And he walked half a step faster than Penn could follow. The Speaker had passed his sixty-fourth birthday just a month before, and his love for rich food, good wine and even better scotch had erased all but the last traces of his youthful athleticism. Arlen Strasky, on the other hand, still competed in two Ironman races a year, and likely hadn’t gained an ounce in the thirty years since he’d turned twenty.

As they neared the gaping maw in the mountainside that was the entrance to the Annex, Penn noted that the opening was smaller than it had looked from afar, and that the blast door looked twice as thick. He thought it looked like the most massive bank vault door in the universe.

They were still thirty feet away when a man of military bearing and hairstyle approached them from the entrance. Penn doubted that the man could be forty years old. His neck seemed to slope directly from his ears to his shoulders, and the front of the baseball cap he’d pulled low over his eyes displayed a green-and-black American flag.

“Speaker Glendale!” the man called as he approached. He offered his hand. “Welcome to the United States Government Relocation Center. We call it the Annex, and this will be our home for the next little while. I’m Scott Johnson.”

Penn shook the man’s hand. “This is my chief of staff, Arlen Strasky. What branch of the military are you with, Mr. Johnson?”

“I used to be Army, sir, but I was seven and done. I work for Solara.”

Penn looked to Strasky and got a shrug. “What is Solara?”

“We’re the contractor in charge of the Annex, sir. Please follow me.” He spun on his heel and headed back toward the blast door.

Penn turned to thank Colonel Miller for his efforts, but the man and his crew had already wandered off to join a clutch of other military folks.

“Speaker Glendale?” Johnson called. He’d pulled up twenty feet ahead and beckoned for them. “We really don’t have a lot of time, sir.”

Penn and Arlen caught up. “You were saying—”

“Yes, sir, I was explaining about Solara. In peacetime, we’re the folks who make sure that all the provisions are in, and that all the comms work properly. Our cover is that we take care of the internet and electronics stuff for the Hilltop Resort. Which we do. In wartime, though, when the balloon goes up, we’re in charge of the entire facility.”

As they crossed the threshold into the opening of the bunker, the atmosphere of the place changed. The smell of oil and fuel had pushed away the aromas of summer.