Truth. Justice. Minesweeper.

Wednesday, April 21, 2004

Came into work this afternoon and the office was empty. The lights were off, there was no dial tone on the phone, and the computer couldn't access any of the special databases. I tried calling Cruickshank and then Greyghost on my cellphone, and their numbers were out of service. Ingrid's number was active, but nobody picked up.

This sucks. They shut down the whole office and don't even tell me what's going on. It's not right.

Idea. I looked up SPIA in the address book, and called that number. A cold female voice said, "Hello."

"Hi. I work for Greyghost and I was wondering if anyone had seen him."

Pause. "How did you get this number?"

"From Greyghost." Not entirely untrue. Just mostly.


That bitch. I called back. No answer, this time.

All right, what else can I do . . .

I pulled all the keys out of the bottom of the desk and tried the door to Greyghost's office or tunnel or whatever it is. It was locked, and none of my keys worked. Okay. But let's think. Is there a chance that Carl wangled a key to the inner sanctum and hid it someplace? Let's think like Carl.

First, Carl would definitely want to have a key to that door. Second, he's probably intrepid enough to get one, somehow. Third, he'd keep it a secret, but he wouldn't keep it all that secret. Fourth, he wouldn't abuse the key if he had it; he'd save it for emergencies.

I checked the filing cabinet under E and found a folder labeled 'Emergency'. I found a lot of interesting-looking things, most of which I resolved to check out later, and two identical rings of keys. I took one and left the other.

One of the keys did indeed fit. I opened the door and slipped in. No lightswitch, so I just followed my way around the wall to my left. This place was a tunnel, all right, and one that led in the direction of the basements of the houses on Watersound Terrace. Pitch black, of course. Cautiously, with one hand on the wall beside me, I crept down the tunnel.

I'm not sure how far I had gone when I heard someone beside me. Someone breathing, or moving, or something. "Who's there?" I said. "It's Dennis."

I felt a touch on my right ear, and then I don't remember much of anything. I know something happened in between the ear and waking up on the brown couch in my apartment, but I can't fill it in.

I hauled myself upright and checked the phone for messages. There was one from Cruickshank suggesting that I don't go into the office for the next couple of days. Okay, then, I won't.

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