They opened the door and stepped into a chamber half the size of the sub pen. A railroad spur extended from the main chamber. Sitting on the tracks were a half-dozen car-sized freight carriers powered by propane. The tracks ran down the center of the room, with tributaries branching out on both sides to a series of arched portals that allowed entrance into side chambers.

Entering the nearest room, they found shelves filled with spare parts. The other storerooms contained tools, firefighting equipment and workshops. One room, separated from the others by a heavy steel blast door, contained demolition charges and small arms.

They returned to the main chamber and walked over to an elevator. Next to the elevator was a door that led to a stairwell. The smell of cooked cabbage drifted from above. They climbed the stairs to the next landing and saw light coming from beneath a door that led off the landing.

Austin put his ear up to the door and listened. Hearing nothing, he cracked the door a few inches. Then he gently pushed the door open and stepped through, motioning for Zavala to follow. They were in a corridor lit by lights recessed in the ceiling. It was wide enough for four people to walk abreast. The passageway echoed the poured-concrete, bomb-shelter motif of the lower level.

Several doors opened off one side. The first led to a cold-storage room stocked with meats and vegetables. The cold room was connected to food lockers provisioned with canned goods and groceries. Next to the pantry were a large kitchen and bakery. They moved from the kitchen into the adjacent mess hall, which was furnished with long benches and tables. The smell of cooked food was strong.

Austin went over to a table, brushed some crumbs off the top and dabbed his finger into a circle of water.

“Keep a sharp eye out,” he said. “Some of the regular customers may still be around.”

A door led from the mess hall to another passageway and a deserted dormitory fitted out with fifty bunks. The beds were unmade and the footlockers were empty. Next to the dormitory was a small game room with a few tables and chairs. Austin walked over to a chessboard, studied the pieces for a moment, then moved a black knight to a different square.

“Checkmate,” he said. With Austin in the lead, they headed back to the main corridor and climbed the stairs to the next floor. In contrast to the spartan barracks, the floors were covered with thick wall-to-wall carpeting and the walls were paneled in dark wood. They explored half a dozen offices and conference rooms. On the walls were a few yellowed charts, but the desks were cleaned out and the filing cabinets were empty.

“This must have been the command post for the submarine base,” Austin said.

Zavala glanced around the haunted precincts. “It's been a while since they did any commanding. Spooky. Maybe we should call Ghostbusters.”