just go by ourselves—we’ve got to get help.”

  “What do you mean?” Gaia was in no mood for this conversation. Her legs and body were nearly twitching with the need to go through that hole into the cool, wet air and down that tunnel. “Get help from who?” She pointed up. “We cant go back, in case you forgot. The courthouse is completely locked. The tunnel’s the only way.”

  Will was still shaking his head. She saw that his face was suddenly illuminated by a piercing blue light—he had opened up his cell phone. “I’m not stupid, Gaia. I’m just saying let’s get aboveground and call for backup. Call the FBI, call the Philadelphia police—damn it, no signal.”

  “Of course there’s no signal,” Gaia yelled. “Anyway, how are you going to call the bureau?”

  “The wall blew up!” Will was yelling right back. “Don’t you realize that the bomb changes everything? We’re not theorizing anymore! You found the real terrorist plot—I think Malloy will listen to you now.”

  Gaia was listening, but she was also remembering Winston Marsh’s words from the day before. They want Sanders dead, Marsh had told her. You won’t find an official order or anything on paper, but that’s an absolute priority. She knows too much.

  And you too. Make no mistake, Gaia—the sole purpose you’re serving right now is to lead the FBI to Catherine, if she’s still alive. Once you’ve done that for them, then you’ll be terminated, too.

  “No,” she told Will flatly. “No phone calls, no cops, no Malloy, no FBI” She moved closer to him, pointing over her shoulder at the jagged hole in the wall. “Catherine’s down there. I’m sure of it. Tied up, bleeding, frightened. She took risks to contact me and asked me to save her.” Gaia could hear her voice getting angrier, but she couldn’t help it. She was tired of standing in this dust-filled underground room—she was aching to get moving. “Now I’m going to save her. You can come with me or not. But if you want to stop me, you’re going to have to fight me.”

  “Gaia—” Will sighed theatrically. Gaia’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough that she could begin to see his face. “Gaia, be reasonable. There’s a procedure we’re supposed to follow when—”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Gaia shouted. “If either of us were following ‘procedure,’ we wouldn’t be here. If you’re scared, just admit it! Admit that this whole thing has you spooked and you want to run home to Daddy!”

  “Gaia—” Will sounded hurt. “That’s not fair.”

  He’s right—it’s not, Gaia thought sadly. But I’ve got to do it—I’ve got to get his ego on the line so he’ll come with me.

  “Then prove it,” Gaia said, sitting down on the cold, jagged edge of the hole, swinging her feet over into the cool air of the tunnel. “Follow me.”

  “Gaia�
��”

  “If you really are the man you act like,” she told him, “you’ll come with me.”

  “You know I can’t,” Will said miserably. “Someone’s got to get backup—otherwise we’re walking into a death trap.”

  “Fine,” Gaia said. Tensing her body, she gripped the edge of the hole and dropped down. Her hands slid against the wet concrete and then her feet slammed into the steel catwalk. “See you later, Will.”

  “Gaia, wait!”

  Gaia looked up. The sound of rushing water was louder now, echoing all around her like the roar inside a seashell. She could see Will’s head silhouetted above her. The hole was ten feet up the smooth, wet curve of the tunnel’s cement wall.

  No way back up.

  “Are you coming?” Gaia shouted. There was no answer. She couldn’t see Will’s face or hear anything over the loud roar of the water. She turned to the left—the direction in which the arrow pointed—and started down the tunnel.

  A NATURAL CAUTION

  This is the end of the journey, Gaia thought.

  She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she was certain of it. The road chosen in Quantico, when she drove off into the night—the road that led to Baltimore and Collingswood and finally to Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love—ended in this tunnel.

  Gaia remembered the dream she’d had in which she was following a river. It was funny that she’d ended up here, deep underground, moving along this waterway. If Gaia had believed in premonitions, she would have been spooked.

  After she had walked for five minutes the hole in the wall disappeared in the distance behind her. The tunnel seemed to continue forever, its work lights diminishing into the endless distance like highway reflectors. Her footsteps clanged and rattled against the steel catwalk, echoing and reverberating in an endless dull symphony of metallic percussion. The water shone like glass five feet below the catwalk, roaring past her at what seemed like high speed. From the temperature of the cool, damp air Gaia guessed that the current was cold and strong—and fairly deep, too. She didn’t like to think what would happen to her if she fell in there. There was nothing to grab on to at the water’s edges except smooth concrete; a person who fell into that raging river would probably we washed miles downstream after they’d drowned.

  Gaia had no idea where she was in terms of Philadelphia geography. That’s what that map was for, she thought, realizing that she’d left it behind in the courthouse’s basement. If I’d realized, I could have asked Will to toss it down to me.

  Will. Gaia frowned in the darkness as she thought about him. It would be so much simpler if he were right here with her, following the underground river by her side. They could confer, make decisions—and she wouldn’t be alone, as alone as she’d been since this whole surreal journey began.

  But he’s not like that, she told herself doggedly. It’s not in his nature. A boy like that cannot be made to throw away everything he believes in just because you tell him to.

  But Gaia knew she was being unfair.

  Running her hand along the steel balustrade that flanked the catwalk—and bringing her hand away wet—Gaia realized that Will had actually done exactly that.

  Didn’t he steal all that information just because I asked him to? Didn’t he sneak into that chat room with me even though it could have cost him everything? Maybe even his life?

  Gaia’s eyes narrowed in the darkness as she thought about it. And didn’t he run away from the base just to meet me here? Because he thought I was in danger?

  Will had come through for her—over and over. She forced herself to admit it. All he had done at the end was exercise a natural, sensible caution.

