“Sergeant Harvey, come in!” Harvey’s two-way radio crackled in the dark. He grimaced in the dark as he realized he forgot to switch it off. They had covered nearly two miles walking through a series of interconnected subterranean tunnels. The last thing they needed now was to be found out by his scurrilous supervisor. Reaching for the switch on his belt, he turned it off.
As he pulled a lantern from its cradle on the painted concrete wall, Harvey fumbled with his breast pocket, extracting a matchbook. The sulphurous stick sparked in the dark as Harvey lit the lamp. The pale glow grew to illuminate the corridor, casting framework shadows over the three bedraggled men.
Lawrence held on to Joe for dear life, who was now humming consoling jingles to himself. God knows what would happen to them if he realized what was going on. Harvey sighed and held the lantern outstretched to the darkness.
“I know this is going to be difficult, but don’t worry. Stay here a moment while I make the call.” Harvey walked into the darkness and pulled a small rectangular box from his pocket and began to speak in code. “Nutkin, come in Nutkin. The beavers have safely reached the dam. Awaiting the acorn of beneficence.”
“Twinkleberry?” the response crackled.
Harvey sighed, embarrassed. “Yes, sire.”
“Why do you call me ‘sire’?”
“You told me to, sir.”
“I did?” There was a long pause.
“Yes, indeed you did.”
“How odd! Do you have the fugitives?”
“They are with me now and we’re at the third drop point. Please advise.”
“Very well. I…” there was a sudden growling on the other end, then silence. After moment, the voice on the other side cleared his throat. “We are most pleased to hear of your progress, Admiral. Please, thou may’st enter our presence. Over and out.”
Harvey sighed heavily and rejoined the group. Lawrence looked at him expectantly. “Who was that?”
“It’s a long and complicated story. To sum up, he is an agent of the government spying on illegal corporate practices at this facility. He used to work here. Given his knowledge of the structure, the Feds ate him up. Nine months ago they planted him down here to receive and monitor all transmissions through a network as part of the sting. There’s just one problem.”
“What?”
“He’s gone mad.”
“Ah.”
“Ah.” Harvey nodded and scratched his beard. “He’s with it most of the time, but A.J. isn’t exactly whole. He’s the best at what he does, so when you meet him allow for a bit of eccentricity. He thinks he’s Edward IV. Things…” he gestured with the lamp, “work differently down here in the underground, but the most important thing you need to know is that they do work, because of him. No one in the upper echelon knows about our system and we like to keep it that way.”
“What is the underground?”
“It’s hard to explain, but it’s rather like a family within the larger family of VirCorp. A secret society of current and former employees helping each other. We call it the underground, because when we met, we used to meet down here after hours. With so much disused real estate, some of us even lived down here to skirt having to pay rent after The Purges.”
“What do you get in exchange?”
“Like I said, help and a place to stay. We were a community—something that corporate culture has slowly disintegrated. It was a nightmare trying to get work when the economy took yet another dive. We all pitched in to help each other out. Later on and in good turn, A.J. got some of us on the payroll as his agents. It’s what helped keep most of us going at or above a subsistence wage. The underground flourished with a bit of help from Uncle Sam.”
“Why weren’t we invited?” Lawrence whined, half-jesting. “I’ve been here long enough to help out!”
“Did you work in the executive suites?”
“No, I cleaned up in the labs.”
“That’s why, then. R&D is valuable stuff, make no bones about it. But the FBI needed intel from the chain of command. Memos, receipts and the like. Shredded documents, painfully put back together.”
“I see. What does A.J. want with us?”
“An excellent question. As you both are aware, you have been part of a plot. While you are the lowest rungs in this scheme, you also have come through it,” he eyed Joe, “relatively in tact. Basically, we want your testimony and a signed affidavit.”
“Then what happens to us?”
“We get you the hell out of here as soon as possible and into protective custody.”
“I don’t know about this. Whistle-blowers tend to have their lives ruined in the aftermath.”
“The underground and hopefully even the government will provide for the both of you. Just look at the alternative, Lawrence. Do you want to go back to that nightmare?”
Lawrence froze, then nodded. “I suppose you’re right. It’s not like I have any love for this company any more. OK. I agree.”
“Very well, then. The real trouble will be your friend there.”
Joe was feeling the cracked paint on the walls, humming the employee loyalty song, lost in the texture. “You know, with a little bit of VirCorp Lad brand indoor/outdoor paint, I think we could make this place real shiny. Then we could invite every one down and sing company-sanctioned songs together!”
“Um. We’ll think about it,” Harvey looked from Joe to Lawrence and laughed when he saw the look of abandon on his face. “The sooner we get there the better, OK?”
Lawrence nodded.
"So, when you meet the King, show respect. Hell, patronize him. Think of it like meeting a real king. Keep your heads.”
Lawrence took a long look at Joe, who was attempting to strip the paint from the walls with his fingernails. Sighing, he looked at Harvey and nodded.
“Good,” Harvey cleared his throat. “Now please, stay close to the light. We still have a bit of ground to cover and it’s going to get stickier along the way.”
