“I recall hearing something about a facility at the Greenbrier. But that was abandoned years ago.”
“But the bunker concept wasn't abandoned. When the press secretary was questioned at a news conference, she reluctantly admitted there was more than one bunker. No officials would say anything more, because it was a sensitive security issue. Later, a magazine article came out with an interview with an anonymous lower-echelon government official who described how personnel rotated into the bunkers every month and weren't permitted to tell even their families where they were going. They could only be contacted at an 800 number. Most of the time there were at least fifty personnel keeping the bunkers going, but very few high-profile members were called to serve at the bunkers. It was purely volunteer as far as they were concerned. Except for one cabinet member who was supposed to serve at all times.”
“Why three bunkers?”
“There may be even more. But I don't think so. They'd need one near the West Coast in case the President was in that part of the country at the time of an attack. One in West Virginia, which is close to Washington, but not too close. The other one . . . I don't know. Baltimore? Those hydro vents Melis mentioned were near Baltimore.”
“And Baltimore is practically next door to Washington. The sonic manipulation of a hydro vent offshore could directly affect Washington.”
“Jesus.”
“But Betworth wanted more bang for his buck, so he contacted Morales.” Morgan was silent for a moment. “And what could Morales give him for more bang for his buck?”
She was afraid to guess. “I hope to hell you find out. You meet with Leary tonight?”
“If I'm lucky. I have a good many more questions to ask him now about those bunkers.” He paused. “Sharp, very sharp, Alex.”
“Then maybe you should have called me before.”
“I had to brace myself to be flayed. I'll phone you after I finish with Leary.”
She slowly hung up the phone. She didn't want to let him go. Maybe she shouldn't have jumped on him. What if she never saw—
Of course she should have done it. He was wrong. He was honest enough to realize that and expect her to—
Dear God, she wanted him here.
Forget it. Think about this blasted kettle. Think about those bunkers and why they were destroyed.
More bang for the buck.
Christ.
“I've verified your bunkers, Alex,” Logan said. “No one in Congress wanted to talk, but I tapped one confidential source. Once he realized I already knew about it and only needed to be filled in, he opened up. The bunker wasn't in Arapahoe Junction, it was on the other side of the dam, where you were taking your pictures.”
“Powers said there was a screwup. They didn't have the technology right.” Her lips twisted bitterly. “They blew the dam and buried the town of Arapahoe Junction. I'd say that was a big-time screwup. All those people . . .”
“My contact didn't know anything about any of the other bunkers. Since they're all underground, he said he'd bet that the installation at Plummock Falls is practically right beside the mine. The location picks were supposed to be in fairly populated areas so that the Congressmen's comings and goings wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb.”
“And Plummock Falls is a bustling mining town.”
“So they blow the bunker and take some of the coal mine with it.”
“No information about Z-3?”
“Evidently everyone knows about their particular bunker and no other. It makes good security sense. Sorry, I'll keep trying.”
“You found out quite a bit. At least one thing is going right.”
“More than one. Sarah called me and told me they'd located the miners.”
“Alive?”
“At least some of them. There was tapping.”
“Thank God.” She paused. “Have you gotten through to Andreas?”
“Not yet. There's a steel wall of security around him these days. I'll keep trying. Has Morgan phoned you?”
“Not since this morning. He said he'd call me when he could.”
“Let me know when he does.”
“I'll do that.” If she heard from him. She was beginning to wonder if he— Stop wondering. Stop thinking. She had to believe he'd contact her when he could. He had his job to do and she had hers.
She stared down at the open atlas on the coffee table in front of her.
The kettle . . .
Guatemala City
Jesus.
Morgan took a long drink of his bourbon as he stared at the television set over the bar.
Plummock Falls.
The cameras were panning the faces of the crowds gathered outside the fence that encircled the opening of the mine. Pain. Disbelief. Fear. Hope.
“It's terrible.” The bartender shook his head. “But it's good that maybe some of them will be saved. To be buried alive would be anyone's nightmare.”