Douglas Dorow - The Ninth District

“Give me that,” he said, grabbing the stub of a joint from the mouth of the one who’d jumped earlier when he’d yelled down at them. He pinched what remained of the joint between his finger and thumb, put it to his lips, sucked in a lungful of the sweet smoke, and held it in. He dropped the soggy tip of the joint on the ground and rubbed it into the floor with the toe of his boot. He closed his eyes and fought the urge to exhale, feeling the calmness return. Finally, he exhaled, the smoke swirling in the beams from the headlamps of the crew. “God, I hate that crawl.”

“You said it, boss, we call it the Mother Earth birth canal. That bitch pushes us out of that hole and we enter this world head first.” The three laughed.

The Governor looked at them. “OK, guys, what have I said about leaving the caves?” His head swung back and forth, the beam from his headlamp slashing across their faces as they sat looking up at him. “I think I’ve made it perfectly clear that you need to be careful. I saw you guys walking along the riverbank.” He looked each one of them in the eye. “I don’t want this operation put at risk. We’ve got too much riding on this.”

They all hung their heads, their headlamps pointing at their toes, afraid to challenge their leader. The older of the two brothers finally looked up and spoke.

“We just needed a break, boss. You know how this underground shit can get to you after a while. We just decided we were due a little fresh air and a look at the stars.”

“Plus, we think we’ve made some real progress. It was a little celebration,” the younger brother added.

The Governor looked the three over. They did seem genuinely excited. “Well, lead the way. Let’s see what you three have accomplished.”

The Governor followed the three through the tunnels, the shafts of light from their headlamps and flashlights cutting through the darkness ahead of them. Leading the way was Dave, the tunnel rat. The Governor had run into him a couple of years ago on a journey into the tunnels and sewers on Nicollet Island, across the Mississippi from the Federal Reserve. Dave was experienced underground, beginning his expeditions into the sewers and tunnels of St. Paul when he was in high school. He expanded his reach into Minneapolis for new adventures and knew his way around the tunnels and sewers on both sides of the river. He showed the Governor the tunnels and routes he knew and they discovered new ones together. The Governor recruited him into the group with promises of a new adventure with great rewards at the end.

Steve and Rick were next. They were experienced diggers, brothers who were part of a local construction crew that specialized in digging through the layers of sandstone and limestone for various projects under the city. They were used to spending time underground in tight spaces and handling equipment used for digging. He’d recruited them from a bar in downtown Minneapolis as they sat and watched a woman take off her clothes. He bought the drinks and they talked about being underground, their dreams of the big project allowing them to end this life. Maybe buy a boat on an island and have a dive shop. He knew if he got Rick, Steve would follow. He did.

He was glad he knew how to pick people, read their feelings and desires. He was glad these three had agreed to join him. If they hadn’t, they wouldn’t have made it back alive from their first journey into the caves.

Forty-five minutes into the hike, the Governor and his crew reached the site they had been working. To reach it they had passed through a couple more caves and tunnels, traversed a river of sewage, and entered a gate they kept locked and covered with official looking signs describing the fines for trespassing into a posted city construction project. They weren’t the only ones who were exploring the bowels of the city. The underground explorers and adventure seekers, like Dave, were around, but they were like rats; they tried to avoid detection and contact with others.

The four gathered in the opening where Dave stopped, their headlamps illuminating the walls and equipment and the hoses that ran along the ground into a dark opening in the floor. They were all breathing heavily and had beads of sweat running down their cheeks. After passing around a jug of water, the Governor walked over to the area of the most recent digging.

“Ok, let’s see what you’ve done.”

Steve was excited and started, “Boss, we think we’ve hit the old bridge cable-stay pits, just like you said we would.” They were standing forty feet below the traffic that passed overhead, entering and exiting the west end of the Hennepin Avenue Bridge. The current suspension bridge that carried traffic across the Mississippi was modeled after similar suspension bridges that had been built here in the mid to late 1800’s. The pits they had been looking for and discovered had anchored the cables of one of the past bridges.

He paused for some sort of response, and getting none, he continued. “So that gives us a pretty good idea of where we are, and we know where we’re going, right? We just need to figure out how we’re going to get there.”

The Governor looked over the site with his hands on his hips, a slight smile spreading across his lips.

“Gentlemen, this is great. You were right; you did have reason to celebrate.” He clapped his hands together. “From here, we find the shaft on my maps which will get us down to the next chamber and from there it’s about another thirty or forty feet to the target. We’re definitely making progress and we’re right on schedule. Who has the papers?”

Dave pulled them out of his pocket and handed them to the Governor. He removed the papers from the zip-loc bag, unfolded them, and spread them out on a dry spot on the floor. They all knelt and trained their lights on the drawings, waiting for him to speak. The top sheet was a plan view that showed the street level of the area above them. The Governor folded back that sheet and shone his headlamp on the next. The second page showed the overhead view of the underground. Tunnel locations he and Dave had mapped, old cable-stay pits, forgotten underground foundations, and the black lines where he had drawn in the outline of the Federal Reserve vault.

The Governor pointed to their location on the map. “We should be about here, just like you said, Steve. Northwest of this location, about one hundred and twenty feet, and about twenty feet lower, is where we’re going. Find a layer of sandstone and we should be able to dig our way there with spoons.” He folded back the page to expose the next. “This is the goal.”

Steve looked at his brother and then at the Governor. “Can you tell us about it again?”

The Governor looked at him, then closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. He was a little light-headed. He didn’t know if it was the pot, the hike in, or the excitement of the moment. He opened his eyes and looked directly at Steve.

“The Ninth District Federal Reserve vault houses twenty million dollars. It is a nearly impenetrable wall of solid concrete and steel with walls almost two feet thick, with one million pounds of rebar in four mats of number five bars, four inches on-center, staggered one inch per mat. But, there’s an access door from when it was constructed. That’s how we’re going in.”

Jack opened his eyes, but he didn’t move. He stared straight up, taking in the shapes and shadows of the textured ceiling. The only sound he could hear was the beating of his own heart pounding in his ears, so loud he couldn’t go back to sleep if he tried. The light was beginning to filter through the Venetian blinds, illuminating the dust moats floating overhead. He flattened his right hand onto the cotton sheet and slid it to his right, hoping, praying that it would bump into a warm body. All he felt was the coolness of the sheet on the bed next to him. He was alone.