A kitchenette in the back included a fridge, bare except for a chunk of cheese and a pot of mustard; we found crackers in a cupboard and nervously helped ourselves to cheese and crackers, wondering if we were swallowing plague germs. An industrial clock hung near the refrigerator. One-thirty in the morning. How much time did we have?

Roswell had left the old launch-control console against one wall, its keys turned to begin the launch beneath buttons labeled target 1, target 2, target 3. A framed poster captioned “America Held Hostage” hung above it, showing a beleaguered America attacked by hordes of Muslims, Chinese, Koreans, and Mexicans. Text in red letters over a mushroom cloud screamed, “IT’S 1 MINUTE TO MIDNIGHT, AMERICA. ALMOST TOO LATE TO FIGHT BACK. JOIN PATRIOTS CARE-NOW TO REPEL THE ENEMIES AT OUR GATES.”

Another hatch was in the floor behind one of the couches, its cover locked into place with two arms. After some trial and error, we figured out that they had to be turned in opposite directions at the same time to undo the locks. When we lifted the cover, I lay flat and looked down, shining my flash around into a vast empty pit. I shuddered: this was where the missile had stood, a fat, sleek snake, never sleeping, ready for launch every second of the day.

I got back to my feet. “We’ll climb down there as a last resort,” I said to Cady. “Let’s see what we can find in the lab.”

Back in the lab, what we looked for first was protective gear. Cady and I both put on face masks, bonnets such as surgeons wear, latex gloves.

I went over to the ventilation hood above the fermenters. If they were culturing live pestis, the residue couldn’t be going straight into the atmosphere, or people in the county would be dropping like medieval plague victims. Presumably they were sterilizing the steam or smoke that the fermenters were pouring into the air. At least I hoped they were.

We were roughly forty-five feet below ground, about the depth of a three- or four-story building. I tried to picture the grounds, but what came to mind were the snakes curling up on a hexagonal roof. The giant snake underground calling its young to its side. No, Warshawski: snakes seek out warmth. They had found a warm spot. Above the ventilation hood.

“Our way out,” I said to Cady. “We’re going to dismantle this little science experiment.”

57
Tang Soo

Cady had moved past her panic into a numbed place where she could keep one foot moving in front of the other as long as I stayed upbeat, pumping oxygen into her heart. Our first step had to be to cover the camera eyes. The drawer where I’d found the hammer held a full tool kit, including a roll of duct tape.