J.A. Konrath / Jack Kilborn Trilogy - Three Scary Thriller Novels (Origin, The List, Haunted House) Read Free Page A

wheel in the center, like a submarine hatch. Race stopped in front of the door and cleared his throat. He leaned closer to Andy, locking eyes with him.
    “Three hundred million Americans have lived during the last century, and you are only the forty-third to ever enter this compound. During your time here and for the rest of your life afterwards, you’re going to be sworn to absolute secrecy. Failure to keep this secret will lead to your trial and inevitable execution for treason.”
    “Execution,” Andy repeated.
    “The Rosenbergs were numbers twenty-two and twenty-three. You didn’t buy that crap about selling nuclear secrets, did you?”
    Andy blinked. “I’m in an episode of the X-files.”
    “That old TV show? They wish they had what we do.”
    Race opened the door and bade Andy to enter. They’d stepped into a modern hospital. Or at least, that’s what it looked like. Everything was white, from the tiled floors and painted walls to the fluorescent lights recessed into the ceiling. A disinfectant smell wafted through the air, cooled by air conditioning. They walked down a hallway, the clicking of Andy’s expensive shoes amplified to an almost comic echo. It could have been a hundred other buildings Andy had been in before, except this one was several hundred feet underground and harbored some kind of government secret.
    Andy asked, “This was built in 1906?”
    “Well, it’s been improved upon as the years have gone by. Didn’t get fluorescent lights till 1938. In ‘49 we added the Orange Arm and the Purple Arm. We’re always replacing, updating. Just got a Jacuzzi in ‘99, but it’s on the fritz.”
    “How big is this place?”
    “About 75,000 square feet. Took two years to dig it all out. God gets most of the credit, though. Most of this space is a series of natural caves. Not nearly the size of the Carlsbad Caverns two hundred miles to the east, but enough for our purpose.”
    “Speaking of purpose…”
    “We’re getting to that.”
    The hallway curved gradually to the right and Andy noted that the doors were all numbered in yellow paint with the word
YELLOW
stenciled above them. Andy guessed correctly that they were in the Yellow Arm of the complex, and was happy that at least one thing made sense.
    “What’s that smell?” Andy asked, noting that the pleasant scent of lemon and pine had been overtaken by a distinct farm-like odor.
    “The sheep, over in Orange 12. They just came in last week, and they stink like, well, sheep. We think we can solve the problem with Hepa filters, but it will take some time.”
    “Sheep,” Andy said. He wondered, idly, if he’d been brought here to interpret their bleating.
    The hallway they were taking ended at a doorway, and Race ushered Andy through it and into a large round room that had six doors along its walls. Each door was a different color.
    “Center of the complex. The head of the Octopus, so to speak. I believe you’ve got a call waiting for you.”
    In the middle of the room was a large round table, circled with leather executive-type office chairs. Computer monitors, electronic gizmos, and a mess of cords and papers haphazardly covered the table top as if they’d been dropped there from a great height.
    Race sat Andy down in front of a screen and tapped a few commands on a keyboard. The President’s head and shoulders appeared on the flat-screen monitor, and he nodded at Andy as if they were in the same room.
    “Video phone, got it in ‘04.” Race winked.
    “Mr. Dennison, thank you for coming. You’ve done your country a great service.”
    The President looked and sounded like he always did, fit, commanding, and sincere. Obviously he’d had a chance to sleep.
    “Where do I talk?” Andy asked Race.
    “Right at the screen. There’s a mike and a camera housed in the monitor.”
    Andy leaned forward.
    “Mr. President, I’d really like to know what’s going on and what I’m supposed to be doing here.”
    “You were chosen, Andy,