A Girl Named Digit by Annabel Monaghan Page A

“The role of a lifetime, hon.” She ignored him.
    John sat down in the chair across from Steven’s desk and folded his arms as if he were done and quite satisfied with himself. “So, I guess that’s it. As soon as we assign someone to Farrah, they’ll be off.”
    Steven, quiet until now, got up and walked around his desk. “John, I think I am going to give you the job this time.”
    John was really surprised. Hadn’t they ever let him out of the building? “But, sir, I’m not . . . I’m only . . .”
    “You’re the perfect guy for the job. Now all of you say your goodbyes and get out of here.”

I’d Rather Be Home in Bed
     
    As it turns out, the Federal Building on Wilshire Boulevard is a hub for hideouts all over the West Coast. When John and I were ready to leave, we were escorted to a fourth elevator bank that took us to the twelfth floor, no stops. We were silent as we rode up with a uniformed security person who was acting like he was protecting an armored car full of cash. His eyes darted right, then left, then right again, as he scanned the moving elevator car for intruders. When the doors opened, he motioned for us to stay inside until he had visually checked the area. Having satisfied himself, he stepped aside so that we could walk out into yet another lobby.
    A middle-aged woman in a navy suit stood to greet us. “I am Hannah Devine, and you must be Farrah and John.” John and I smiled and nodded and shook her hand like a couple of trained monkeys. It occurred to me just then that John knew nearly as little about what to expect as I did. He’d probably heard about where we were headed, but this was his first field assignment. “I was charged with assembling your survival kits, but frankly I’ve rarely been given so little time. I hope you find everything to your satisfaction, and if you need any—Oh, it’s time for you to leave now.” She turned to see the frame on the door behind her light up into a bright red.
    The mute security guy pushed the door open and quickly pressed his thumb into the print reader on the inside wall to hold it open. He motioned for us to hurry up, so we each grabbed a small black duffle bag from Hannah’s outstretched arms and followed him. He keyed some numbers into the pad above the print reader and the door slammed shut. A few more numbers and a pair of metal elevator doors slid out of the walls and met to completely enclose us in a silver box. The security guy spoke for the first time. “You might want to hold on to something.”
    I lightly grasped the handrail behind me, and John did the same. He rolled his eyes at me, the first sign of levity since we’d identified Creepy. The elevator started to descend, a little more quickly than normal. Then it started to accelerate so fast that I was sure we were no longer connected to any elevator cables at all. And how could we be falling so far? We’d only gone up to the twelfth floor.
    We stopped abruptly, and I stumbled a little. John grabbed my upper arm to steady me and then immediately let go. We started moving again, this time sideways and fast, like we were on a train.
    John wasn’t surprised about this at all. “We have entered the Subterranean Transport Network. We are about a half mile below-ground. This elevator car will now take us to our secure location.”
    “Which is . . . ?”
    “I forgot to ask.” John cleared his throat to get the attention of the security guy. “Um, sorry, I forgot to ask. Where exactly will we be hiding?”
    “I have been instructed to leave you in an interior compartment of building six in sector 312.”
    John shrugged and translated, “Downtown L.A., abandoned warehouse. It won’t be terribly comfortable, but they’ll never look there.”
    “It’s also my responsibility to collect any traceable electronic devices at this point. FBI-issued cell phones are fine, but any others must be relinquished at this time.”
    John turned to me. “You have a cell