The Zero Game

75

Rushing through the twisting aisle between two adjacent air compressors, I listen carefully for Janos, but the churning of the equipment drowns out every other noise. At the entrance it was noisy; back here it’s deafening. It’s like running through rows of revving eighteen-wheelers. The machines back here are all oversized dinosaurs. The only good part is, if I can’t hear him, he can’t hear me.

At the end of the aisle, I follow the path around to my right. To my surprise, the room keeps going, a labyrinth of ductwork and ventilation machinery that never seems to end, each room bleeding into the next. On my left, there’s a section of oval tanks that look like industrial water heaters. On my right, there’s an even bigger rectangular compressor with a giant motor on top. There are three different paths, which can take me in any direction: right, left, straight. To the untrained eye, with machine next to machine and all the ductwork blocking a clear line of sight, it’s easy to get lost and turned around. That’s why there’s a faded yellow line painted across parts of the floor. I’m guessing that’s what the maintenance people use to get in and out. I use it to the same effect, but instead of sticking to the line and giving Janos an easy trail to follow, I purposely avoid it, always picking a random path.

Halfway up the aisle, I crouch under a section of ductwork and follow the adjacent aisle even deeper into the dark room, which is looking more and more like a true cellar. Mildewed brick walls… damp, mud-caked floors… and not a window in sight. The cracked plaster ceiling runs low like a cave, then arches twenty feet upward to black, unlit peaks.

The further I go, the more the machinery thins out, and the quieter it gets. A cool draft blows against my face, giving me flashbacks to the wind tunnels in the gold mine. There must be an open door somewhere in the distance. On both sides of me, stacks of intertwining ductwork still block my view, but I can hear the pounding of heavy footsteps. Janos is getting closer. The sound echoes on my right, then my left. It doesn’t make sense. He can’t be in two places at once.

I spin around to follow the noise. My elbow crashes into one of the ducts, sending a metallic gurgle reverberating through the room. I shut my eyes and duck low so fast, my knuckles hit the concrete. Then I hear the metallic rumble echo behind me. Way behind me. Raising an eyebrow, I glance up at the dark arches of the ceiling. A high-pitched whistle rushes overhead. Huh. Down on my knees, I flick a finger against the duct. There’s a light ping on impact, followed by an echo of the ping about thirty feet over my shoulder. It’s like the sound equivalent of a hall of mirrors.

When the Capitol was first built, air-conditioning didn’t exist, so when the Congressmen complained about the stifling temperatures in the Senate and House Chambers, an elaborate system of natural air tunnels was built underground. From outside, air would flow though subterranean tunnels, weave its way up into the building, and from there, snake through internal tunnels that resemble stone-lined air-conditioning ducts, eventually bringing cool air into the building’s cavernous rooms that didn’t have the benefit of exterior windows. To this day, while it’s obviously been updated, the system is still in place, collecting fresh air that’s fed directly into the air-conditioning units, then pumped through the still-existing ducts and a few remaining passages.

I quickly realize I’m not just in the cellar. The way the wind whips around me… the echoing sound… I thought the air tunnels were running above and below me. But as I look around at the rounded curves of the walls… This entire room is one giant tunnel. I’ve been standing in it the entire time. That’s the breeze I feel on my face. And that’s why all the air-conditioning units are here. The subterranean tunnels burrow up from below us, empty into this room, and feed all the machines fresh air. Glancing up at the dark arches in the ceiling, I see they’re not dead ends at all. Beyond the darkness are the passageways that run up through the Capitol. This is the hub that feeds the spokes of the building. Like air-conditioning ducts, the tunnels are all interconnected. That’s why Janos’s footsteps echoed on my left and right. Tap the metal grille on your right and you’ll also hear it from behind. It’s a good thing to know — especially right now.

Crouched down, I run between two parallel sets of air ducts and hear Janos’s footsteps in three different directions. All three of them are getting louder, but because of the whistling of the air tunnel and the faint churning of the machines, it’s still impossible to tell which set of footsteps is coming first. The only good thing is, Janos is having the same problem.

“We’ve already got help coming!” I shout, hearing it echo behind me. “Capitol police are on their way!” I’m headed toward the left side of the room. With the help of the echo, Janos should hear it from the right. It’s not the greatest trick in the world, but right now all I need is to stall. Buy some time and let Viv ride in for the rescue.

“Did you hear what I said, Janos?! They’re on their way!” I add, hoping to confuse him as my voice bounces back and forth through the room.

Once again, he stays silent. He’s too smart to answer. That’s why I decide to get personal.

“You don’t strike me as a fanatic, Janos — so how’d they get you to sign up? Something against the United States, or was it purely a financial decision?”

