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answer.
    “So you think he regretted his involvement in the Manhattan Project?” he continued.
    “I think he had a choice.”
    He came to a halt directly in front of his desk, which only made Travis feel even more uncomfortable.
    “Did he?”

 
    Chapter Four

     
    Scott stepped off the steel maglev train as the doors slid open. A humid draft of stale air blew in his face, carrying a nauseating smell of stagnated water on corroded metal, making him want to vomit. He was never quite sure what gave off the smell; it could have been the large number of chemical barrels that littered the place or worse—rotten flesh. In all the time he had traveled on the train, he still hadn’t become accustomed to the effects caused by the g-force speed; it made his stomach feel queasy. The journey had always been fast from Los Alamos to Dulce. What would have taken a few hours by car took only minutes beneath the ground, but it was long enough for him. His secondary place of work was hidden away in a base located deep under the Archuleta Mesa, of which he had learned was only one of several underground bases joined together through a network of tunnels—tunnels that to his amazement spread as far as the east coast.
    As Scott passed through the usual security check, which involved a retina scan, finger scan and weight check, he remembered the first time he and several others were taken to their assigned areas in the facility. He recalled how he touched the smooth walls thinking they were polished glass only to find out later they had been formed using a tunnel-boring machine that melted rock. It was fast, quiet and could burrow holes through the hardest of rock in seconds. It was discreet and even the best technology in the world wouldn’t be able to detect the bases that existed below the surface. Not even those in the highest level of government knew about their existence and if they did, they were probably one of them. It wasn’t as if Scott hadn’t heard people talk about underground facilities. It was hard not to be drawn into the wild and crazy stories when Ed Logan’s radio show was the only station in town. He’d heard about the worker at the Green Briar Hotel in West Virginia who had leaked to the Washington Post the existence of a mini base beneath it in May of 1992 and how they had no choice but to come forward and come up with a cover-up. And they came up with a convincing one, spinning a story that it was developed as a congressional facility for the continuity of government in the event of a nuclear war. But like most in the town Scott had written off anyone who spoke on the show as crazy conspiracy theorists, until he was assigned to this project. They made a mistake once; now they knew how to keep people quiet. The whistleblower was never seen again. The thought of what lay ahead if he failed made his blood run cold.
    After being given the all clear, Scott made his way along one of the dimly illuminated subterranean tunnels to a central elevator shaft. Rarely did co-workers speak to each other; there was a feeling that their every word was being monitored. There he would board with other workers and be taken up to level 3, where the labs and main offices were. Over time he had discovered that the base had ten levels, though he hadn’t seen them all; each one was dedicated to different areas of research, experimentation and storage. As they passed by level 2, Scott sealed his eyes shut, a routine he had become accustomed to doing; the sight was too unbearable to witness, no matter what he had been told. As the elevator passed through level 2, as far as the eye could see were men, women and children housed in pod chambers secured by illuminated restraints. Only once in their orientation had they ever been allowed access to level 2, and even then they were escorted by armed personnel. They had been told that they were never to engage with them and that the research that they would be conducting was to cure those with