It sits to the left, third down on the long corridor running underneath the facility. Ahead, the cement hallway is lit by staggered fluorescent panels, several bulbs humming and flickering in their cages like animals. The end of the hall splits, ten ways from what Eli says. Each individual tunnel leads to one of the missiles that are dug into the ground and capped by a hydraulic, steel covering. But it isn’t the missiles Zoey wants to see. She needs what is behind the door. Her fingers tingle as she reaches out and twists the knob. Pushes it open to a dark room. “The switch is on your left,” Lyle says from behind her. He stands with his hands bound before him. Merrill and Tia flank the small man. The first thing she sees when the lights come on are open file cabinets, their interiors toothless mouths. The floor is littered with dozens of sheets of paper. There is a desk in one corner, a large computer screen taking up most of its top. Against the opposite wall is a graveyard of circuit boards, computer screens, jumbled and twisted wires.
