Abuse of Power - Michael Savage [133]
“This way,” he said to the others.
Using their Mini Maglites sparingly, they worked their way up the tunnel and turned right, moving into another tunnel, which opened out into a space on the left that Doc remembered had once been a bunkhouse. It was one of several that had been integrated into the place. His own assigned bunk had been closer to the Golden Gate Bridge side of the tunnel, which was where he spent most of his duty hours as well.
Doc was about to continue on when he caught a glimpse of something in his flashlight beam. Swinging it back into the bunkhouse again, he froze as dread chilled his spine.
“Holy crap,” Abernathy murmured directly behind him.
They moved quickly to a figure lying prone on the cement floor, a blond, life-sized Raggedy Ann, a flannel shirt tossed carelessly over her naked body, looking as if she’d been discarded like a used tissue.
Her face was mottled with bruises. There were black-and-blue marks under her ears.
Doc felt for a pulse and got exactly what he was expecting—nothing. He also had a pretty good idea who this was. He told the others it was probably Tally Griffin, the bunker expert.
This thing was suddenly more real than it had ever been. He activated his ear com and said, “Tony, Jack, do you read me?”
All he got was static.
“Tony?”
More static.
“Damn,” he said to the others. “Coms aren’t working down here. The walls must be interfering with the frequency.”
“Screw it,” Abernathy said, his voice tight with anger. “Let’s find the bastards who did this.”
* * *
Tony Antiniori heard the last strains of “Hail to the Chief” being played as he worked his way down the corridor to the room where he’d seen the white-coated server with the laundry cart disappear earlier.
He’d waited several minutes for Jack. Obviously something was holding him up, and with the music signaling the arrival of the President, Tony didn’t have time to wait anymore.
Just as he reached the room he heard voices and several of the white coats came around the corner. He held his hand to his ear, as if he had a cell phone, and pretended to talk into it. The men walked by chattering to one another, eyeing Tony indifferently as they passed. He waited until they were gone then moved to the door and checked the knob.
Unlocked.
Taking one last glance around he slipped inside, closed the door behind him, and flicked on the light. It was a large square room with several canvas laundry carts inside, and shelves along one wall stacked with napkins, tablecloths, towels, and other linens. On the far wall, behind one of the laundry carts, was the chute Karras had told them about. It was nothing more than a square hole in the wall with plastic flaps in front of it.
He studied it warily and activated his com line. “Hey, Karras, I’m in the linen room. You sure I won’t break my neck going down this thing?”
“No guarantees,” Karras said. “Hell, my grandpa broke his neck stepping into the bathtub.”
“You callin’ me ‘grandpa’?” The kid didn’t know him well enough to be talking to him like this.
“No offense,” Karras said, “but those older bones of yours might be fragile.”
“Yeah?” Tony fumed. “Remind me to kick your fat behind next time I see you. Then we’ll talk about bones.”
That shut the kid up, but he thought he heard Max laughing under her breath.
Pushing back the flaps, he checked the chute more closely. The angle wasn’t too severe, so he figured the speed of his trajectory would be manageable. Hell, he couldn’t count the number of free falls he’d done at twenty-five thousand feet, so this should be a piece of cake—assuming there was something down there to buffer his landing.
Removing his tuxedo jacket and cummerbund, he tossed them into a nearby bin then grabbed the lip of the chute and climbed inside, positioning his legs in front of him.
He said a