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sewer system. Where’s your security? Don’t tell me you’re the only one here?”
    His gun lowered to his side. Looking around, realizing now he was the only one still at the site, he said, “We don’t work on Sundays … you should know that. What did you say your name was?”
    “I meant your security. Are you daft? Of course I know things are shut down on Sundays … but trespassers don’t give a shit what day it is.”
    “Security is making their rounds. They just left …” he looked at his watch, “twenty minutes ago.”
    I mentally suggested to him that he put his gun away. He hesitated, then raised it up again. “Why not just contact me by radio? Why come all the way down here?”
    I let out a long breath, looking annoyed. “Do I look like I have a radio on me? You think I carry it around for everyone to see? I’m a fucking gardener.” I was now getting more useful information from his mind. He definitely didn’t trust me—suspected something amiss—and mentally was running through all the access points I could have used. This underground system, whatever it was, was vast. Something referred to as the Hydrospan .
    “Let me take a look at your engineering drawings. I’ll show you where the—”
    “Stay right there!”
    Halfway down the mound I stopped and held up my hands. My mind flashed to Pippa. I didn’t have time for delays.
    “Shoot me, then. Just be prepared for what Heidi will do to you.” I put my arms down, walked the rest of the way off the mound, up the steps, and onto the platform he was standing on. I moved past him and entered the construction office. In his mind, his thoughts noted I smelled like shit.
    The confined office space was taken up with a desk. A large computer was running, its screen displaying multi-colored CAD-type drawings. A close-by drafting table was littered with giant, schematic-type engineering drawings. Countless other paper rolls were piled around the office.
    “Show me … where are we here?” I asked, standing at the table.
    I noticed the gun was now tucked into the back of his pants as he moved to my side. He used a marker to circle one small section on the plans. What I was looking at was the largest civil engineering feat in the history of the United States … perhaps the world. Billions … maybe trillions of dollars of investment must have been requisitioned for this kind of enterprise to succeed. More importantly, its magnitude and scope could not have gone unnoticed. At a minimum, city water and electrical utilities would be alerted to such a vast undertaking. Even though the construction site was a hundred fifty to two hundred feet down, this underground venture couldn’t have gone undetected, which meant high-placed government officials had some kind of involvement.
    “Wie heißt du?” What is your name , I asked.
    “Moritz. Zeigen Sie mir, wo er entdeckt wurde.” Show me where he was spotted.
    I tried to make heads or tails of the plans in front of me—thousands of intricate lines and symbols, which, for the most part, made no sense. The tiny text was written in German. Then I spotted FDR Gedenkstätte, the FDR Memorial.
    “Right here … near the FDR Memorial.”
    “Ahh … yes, there is an access point there.” He used his marker to draw a line, starting at the memorial, then straight down into what looked to be a sewer line. Through a series of right and left turns, the line finally ended right here, at this deep, subterranean level.
    Moritz continued to look at the plans but his mind was racing. He no longer believed my story. He knew, beyond any doubt, that it was me who shouldn’t be there. The truth was, my story was weak. I was surprised he’d bought into it as long as he had. In the end, though, he was an engineer, not an operative. In a fraction of a second, I pulled the gun from the back of his pants and pointed it at his head. “Okay, Moritz, we have a lot to discuss. Take a seat.”
     
    * * *
     
    Apparently, the