P Deutermann - Darkside

“Team four, no contact.”

“Team five, no contact.”

“Team six, no contact, no nothing.”

“Team seven, no contact, no vampires.”

“Okay, people,” the chief came up. “Remember, this is surveillance. No contact just means the game hasn’t started yet.”

There was an instant of silence, and then a new voice came up on the circuit. “This is station eight. I’ve got lots of contacts.”

Another moment of silence, and then the chief was back on. “Who’s fucking around?” he called.

No one answered. Jim looked at Branner. Station eight? Not team eight? Neither had recognized that voice as being one they’d heard on previous comms checks. Then the motion detector board lighted up.

“We have motion in the cross tunnel under Buchanan Road,” Jim announced to the net. A second light came up. “Going past the supe’s house. Moving toward Dahlgren.”

Branner leaned down to study the light panel. Using a grease pencil, Jim had drawn a rough diagram of the tunnel complex onto a piece of plywood. He’d put numbers next to X ’s on the diagram, indicating where the chief’s team had placed motion detectors. Then he’d coded a map of the streets and major buildings above ground to indicate where each numbered detector was. Each team had a copy of the coded street map.

“Team four, watch your grate,” the chief ordered.

“Team four,” came the laconic acknowledgment. As in, What do you think we’re doing?

“He’s past four’s grate,” Jim announced on the net, still puzzling over the “station eight” call. “Four, you’re now in position to get behind him.”

“Roger that; say when,” four answered.

A third light came on, indicating that something had turned the corner at the dogleg turn and was now headed up the main tunnel.

“He’s going pretty slow for a runner,” Branner said, watching the lights. “And what was that ‘station eight’ bullshit about ‘lots of contacts’?”

“Don’t know,” Jim said, concentrating on the lights. “But when he passes team six, that’ll give us two teams behind him and us in front. That’s when we go.”

At that moment, there was a loud clicking noise as all the lights out in the main corridor went off, followed a moment later by the lights in the switchboard room. The PWC watch officer, who had been monitoring the tactical net, came up and announced that the tunnel lighting breakers had been thrown in the vicinity of the dogleg turn.

Branner had her flashlight out, pointed into a tight white cone at her feet so as not to reveal their position to anyone out in the passageway.

“Where exactly is that breaker box?” Jim asked.

The PWC watch officer described the location, and Jim pointed down to the diagram. “The lights indicate he’s here, but that breaker is behind that position. Two of them?”

Before Branner could answer, they both felt a movement in the air, and the door to their vault swung open on silent hinges. The air moved again, as if a pressure differential had been created somewhere down the tunnel.

“Team four,” Jim ordered. “Enter your grating, head toward the river and turn left up under Stribling now. Possible contact a hundred feet in from your entry position. Team six, stand by.”

“Four, roger, coming in now.”

“Six, standing by.”

“Let’s go,” Jim said to Branner. “Whatever’s coming up the tunnel’s only a hundred and fifty feet away.”

“Suits me,” she said, getting to her feet and checking her stun gun. They’d elected to equip each team with the stun guns, rather than take chances with ricocheting bullets down in the maze of concrete tunnels. Given some of the things the runner had already done, however, everyone still had a sidearm.

Jim pulled the shoulder mike into his left hand and kept his Maglite in his right hand. Branner could cover both of them if there were shooting to be done. That station eight business was still nibbling at the edge of his mind. ‘Lots of contacts’? Then he had a thought: Was it him? Had their runner broken into the tactical net?

They stepped out the opened door and felt a definite movement of air in their faces. Almost a draft, not too strong, but coming toward them. Why? Where was the air coming from? Jim tried to review the tunnel layout in his mind, but the darkness had his attention. They stood just outside the telephone switchboard vault, and the light board down on the floor was still visible. He glanced back and saw yet another light blink on. Whatever was coming up the tunnel was closer by fifty feet.

“This is zero, what’s happening, three?”

“This is three; stand by,” Jim said, and then nudged Branner. “Lights,” he said, and they both shot bright white beams down the main tunnel in the direction of what was coming. What they saw startled them both. It looked like a huge metal sphere. It filled the tunnel and was rolling right toward them. Their flashlights reflected off the smooth surface as if it were glass, but it was definitely moving.

“We have a metal sphere coming down the tunnel right at us,” Jim announced to the net, wondering why the sphere wasn’t making any noise.

“What the fuck is that thing?” Branner whispered, pointing her stun gun even as she realized it would be useless. The huge sphere kept coming, not too fast, but not slowing down, either, rolling right at them. Jim felt the weight of the concrete ceiling bearing down on him as he just stood there watching this thing.

“Three, this is team four; where are you?”

“Standing just outside our hidey-hole. There’s this thing going up the tunnel. Where are you?”

“Right behind it, three,” the other voice said. “It’s a big metal ball of some kind. Rolling all by itself.”

“I’m gonna shoot it,” Branner growled, reaching for her Glock.

“Negative,” Jim shouted, batting her hand down. “Four’s right behind it. I know what that is-it’s a balloon! It’s a Mylar weather balloon. That’s why we can’t hear it.” He called out on the net that the thing was a weather balloon. When it reached them, Jim put his hand out. His finger pressed into it, and then the huge sphere bounced off his hand and stopped rolling.

“If I can’t shoot it, I’m gonna pop it,” Branner said, angry now that someone had been screwing around with them. She pulled a knife and jabbed at the balloon, which popped with a dull bang and then deflated. They were left facing the flashlights of team four, two Yard cops who were staring down at the puddle of metallic plastic between them.

“Okay,” one of them said. “What’s up with this shit?”

At that moment, the radio went off. “Hey there, boys and girls,” the station eight voice said. “Are we having fun yet?” This was followed by laughter, and then silence. Then the lights flashed back on in the main tunnel. Jim looked down at the mike in his hand and swore.

The teams convened back at the naval station police building thirty minutes later for a debrief. Branner kicked things off.

“It’s obvious those tunnels belong to this guy as much as they belong to PWC,” she said. “He was into the retransmitter freq from the git-go.”

“It almost sounds like he has a closed-circuit TV system down there,” the chief offered. “I mean, it’s like he could see what was happening, where people were.”

“How the hell did he control the lights?” one of the cops asked.

“The lights are on lighting transformers,” the PWC engineer said. “They’re set out in blocks along the tunnels, so you don’t lose all the lights if one fixture has a ground or other problem. It’s marked LIGHTING TRANSFORMER right on the box.”

“Did you guys have lights when you came down?” Jim asked the men on team four.