“Wait. How do you have my fingerprints?” I ask, pocketing the phone the other man gives back to me and silently thanking the entire universe that the guy didn’t check for a signal on it. “What information just got pulled up?”
The man lets out a short laugh and doesn’t bother to answer the questions. Instead he turns away and starts walking towards a door on the other end of the room, which is nothing but a big concrete box. It’s only then that I notice a man in a lab coat hovering over a control panel in one corner.
“Keep the train here,” Richards says to him as we pass by. “This is the last of our guests from Union Station.”
He leads us into a narrow hallway. The walls and floors are all slate gray. Our footsteps echo through the corridor. Briggs following behind me, with the gunmen bringing up the rear.
“You’re injured, Major,” Richards says without looking back. I wonder if he noticed the bandage earlier or if he can just tell from the uneven sound of Briggs’s footsteps. “We’ll wake the medical staff.”
“Where are we?” I ask.
“You’re at a secret underground bunker. That’s all I’m at liberty to tell you right now.”
He turns. Another hallway. How much time have I spent navigating underground labyrinths in the last few days? This “Liberty Base” is beginning to remind me of the sublevel of Ashwood, and it’s not exactly a comforting feeling.
“I was told the president sent for me. When will I be meeting with him? There’s a lot to discuss about the Mogadorians and who in the government—”
“It’s almost four in the morning. Everyone’s taking a two-hour break before regrouping. When you’re needed, someone will collect you.”
He stops in front of a door and swings it open. Inside is a small room with a desk and a bed covered in a blanket. A minifridge and cabinet sit between two slim doors. It’s slightly nicer than I’d expect a dorm room or cheap motel to be.
“You’ll find fresh clothes in the closet and toiletries in the bathroom. There’s some food and water as well.”
“You brought me all the way here to put me in a room and—,” I start.
“You’ll have to forgive us for not having a gift basket and suite waiting for you, but we’re in a state of emergency, Dr. Goode. I advise you to stay in here until you’re called for. Don’t roam about the halls. I’ll keep a man posted outside your door . . . in case you need anything.”
“Wait,” I say, suddenly feeling like more of a prisoner than someone here to help the president. “You won’t tell me where I am, and I’m not supposed to leave my room? What’s going on here?”
Richards gets a slight smirk on his face.
“If you want to leave, Doctor, you can. I’ll just have a few of my men escort you to the surface and see to it that you aren’t able to find this place ever again.”
I glance at Briggs, who nods to me in a way I think is supposed to be reassuring. Then I sigh and walk into the room.
“Someone will send for you later,” Richards continues. “Get some sleep. It’s going to be a long day.”
Then the door is shut and I’m left alone. I half expect him to lock me in before leaving, but he doesn’t. At least, not that I hear.
I wash my face in the tiny bathroom once I realize that the combination of grime and several days’ worth of stubble have me looking like a vagrant. It’s only when the water in the sink turns pink that I realize I’ve got splotches of blood on my hands. From bandaging Briggs or checking on Lujan. Maybe it’s even my own—there’s a cut on the side of my head and dried blood in my hair. I take out my phone. Whatever Adam did to it, he’s a genius: I’m getting a signal, despite what Richards said. I’m about to walk back into the main room and dial my son when I stop, glancing around. Given how secretive everyone’s being, I’m sure I’m not supposed to have contact with the outside world, and this place is probably bugged. I can’t lose my phone, so I stay in the bathroom, closing the door and turning on the faucet and shower, trying to hide my voice as much as I can.
I try Sam, but there’s no answer. Again. I beat my fist against the sink, causing the mirror in front of me to shake.
I dial another number. This time someone picks up.
“Hello?”
“It’s Malcolm,” I say. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“I don’t sleep much,” Noto says.
“Glad to hear you made it out of that mess.”
“Likewise. We have a few injured men, but they’ll live. It’ll take more than the small scouting party they sent to wipe us out. But the Mogs will be back.”
“Probably,” I say. “Though I’m not sure Ashwood is high on their priority list right now.”