Zero Game - Brad Meltzer [140]
Scurrying for the door, Viv burst out into the hallway and followed it back around to the left. “Help!” she cried. “Someone . . . we need help!” As before, the piles of discarded office furniture were the only things to hear her call. Mapping her way back to the Capitol police, she raced for the short staircase up on her left—but just as she turned the corner, she smacked flat into the chest of a tall man in a crisp pinstriped suit. The impact was hard—her nose collided with his magenta Zegna tie, pressing it against his chest. To Viv’s surprise, the man managed to backstep and roll with it. Almost as if he heard her coming.
“Help . . . I need help,” Viv said, her voice racing.
“Take it easy,” Barry replied, his glass eye staring just off to the left as he put a hand on her arm. “Now tell me what’s going on . . .”
75
RUSHING THROUGH THE twisting aisle between two adjacent air compressors, I listen carefully for Janos, but the churning of the equipment drowns out every other noise. At the entrance it was noisy; back here it’s deafening. It’s like running through rows of revving eighteen-wheelers. The machines back here are all oversized dinosaurs. The only good part is, if I can’t hear him, he can’t hear me.
At the end of the aisle, I follow the path around to my right. To my surprise, the room keeps going, a labyrinth of ductwork and ventilation machinery that never seems to end, each room bleeding into the next. On my left, there’s a section of oval tanks that look like industrial water heaters. On my right, there’s an even bigger rectangular compressor with a giant motor on top. There are three different paths, which can take me in any direction: right, left, straight. To the untrained eye, with machine next to machine and all the ductwork blocking a clear line of sight, it’s easy to get lost and turned around. That’s why there’s a faded yellow line painted across parts of the floor. I’m guessing that’s what the maintenance people use to get in and out. I use it to the same effect, but instead of sticking to the line and giving Janos an easy trail to follow, I purposely avoid it, always picking a random path.
Halfway up the aisle, I crouch under a section of ductwork and follow the adjacent aisle even deeper into the dark room, which is looking more and more like a true cellar. Mildewed brick walls . . . damp, mud-caked floors . . . and not a window in sight. The cracked plaster ceiling runs low like a cave, then arches twenty feet upward to black, unlit peaks.
The further I go, the more the machinery thins out, and the quieter it gets. A cool draft blows against my face, giving me flashbacks to the wind tunnels in the gold mine. There must be an open door somewhere in the distance. On both sides of me, stacks of intertwining ductwork still block my view, but I can hear the pounding of heavy footsteps. Janos is getting closer. The sound echoes on my right, then my left. It doesn’t make sense. He can’t be in two places at once.
I spin around to follow the noise. My elbow crashes into one of the ducts, sending a metallic gurgle reverberating through the room. I shut my eyes and duck low so fast, my knuckles hit the concrete. Then I hear the metallic rumble echo behind me. Way behind me. Raising an eyebrow, I glance up at the dark arches of the ceiling. A high-pitched whistle rushes overhead. Huh. Down on my knees, I flick a finger against the duct. There’s a light ping on impact, followed by an echo of the ping about thirty feet over my shoulder. It’s like the sound equivalent of a hall of mirrors.
When the Capitol was first built, air-conditioning didn’t exist, so when the Congressmen complained about the stifling temperatures in the Senate and House Chambers, an elaborate system of natural air tunnels was built underground. From outside, air would flow though subterranean tunnels, weave its way up into the building, and from there, snake through internal tunnels that resemble stone-lined air-conditioning ducts,