Flood Tide (Dirk Pitt 14)

"The system of passages and thoroughfares beneath the city form an intricate maze well over a thousand miles in length. Not exactly public knowledge, of course, except for tunnels built for sewage, drainage, steam and electrical wiring, but there is an extensive network in daily use for vehicular transportation. It spreads from the White House to the Supreme Court, Capitol building, State Department, under the Potomac to the Pentagon, the Central Intelligence Agency headquarters in Langley, and about a dozen other strategic government buildings and military bases in and around the city."

"Something like the catacombs of Paris," said Gunn.

"The Paris catacombs pale in comparison to Washington's underground web," said Laird. "May I offer you gentlemen a drink?"

Sandecker shook his head. "I'll pass."

"Not for me, thank you," answered Gunn. He turned to the admiral. "Did you know about this, sir?"

"Mr. Laird forgets that I've been a Washington insider for many years. I've traveled a few of the tunnels from time to time. Because they run below the water tables, it takes a small army of maintenance people to fight the invading damp and slime to keep them dry. There are also the derelicts, drug dealers and criminals who use them for warehousing illegal goods, and the young people who get a high partying in dark and eerie chambers. And, of course, reckless daredevils driven by curiosity and a lack of claustrophobia who find sport in exploring the passageways. Many of them are experienced cavers who find unknown labyrinths a challenge."

r /> "With so many intruders wandering in and out, how can they be controlled?"

"The main arteries crucial for government operations are guarded by a special security force which monitors them by video and infrared sensors," Laird said by way of explanation. "

enetration into critical areas is next to impossible."

Gunn said slowly, "This is certainly news to me."

Sandecker smiled enigmatically. "The President's chief of staff neglected to mention the escape tubes."

Laird covered his surprise by pouring himself a small glass of vodka. "You're extraordinarily well informed, Admiral."

"Escape tubes?" Gunn asked mechanically.

"Shall I?" Sandecker asked almost apologetically.

Laird nodded and sighed. "It seems government secrets have a short life."

"A script straight out of science-fiction movies," Sandecker continued. "Until now, saving the President, his Cabinet and the military Chiefs of Staff during a nuclear strike by whisking them away by helicopter to an airfield or an underground operations center was a fallacy almost from the beginning. Submarine missiles fired from a few hundred miles out at sea during a surprise attack could rain down on the city in less than ten minutes. Not nearly enough time to carry out an emergency evacuation."

"There had to be another way," added Laird.

"And there is," Sandecker went on. "Underground tubes leading out of the city were constructed using electromagnetic technology that can hurl a convoy of canisters containing high-ranking people from the White House and classified material from the Pentagon to Andrews Air Force Base and into the basement of a hangar where an air-command-transport version of the B-2 bomber is prepared to take off within seconds of their arrival."

"I'm pleased to learn that I know something that you don't," Laird said cryptically.

"If I took a wrong turn, please set me straight."

"Andrews Air Force Base is too widely known for departure and arrival of aircraft carrying high-level personnel," said Laird. "You were quite correct about a facility for housing a B-2 modified as an airborne command post. But the plane is based underground at a secret site southeast of the city in Maryland."

"If you'll forgive me," said Gunn, "I don't doubt what you're saying, but it does have a ring of fantasy about it."

Laird cleared his throat and spoke directly to Gunn as if he was lecturing a schoolboy. "The American public would be knocked out of their socks if they had the slightest glimpse of the devious and circuitous maneuvers that take place around the nation's capital in the name of good government. I know I certainly was when I came here. I still am."

The bus slowed and came to a stop beside the entrance of a short passageway that led toward a steel door standing beneath two video cameras. The forbidding starkness was heightened by recessed fluorescent lighting that illuminated the narrow chamber with an intense brilliance. To Gunn it appeared as "the last mile" walked by condemned murderers on their way to the gas chamber. He remained in his chair, his eyes straying into the passageway when the driver came around and opened the side panel on the bus.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but one more question." Gunn shifted his gaze to Laird. "I'd be grateful to learn just where it is we're meeting with the President."

Laird looked speculatively at Gunn for a moment. Then at Sandecker. "How say you, Admiral?"

Sandecker shrugged. "In this circumstance I can only rely on speculation and rumor. I'm curious myself."

"Secrets are meant to be kept," said Laird seriously, "but since you've come this far and your history of honor in the service of your country goes unquestioned, I believe I can take it upon myself to induct you into what is a very exclusive fraternity." He paused and then continued tolerantly. "Our short journey has taken us to Fort McNair and directly beneath what was once the base hospital until it was abandoned after World War II."

"Why Fort McNair?" Gunn persisted. "It seems more convenient for the President to have met us at the White House."

"Unlike former chief executives, President Wallace almost never goes near the place at night." He said it as if it were a comment on the weather.