Zero Game - Brad Meltzer [133]
As the group shoves its way inside, I’m once again reminded that the Capitol is the only building in the world with no back—both the west front (overlooking the Mall) and the east front (overlooking the Supreme Court) claim to be the true front. Mostly, it’s because, with so many self-important people in one place, they all want to think their wonderful view is the best. Even the north side and south side get into the act, calling themselves the Senate entrance and House entrance. Four sides of a building, and not one of them is the back. Only in Congress.
Lost amid the tour groups, we’re in the one place where no one checks our ID or looks at us for more than a second. With this many people moving, all we can do is blend in.
“Put all cameras and phones on the X-ray,” one of the guards says to the group. It’s a simple request, but the students turn it into the final moments on the Titanic. Talking, bitching, moving—everything a fuss. As the kids make their usual scene, Viv and I slip through the metal detector without a second glance.
We stay with the group as they make their way under the grand domed ceiling of the rotunda and directly below to the Crypt, the circular room that now serves as an exhibition area for blueprints, drawings, and other historical Capitol documents. The guide explains that the rounded shape of the Crypt structurally supports not only the rotunda but also the Capitol dome directly above it. On cue, the entire group crane their necks up to the ceiling—and Viv and I slip out to the right, through the doorway next to the Samuel Adams statue. Racing down a wide set of sandstone stairs, I reach into my shirt and pull out the chain with my ID. Behind me, I can hear Viv’s jingling around her neck. From tourists to staffers in one minute or less.
“Narcs . . .” Viv whispers as we hit the bottom step. She motions to our far right. Up the hallway, two Capitol police are headed our way. They still don’t see us, but I’m not about to take a chance. Grabbing Viv’s wrist, I twist around the marble banister and tug her to the right, off the main hallway. A freestanding sign reads, No Tours Beyond This Point. I blow past it so fast, I almost knock it over. I’ve been back here before—it’s still open to staff. The hallway dead-ends at a black wrought-iron gate with a slight arch on top.
“Isn’t it amazing?” I ask Viv, shoving some pep in my voice.
“Incredible,” she says, following my lead. Behind the gate, under a rectangular glass case, a long black cloth is draped over what looks like a coffin. The plaque on our right, however, tells us it’s the wooden catafalque that supported the bodies of Lincoln, Kennedy, LBJ, and everyone else who has ever lain in state in the Capitol.
Over my shoulder, the click-clack of boots on the floor lets me know the Capitol cops are just about to pass. Trying to look like staffers but feeling like prisoners, Viv and I hold tight to the bars, staring into the tiny concrete cell. Located at the direct center of the Capitol, the small, dank room was originally designed to be a tomb for George and Martha Washington. Today, their bodies are at Mount Vernon, and this room is just for storing the catafalque. I shut my eyes. The Capitol police are getting closer. I try to stay focused, but even without Washington’s remains, this crouched little space still smells like death.
“Harris, they’re coming . . .” Viv whispers.
Back in the hallway, the footsteps are right behind us. One of them stops. There’s a crackle through his radio. Next to me, I can hear Viv praying.
“Yeah, we’ll be right there,” one of the cops says.
The footsteps pick up—there’s no doubt they’re getting closer—and then, just like that, they’re gone.
As usual, Viv’s first to react. Spinning around, she slowly checks back toward the hallway. “I think we’re okay,” she says. “Yeah . . . they left.”
Refusing to turn around, I still cling to the bars.
“Harris, we should hurry . . .”
I know she