The Zero Game

We stay with the group as they make their way under the grand domed ceiling of the rotunda and directly below to the Crypt, the circular room that now serves as an exhibition area for blueprints, drawings, and other historical Capitol documents. The guide explains that the rounded shape of the Crypt structurally supports not only the rotunda but also the Capitol dome directly above it. On cue, the entire group crane their necks up to the ceiling – and Viv and I slip out to the right, through the doorway next to the Samuel Adams statue. Racing down a wide set of sandstone stairs, I reach into my shirt and pull out the chain with my ID. Behind me, I can hear Viv’s jingling around her neck. From tourists to staffers in one minute or less.

“Narcs…” Viv whispers as we hit the bottom step. She motions to our far right. Up the hallway, two Capitol police are headed our way. They still don’t see us, but I’m not about to take a chance. Grabbing Viv’s wrist, I twist around the marble banister and tug her to the right, off the main hallway. A freestanding sign reads, No Tours Beyond This Point. I blow past it so fast, I almost knock it over. I’ve been back here before – it’s still open to staff. The hallway dead-ends at a black wrought-iron gate with a slight arch on top.

“Isn’t it amazing?” I ask Viv, shoving some pep in my voice.

“Incredible,” she says, following my lead. Behind the gate, under a rectangular glass case, a long black cloth is draped over what looks like a coffin. The plaque on our right, however, tells us it’s the wooden catafalque that supported the bodies of Lincoln, Kennedy, LBJ, and everyone else who has ever lain in state in the Capitol.

Over my shoulder, the click-clack of boots on the floor lets me know the Capitol cops are just about to pass. Trying to look like staffers but feeling like prisoners, Viv and I hold tight to the bars, staring into the tiny concrete cell. Located at the direct center of the Capitol, the small, dank room was originally designed to be a tomb for George and Martha Washington. Today, their bodies are at Mount Vernon, and this room is just for storing the catafalque. I shut my eyes. The Capitol police are getting closer. I try to stay focused, but even without Washington ’s remains, this crouched little space still smells like death.

“Harris, they’re coming…” Viv whispers.

Back in the hallway, the footsteps are right behind us. One of them stops. There’s a crackle through his radio. Next to me, I can hear Viv praying.

“Yeah, we’ll be right there,” one of the cops says.

The footsteps pick up – there’s no doubt they’re getting closer – and then, just like that, they’re gone.

As usual, Viv’s first to react. Spinning around, she slowly checks back toward the hallway. “I think we’re okay,” she says. “Yeah… they left.”

Refusing to turn around, I still cling to the bars.

“Harris, we should hurry…”

I know she’s right – we’re almost there – but as I stare at the dark black shroud… watching it drape lifelessly over the almost hundred-and-fifty-year-old coffin stand… I can’t help but feel that, if we’re not careful, the next bodies around here are going to be our own.

“You sure this is the way?” Viv asks, running in front of me even though I’m supposed to be leading.

“Keep going,” I tell her as she follows the hallway to the right, weaving us even deeper through the sand-colored corridors of the concrete basement. Unlike the rest of the Capitol, the halls down here are narrow and cramped, a labyrinth of random turns that’s taken us past garbage rooms, paint storage, HVAC equipment, and every type of repair shop from electrical to plumbing to elevator care. Worst of all, the further we go, the more the ceiling seems to shrink, the headroom eaten up by air ducts, water pipes, and random wiring. When I used to bring Matthew down here, he would bitch because he’d have to duck to get around. Viv and I don’t have that problem.

“You swear this looks familiar?” Viv asks as the ceiling gets lower.

“Absolutely,” I tell her. I don’t blame her for being nervous. In the more heavily trafficked areas, there’re signs on the walls to make sure Members and staff don’t get lost. I glance up at the spider web of cracks along the walls. We haven’t seen a sign for at least three minutes. On top of that, as we go deeper, the hallway seems to fill up with stacks of discarded equipment: broken file cabinets, antique upholstered chairs, industrial-sized spools of cable wire, rolling garbage bins, even a stack of old rusted pipes.