  What if he’s right? Gaia thought, looking ahead down the tunnel. What if I can’t handle whatever’s down there?

  Should I go back?

  But there was no way to go back. Her watch told her that she’d already been walking for nine minutes—she had no idea how far that meant she’d traveled. If she retraced her steps, she’d just be back at that hole with no way to climb up. She could shout for Will, but how could she be sure he would hear her? If he was back up the ladder, in the courthouse basement where they’d kissed, then he definitely wouldn’t hear her. A bomb had gone off and they’d barely picked up the noise—there was no way the sound of a yelling girl would penetrate through all that stonework.

  Up ahead, Gaia saw, the tunnel was ending.

  Getting closer, peering through the dim light, she realized that it wasn’t ending, exactly, but forking. The tunnel ran into another tunnel that moved off left and right. Gaia noticed that the catwalk formed a bridge up ahead, allowing her to go in either direction.

  So what do I do?

  Gaia wasn’t interested in getting lost in the Philadelphia water system. Images flashed through her head of herself spending the rest of her life down here, wandering like a wretched shipwreck victim, her pale dead body eventually washing out to sea.

  Getting closer to the junction, Gaia suddenly saw another chalk arrow on the opposite wall. Pointing right.

  Someone’s supposed to follow the path, she realized again. She was absolutely sure of it. Through the new hole and down the pipes to—where?

  But there was no way to find out except to keep going.

  Gaia thought about the journey she’d taken—about Rossiter, and Marsh, and the basements and motel rooms and rest areas, about the decayed city parks and pumping stations, all leading to this tunnel. Thinking through the steps she’d taken, she was convinced she hadn’t made any mistakes—that every move had been logical.

  I’m coming, Catherine, she thought again, following the arrow across the metal bridge and moving farther down the tunnel. I’m nearly there now. I can feel it.

  Will

  This is ridiculous.

  I know I’m right. Every instinct, every bit of knowledge and experience tells me I’m right. But I feel wrong.

  The argument I gave Gaia makes perfect sense. Catherine told me how Gaia won the game back when we first started—how she laid out the evidence for Agent Bishop, point by point, justifying each leap of logic, and, once she’d finished, it didn’t matter anymore what rules she’d broken. In the end, what’s important to the bureau is solving and preventing crimes, not upholding rules and regulations.

  Right?

  I mean, in Hogan’s Alley, Gaia realized that the empty medicine cabinet pointed at the doctor as the perp—and she was right. Now she’s traced a series of clues to a terrorist bomb—and she’s right again. The FBI will care about that more than they’ll care about that memo or all their misunderstandings. I’m sure of it.

  But that was a game—it wasn’t real. And like I just realized, when it’s real, everything’s different. It’s one thing to be brave and smart and in command when you’re just racking up points and trying to win. Hell, I’ve been doing that all my life. But when it’s life or death for real—when you’re staring at an actual bomb that will actually detonate, not a classroom model—suddenly everything’s different.

  And she saw me afraid.

  That’s the worst part. Pacing this damn courthouse basement, holding my cell phone, trying to decide who to call first, I keep looking at the room with the detonator and the spot on the floor where we sat and talked—and kissed. Okay, maybe somebody without fear doesn’t have the right to give anyone grief about their moment of weakness. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

  She could be walking into a trap. She could be in incredible danger.

  Could be? Of course she’s in incredible danger. I can’t get that image out of my head—the last view I had of her, a dark shadow moving away on that catwalk over that mysterious underground river. On her way into the heart of the mystery. And me, leaning over that jagged hole, watching her go. And doing nothing.

  This is a waste of time. I’m letting a girl influence my thinking. Just like when I first got that message from her about the chat room—I effectively stopped thinking rationally and just did whatever
she told me to do. Like a sap—like a man with no will of his own.

  I shouldn’t be pacing and debating with myself. I should flip this phone open and dial 911 and start talking. I could have the cops here in ten minutes, and then I could show them my badge and explain the situation and ask to be taken to the FBI’s regional field office and then—assuming they believe my story and don’t waste time with too many questions—the cops and the bureau will be down in that tunnel with as much artillery as is necessary. And with bomb experts and terrorism experts and full military backup—

  —and I let a girl walk into danger.

  I have to stop thinking about it and do something. I won’t think about Gaia anymore. She made her own decision—I’m tired of covering for her anyway. It’s time to do the right thing. I don’t care what the consequences are; I’ve broken enough rules for one day. I’m calling for backup right now.

  NOTHING BUT BLACKNESS ABOVE

  Without her wristwatch Gaia knew she would have completely lost track of time. There was no frame of reference—just concrete, steel, and water running off in all directions. Gaia figured that it would be very easy to go insane down here if you somehow got lost and couldn’t find your way out. In these tunnels there was no day and night, no north and south, no up and down. Just tunnels, connecting and reconnecting, with the same feeble, regularly placed bulbs and the same dull roar of water until you wanted to scream.

  Since dropping through the hole in the wall and leaving Will behind, Gaia had made four turns, each marked with a chalk arrow. She was forcing herself to memorize the path she was taking, but the geography was very difficult since everything was the same—she kept losing track of how many junctures she’d passed through or turns she’d taken. Gaia knew that retracing your steps backward could be very difficult—anyone trying to follow trip directions in the other direction quickly found that out. And down here there seemed to be no way out but forward and back—only once had she seen a ladder going up, and peering through the hole she saw it led up through nothing but blackness above. Probably leads to a manhole, she thought, picturing herself trying to unseat a heavy iron disk from beneath, with traffic moving overhead as she did it. No, thanks. That was an easy way to get—