Johnson continued to talk. Penn got the sense that he’d rehearsed this more than once. “It’s no accident that you’re among the first to arrive, Mr. Speaker. There’s gonna be a culture shock on the other side of the decon area, and I’ll be happy to have your support keeping your people under control.”

Something tingled in Penn’s spine. “My people?”

“Yes, sir. The elected folks. The people you’ll be moving in with. There’s gonna be a learning curve with the rules, and—”

Penn held up a hand for silence. “You’re speaking in riddles, Scott.”

“I prefer Mr. Johnson, sir.” His face had hardened.

Penn opted not to rise to the bait. This was a stressful evening for everyone. “Mr. Johnson, then. I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”

Johnson seemed amused by that. “Very well, sir, I understand. But you know what? I think it’ll all become clear when you come inside. This way, sir.”

Penn followed the young man deeper into the tunnel. On closer inspection, the whole area bore a resemblance to naval vessels that Penn had visited. The walls in here were lined with heavy steel. Every surface sported an organized rat’s nest of pipes and conduit. Heavy explosion-proof enclosures surrounded all the electrical fixtures. Even the doors in the walls—the access points to whatever lay beyond—looked like hatchways on a ship, including the three-foot spinning wheel that would secure them closed.

Johnson led his charges about thirty yards into the tunnel before stopping at an open hatchway on the right.

“You’ll be going in there, sir,” Johnson explained. “Everybody will be going in there.”

The area inside the hatch appeared to be nothing but a big room, measuring maybe twenty feet square. No chairs or tables, just a black-and-white tile floor surrounded by four gleaming white walls. Another soldierly young man stood on the far side of the room with an automatic rifle—Penn recognized it to be a military M4—slung across his chest and belly.

“Bugsy, they’re all yours now,” Johnson said. “Gentlemen, this is Garand Bug-something. The name is, like, fifteen letters long and it only has one vowel.”

The man with the rifle pronounced his name for them, and Penn agreed that Bugsy would have to do. He had the same military bearing as Johnson, but was easily six inches taller. The massive shoulder-width to waist-circumference ratio would pose a challenge to even the most talented tailor.

“Bugsy, this is House Speaker Glendale and his chief of staff, Mr. Strasky. Please show them the ropes.”

“I’ll do my best,” Bugsy said. He pivoted on his own axis and opened the door he’d been guarding. “This way, sirs.”

“Where are we going?” Strasky asked.