"Time for your daily dose, my good friend," Dr. Simon called as he unlocked the door.
The patient turned his head. His grin was cracked. His single exposed eye rolled up in his head.
Simon shivered. It was uncanny how much a resemblance to Uncle Sam Beasley the man bore. Of course, had Uncle Sam lived, he would be much much older than this poor wretch. In fact, the joke on the floor went, Uncle Sam was so old if he had lived he'd still be dead.
"Time for your meds," he said cheerily, handing over a single bright pink pill and a paper cup filled with water.
The patient accepted them. He frowned at the pill when he looked it over. "This is the wrong color. It should be purple."
"Nonsense. It's your usual. Now take it."
The patient obliged. He popped the pink pill into his mouth, chasing it down with water.
"Open, please."
The patient opened his mouth. When the questing tongue depressor showed that the pink pill hadn't been hidden under the tongue or secreted between teeth and cheek, Dr. Simon nodded and continued his rounds.
He was very surprised to find a familiar lemony face staring out of a padded cell a few doors down.
"Dr. Smith?"
"Bring Brull here," Smith said hoarsely. "Tell him I have something important to say to him."
"But what... Why?"
"Get Dick Brull!" Harold Smith thundered.
BRULL WASTED NO TIME getting to Dr. Smith's cell.
"Had enough, Smith?" he gloated, eyes straining to see over the lower edge of the door window.
"I am prepared to tell you what you want to know."
"Shoot."
"You are correct. Folcroft Sanitarium is a secret US. installation"
"Of course I'm correct." Brull's eyes narrowed. "But how correct am I?"
"This is not a CIA site."
"No?"
"When I came to Folcroft, it was a sociological research center. That much is true. Over the years it became a hospital for special long-term-care cases. But that is only a cover."
"Come on. Out with it. A cover for what?"
"The Federal Emergency Management Agency."
"FEMA," said Smith.
"FEMA," repeated Big Dick Brull in an uncertain voice. "What kind of FEMA operation?"
"You are aware of the mission of FEMA-the true mission?"
"Yeah, emergency preparedness in the event of nuclear war. IRS has a doomsday program just like it. If we ever got nuked, the service has emergency powers to levy a flat tax on everybody."
"The Federal Emergency Management Agency was set up to handle domestic disasters such as hurricanes, floods, earthquakes and other natural calamities. Ostensibly."
"And done a damn poor job of it until recently."
"Until the Cold War ended, you mean. Since then, the actual mission of FEMA has leaked out. The agency was set up to keep the US. government operating in a postnuclear environment. Among the assets are mobile communications vans designed to keep the fractured power centers in touch with one another. These centers are hardened safe sites scattered throughout the nation. The broad plan was very simple. Should there be a nuclear attack, the President, First Family and certain key members of the legislative and judicial branches will be whisked to these hardened sites. From these places, a skeleton government will operate until the emergency has passed."
Brull swallowed.
Smith went on. "I told you that I represented an agency more powerful than IRS. This is it. Folcroft is a FEMA site."
"What kind? I mean, we're a heck of a long way from Washington."
"If that information were to come into your possession," Smith said coldly, "I would be sanctioned to terminate your life on the spot."
"You can't do that," Brull barked. "I'm essential IRS personnel."
"And I am FEMA."
"This is crap. It's just words. I don't buy any of it. Not without hard, concrete proof."
"Proof could be dangerous to your health," Smith said grimly.
"Don't screw with me, Smith. We can't take people's words for things in the service. I gotta have solid, verifiable proof before I close the books on this seizure.
"Does that mean you are prepared to relinquish IRS control over Folcroft once its bona fides are established?"
Brull hesitated. "Maybe."
"You know that as powerful as you are, as important as IRS is, FEMA is essential to national security in the event of a catastrophe."
"Says fucking you," Brull snarled.
"Bear in mind that in order for IRS to continue operating in a postnuclear scenario, it must have a secret site. A FEMA site."
"Why didn't you tell me all this before?"
"I am sworn to keep these secrets. You have forced my hand through your gross incompetence. I only hope we can resolve this matter without having to resort to extreme measures to ensure your silence."
"Okay, okay, I'll play this out. But where's my proof?"