They walked down the tunnel in the direction of Bancroft Hall. The tunnel expanded into a vestibule area next to the storm drain access, the flaps of which sloped down from the floor at a forty-five-degree angle. The flaps, hinged and spring-loaded, would open with water pressure on the tunnel side, but otherwise they’d remain closed to any access from the drain itself. They searched the cableways, lighting fixtures, and electrical junction boxes until they found the diminutive detector-transceiver. It was taped to the underside of a telephone system amplifier and pointed out into the main passageway. The mirror was in place directly across from it. There did not appear to be anything amiss with the installation-the wires were in place and the box was intact, its tiny laser aperture pointing correctly across the passageway at the receiver.
“This thing should have worked if he came up the tunnel this way from Bancroft,” Jim said.
“But if he knew where it was, couldn’t he have simply crawled under it?” Branner asked.
“Yeah, but these lasers are not in the visible light range. It’s not like he could see little beams of light shining across the tunnel. Unless he had a detector of his own. And there’s no way he could have that.”
Branner shook her head. “ I’ve got one,” she said. “On the dash of my car.”
Jim thought about it. “You mean like a police radar detector? But he’d still have to be in the beam to get a detection.”
“Not necessarily,” she said. “That thing shoots a laser beam across the tunnel. The mirror here reflects it back. Something intrudes, the detector sends an alarm. But there has to be some scattering of the refracted light. Down here in a concrete tunnel, that would go everywhere. All he’d have to do is carry a laser detector in his hand to know that these things were down here. Then he could go looking for them.”
“And getting on our tactical freq-all that would take is a police-band scanner. It wasn’t as if we were encrypted.”
“Right. Not much magic to it, once you think about it.”
“But at least some familiarity with electronics. So we’re looking for some whiz kid in the double-E lab.”
“Got any of those here at the Naval Academy?” she asked.
“Only a couple hundred,” he said. “And the thing is, he’s had time, lots of time, to rig his own shit down here if he wanted to. For all we know, he’s got a motion-detector net of his own. These mids have access to real radars, advanced computer networks, acoustic transducers, video-based fire-control systems-you name it, they’re taught it.”
“Let’s get out of here,” she said. “This place is giving me the creeps.”
Jim had been thinking the same thing. The silence, the strange-smelling atmosphere, the feeling of being pressed in by all the bare concrete, and a mental image of that vampire face had been working on him ever since they had come back down. That and a feeling of helplessness when confronted by the fact that their quarry could just as easily be their hunter.
Once back outside, they both took a moment to breathe in some fresh air. The night was clear and almost warm, with a small breeze carrying a hint of salt air in from the bay. Bancroft Hall was lighted up as usual as the midweek press of the regular academic load and the impending approach of exams kept the midnight oil burning.
“So how’d he do the balloon?”
“Inflated it in the tunnel-they use a cylinder of helium. Not very big. And then he wedged a grating door open to create a pressure gradient toward us. It wasn’t rocket science.”
“This guy’s defeating us,” Branner said.
“There’s still one window open,” Jim replied, heading for his truck. “That one-on-one challenge. I started that with a mark on his tag. He replied that night when he sent that tennis ball down the passageway. Now he’s come back with it.”
“What’s the HMC bit?”
“I put that over his tag-Hall-Man-Chu. HMC. Tagger bullshit.”
“You’re not seriously thinking of going down there alone, are you?”
“I’m seriously thinking of making it look like I’m down there alone.” He grinned at her. “You up for an adventure?”
“I’m up for getting him down there and then filling the tunnels full of carbon monoxide,” she growled.
“He’s probably got a detector for that, too. Wal-Mart sells them, as I remember. Where’s your Bronco?”
“Out by the Maryland Avenue gate. Assuming the locals haven’t boosted it.”
“My ride’s right over here, in front of the supe’s quarters. Want to come back to the boat for a nightcap?”
She stopped and looked around at the Yard. Globed streetlights shone through the spidery branches of black trees. Down along the river, the big academic buildings were still fully illuminated. Behind them the looming silhouette of the chapel blacked out an entire chunk of the night horizon. “I feel really shitty about what happened to Bagger,” she said finally. “I should go back to the office. Check voice mail, messages. The thing is, I don’t much want to go back to the office. Or to my apartment tonight.”
“There are two guest cabins on the boat,” he said. “C’mon back with me. You can take your pick. We’ll get some wine, sit up on deck until the dew gets too heavy.”
She gave him a brief, weary smile. “Why not?” she said. “Can’t dance.”
“Follow me,” he said, suddenly happy for her company. “I’ll give you a lift to the main gate.”
An hour later, they sat watching the lights across the harbor from the cockpit of his boat. It turned out she kept an overnight kit in her Bronco, and she’d changed into a loose-fitting workout suit. He’d given her a sweater and a ball cap, and he’d changed into jeans and a sweater. Jupiter was in his cage, partially covered against the night breeze coming in from the bay. Jim had some single malt; Branner had opted for wine.
“Where are you from originally?” he asked.
“Omaha,” she said. “My parents were both cops. He was a detective before he retired, and she worked for Internal Affairs.”
“If she’s was as good-looking as you are, she must have been downright lethal.”
“Thank you, sir. And she was. Lethal, I mean. She could drink any man under the table and they’d tell her anything. Not that we had a big police corruption problem in dear old Omaha.”
“You do college?”
“Creighton, right there in town. Jesuit school. Took a prelaw curriculum.”
“Wow. So what happened?”
“Met too many lawyers,” she said. “Even married one, just for grins. Big mistake. All fixed now, though.”
He decided not to ask what “all fixed” meant. He told her about growing up in Pensacola at his father’s boatyard. He admitted to her that he didn’t really enjoy going very far out into the Gulf.
“Truth be told, I’m prone to seasickness,” he said. “Which is why I don’t take this beauty out on the bay, either.”
“I’m with you,” she said. “Being from Omaha, the ocean was just about the biggest damned thing I’d ever seen. And then a marine biologist told me one day at the beach that they called the first two hundred yards out into the water ‘the feeding zone.’ So now I just look at it.”
“I’m sure there’s plenty of sharks out there in the bay,” he said. “But the big threat around here are the damned jellyfish.”
“There you go,” she said, settling into the sweater, which she had thrown loosely over her shoulders. “Another reason to stay on nice dry land. I don’t like the water, and I don’t like confined spaces, either.”
“Like tunnels.”
“Exactly.”
He was a little surprised. After all that redhead bluster, Branner was actually scared of a couple things. Although, he had to admit, she’d gone right down there with him.
“You date much around here?” he asked.
“Nope. Mostly work. I was seeing this guy up in D.C. for a while, but he faded. A couple of Sunday nights getting home on Route Fifty during beach season took the fun right out of it. How about you?”
“Nobody special. The female mids are too young, and most of the tourists are too old. I party with the marina people once in awhile, but that’s a pretty wet-drunk scene after about eleven at night. Occasionally, things work out.”