There’s a sharp skritch as he pivots and backtracks. The sound’s coming from behind him. He’s definitely lost.

“C’mon, Janos — I mean, even for a guy like you, there’s gotta be some limits. Just because a man has to eat, doesn’t mean you lick every piece of gum off the sidewalk.”

The footsteps get louder, then softer as he second-guesses. Now he’s annoyed.

“Don’t get me wrong,” I continue, stooping underneath a section of air vents and hiding behind one of the oval water heaters. “I understand life is about picking sides, but these guys… Not to stereotype, but I’ve seen you, Janos. You’re not exactly from their nest. They may want us dead now, but you’re not too far down the list.”

The footsteps get slower.

“You think I’m wrong? They’ll not only put a knife in your spine, they’ll know exactly which two vertebrae to stick it between to make sure you feel every single inch of the blade. C’mon, Janos, think of who we’re talking about… This is Yemen — ”

The footsteps stop.

I lift my head, staring back across the room. Unreal. “They didn’t tell you, did they?” I ask. “You had no idea.”

Again, silence.

“What, you think I’m making it up? It’s Yemen, Janos. You’re working for Yemen!” I sneak out from behind the water heater and curve back in Janos’s direction, still crouching low. With a light tap, I hit another machine with the pliers. The more I keep moving, the harder it is to trace me. “How’d they hide it from you, anyway? Let me guess: they hired some CEO-type to make it look like an American company; then that guy goes out and hires you. How’m I doing? Hot? Cold? Feet on fire?”

He still won’t answer. For once, he’s actually off balance.

“Didn’t you ever see The Godfather? The hired guns don’t ever get to meet the real boss.”

The last part’s just to get him raging. I don’t hear a footstep anywhere. He’s either taking it in or trying to follow the sound of my voice. Either way, there’s not a chance he’s thinking straight.

Hunched over and staying completely silent, I weave behind a ten-foot-tall blower fan that’s encased in the dustiest metal grille I’ve ever seen. Connected to the grille is a long aluminum duct that runs a good twenty feet across the room, back toward the door. In front of me, the blades of the fan spin slowly, so when I time it just right, I can see through the length of the duct, out the other side. I take a peek, and almost swallow my tongue when I see the back of a familiar salt-and-pepper crewcut.

Dropping down low, I squat beneath the grille of the fan. From where I’m crouched, I have a clear view that runs along the underside of the long duct. There’s no mistaking the Ferragamo shoes on the other end. Janos is dead ahead, and from the way he’s standing there, frozen in frustration, he has no idea I’m behind him.

Gripping the needle-nose pliers in my sweaty fist, I keep to my squat and get ready to move forward. Within three seconds, I talk myself out of it. I’ve seen enough Friday the 13th sequels to know how this one ends. The man’s a killer. All I have to do is stay hidden — anything else is a bad-horror-flick risk. The thing is, the longer I sit here, the better the odds of him turning around and staring straight at me. At least this way, I’ve got surprise on my side. And after what he did to Matthew, and Pasternak, and Lowell… some things are worth the risk.

Crouched down and steeling myself with one last deep breath, I slowly chicken-walk forward. One hand skates lightly against the side of the metal vent; the other holds tight to the needle-nose pliers. I duck down even lower to check underneath the length of the vent. Janos is still at the far end, struggling to pinpoint my location. From this section of the room, the rumble of the machines makes it harder than ever. Still, I take it as slow as possible, being cautious with every step.

I’m about ten feet away. From my current angle, Janos’s upper body is blocked by the length of the vent. I can see the tip of his right shoulder. Moving in a bit closer, I get the back of his head and the rest of his arm. Less than five feet to go. He’s looking around — definitely lost. In his right hand is the black box, which looks like an old Walkman. In his left is the Senator’s nine iron. If I’m right, those are the only weapons he’s got. Anything else — a knife or a gun — he’d never get through the metal detector.

He’s just a few feet away. I grit my teeth and raise the pliers. The wind whips through the tunnel, almost like it’s picking up speed. Below my feet, there’s a slight crackle. A stray piece of plaster snaps in half. I freeze. Janos doesn’t move.

He didn’t hear it. Everything’s okay. Counting to myself, I shift my weight, ready to pounce.

I’m so close, I can see the stitching on the back belt loop of his slacks, and the overgrown stubble on the back of his neck. I almost forgot how big he is. From down here, he’s a giant. I tighten my jaw and raise the pliers even higher. On three: one… two…

Springing upward, I jack-in-the-box straight at him and aim the pliers at the back of his neck. In a blur, Janos spins around, holding the neck of the golf club and swatting the pliers from my hand. They go flying across the room. Before I can even react, he’s got his other arm up in the air. In one quick movement, it arcs downward. And the black box stabs directly at my chest.