Along one long stretch the air reverberated with a rushing like a vast vacuum, and the ceiling appeared to be one huge pipe.
"What is this roaring pipe?" Zorilla wondered.
"Waste-disposal," the driver said. "Takes all the trash and debris from topside and dumps it into trash-compactors for removal."
"Ah, brilliant," said Zorilla admiringly.
The utility vehicle came to a dead end and stopped, with but an inch between its rubber bumpers and a steel sliding door.
Zorilla was taken to the door and the driver inserted a magnetic card into a chrome-mouthed slot. The door rolled back, revealing a common elevator interior.
"The lift will take you where you need to go," said the driver.
"Gracias, " said Zorilla again, stepping aboard. The door rolled shut. The lift rose.
The ride was short. The doors slipped open, and he was looking into a conference room rich in woods and indirectly lit.
When he had stepped off, a cherry-wood panel rolled back into place, concealing all traces of the lift.
"Please be seated, Comandante," said a voice. It was coming from a lonely-looking speakerphone atop the long conference table.
Zorilla took the seat at the end.
"Comandante, I have been in touch with the Director. He sends his sincere regrets. The loss of Ultima Hora was an avoidable tragedy. They are the worst kind."
"Gracias, Senor Drake," said Zorilla in a thick voice.
"The organization commends your bravery under fire and your willingness to execute distasteful duties."
"I am a soldier of the Americas," Zorilla said simply.
"We know you are. And we know that you would never willingly betray the operation, as Dr. Revuelta has."
"Revuelta?"
"He was in touch by phone. The two who followed you here approached him. Revuelta gave you up under torture."
"Followed me here? What do you mean, followed me here?"
"Dr. Revuelta has offered his sincere apologies."
"I accept," Zorilla said quickly. "But by what do you mean, 'followed me here'? No one followed me here."
"The two unknown unfriendlies did," Drake's voice said flatly. The tonality of the speakerphone was perfect. There was no distortion. It was as if the man were in the room, but invisible.
"I do not believe it," Zorilla said bitingly.
A frosted wall panel glowed into life. On the oversized screen appeared corridors similar to the ones Comandante Zorilla had just traveled. The lean Anglo and the ancient Korean were visible, examining a line of trucks.
"Impossible," he hissed.
"But as you can see, true."
"What would you have me do?"
"The Director asks that you accept decruitment."
Zorilla recoiled, as if from the lash of a whip.
"But I am prepared to go on," he protested. "I have trained to lead the landing party."
"The operation has redundancy built into it at all levels."
"But I am a key component."
"None of us is key. Except the Director. We have to assume the unknown unfriendlies have superiors they have already reported to. Your name is known. But the trail ends here. No one leaves. Therefore there are no further leads."
"But-"
"Comandante, the future of the operation, not to mention the fate of your native land, hangs in the balance. I ask that you reflect on the situation, and your operational responsibilities. You have your orders."
"Si, " said Comandante Leopoldo Zorilla, unbuttoning the blouse pocket of his insignia-less uniform and extracting a pack of chewing gum.
His eyes on the screen as the camera tracked the two strange men, he mechanically slid off the paper wrapper and peeled the foil from the gum. Ever the military man, he took the refuse and with the remaining pack replaced them in his blouse pocket, which he rebuttoned.
Then, he put the stick into his mouth and began to chew.
He was still watching the screen when his eyes rolled back in his head and he keeled over.
After a few minutes, the cherry-wood panel slid open and two uniformed soldiers stepped out. They checked the body for signs of life and, finding none, went to a blank wall.
A magnetic keycard caused a chutelike drawer to drop down.
A faint howling came from far below.
Comandante Leopoldo Zorilla's still warm body went feet-first into this. The drawer closed on his thick black hair, and the soldiers disappeared into the elevator.
After a moment the image of the two figures on the screen winked out and the room was still, except for the quiet hum of the air conditioner.
Chapter 14
The great door dropped, and a locking latch as big as a nautical anchor rolled up out of the poured concrete floor and secured the guillotine of steel.
"This," Remo said uneasily, "reminds me of one of those underground nuclear command centers."
The Master of Sinanju looked about the space before them. It was a parking area. There were cars, vans, a few forklifts, and a pair of golf cart-like utility vehicles.