Detective Danny Cavanaugh 01 - The Brink

There were three separate sets of double doors, one on each wall. Cannon nodded to the set right in front of them.
    “The entrance to the tunnels is beyond those doors,” he whispered as he held up his weapon. “There should be a guard just inside.”
    Cannon moved to a keycard panel hanging next to the doors. He inserted his card, typed in his access code, and the door buzzed. He swung open the door and, as promised, a surprised guard jumped up from his chair.
    “Christ, Sarge. You scared the shit out of me.”
    “Sorry, Pulido. All quiet down here?”
    Pulido nodded. “Just fighting my eyelids, Sarge.”
    Cannon holstered his gun. He turned to Danny. “I don’t know about Koontz, but I like my steak medium.”
    Danny heard Cannon, but he wasn’t listening to him. He still trusted his gut feeling telling him something wasn’t right here.
    What am I not seeing?
    He jogged back out into the open area behind them. He ran around the support columns again, looking for anything that he missed.
    “What are these railways for?” Danny asked Cannon as he loped back from the escape tunnel entrance.
    Cannon’s eyes trailed down the railway. “Capitol subway system. These lines run to and from the Rayburn building.”
    “Is it just for members of Congress or is it open to the public?”
    “Just for Congress and their staffers, unless one of them is escorting a visitor.”
    A subway system. Danny’s heartbeat picked up its pace. A major part of the infiltration plan so far used tunnels and a subway, the Metro. Tunnels and subways. Could the bad guys have gone to the well twice? He stared down the passageway and pictured it weaving its way underneath the earth to the Rayburn building. Butcher could have recruited a member of Congress or a congressional staff member to share his vision. That person could have escorted a bomber down here. But where could they have planted the bomb? Danny pictured a faceless bomber riding the subway. Riding the subway. A moving bomb would be harder to locate, he thought. The only problem with that theory is there wasn’t a train car in sight.
    Danny started running down the passageway. Suddenly, he froze. Another channel sliced off to his right. He saw a stubby, cream-colored subway train resting in the shadows at the end of a short hallway.
    Subways and tunnels .
    Danny ran to the train. It was elevated off its track by hydraulic jacks underneath each car. Each of the five cars contained two bench seats facing each other, room enough for twenty people. The top half of each open-air car was encapsulated by sheets of clear Plexiglas.
    “What are you doing, Cavanaugh?” Cannon asked, hoofing up behind him.
    “Do you know much about these trains?” Danny asked as he stepped into the first car and began examining it. He got down on his hands and knees and looked under each bench.
    “Not a clue. All I know is that this car has been out of service for a couple weeks now,” Cannon explained.
    Danny popped his head up. Out of service. Of course. He pictured men dressed in workmen’s outfits, men who had manipulated the camera network, gaining access through the tunnel during off hours and then carrying toolboxes over to this train to work on it. But they weren’t real workmen, and they didn’t have the kind of tools and supplies needed to repair a subway train.
    Danny slid down on his stomach and began examining the underbelly of the train.
    Exasperation laced Cannon’s voice. “What the hell are you doing? I saw the dogs go over this very train myself. And my monitor is still showing 0.0. It’s clean.”
    Danny flipped over on his back and pushed himself into a crawl space between the train and its track.
    “Cavanaugh, get out from under there. I don’t know if that track’s hot. If it is, you’re history, bomb or no bomb.”
    Danny wasn’t listening. He stared at every inch of the train’s mechanics around him: wheels, rotors, gearboxes, suspension dampers, and thick bunches of electrical wiring. Could someone hide a bomb in all this? Maybe a nuke deep inside, where it couldn’t be detected? He had no idea, but he did have a good idea who might know.
    Find the lowest man on the totem pole.
    Danny squeezed out from under the train, pulled out his cell phone, and quickly dialed.
    “Hello?”
    “Hello, Luther?”
    Luther Smalls grumbled a yes into the phone.
    “Luther, it’s Sergeant Cavanaugh from the Metro station.”
    “Yes, Sergeant. I remember you. How could I