The man looked around the tunnel of dirt that he was inside. The pathway was narrow, just enough for two people to squeeze by each other. It was almost like it was designed like that to slow down any intruder. A launched assault was only possible in a single file. He felt the long-hardened ground around him and rubbed it in between his two fingertips. Frowning, he wiped his hand onto his dirty jeans and ventured further onwards, not allowing the claustrophobia to get to him. He walked towards the faint glow that guided his way. The dirt quickly turned into smooth white walls, illuminated by lights fixed to the concrete ceiling. He walked through the narrow corridor and stopped, looking at the solid metal door in front of him. He slowly put his ear to the door and listened in. A second later, he drew his head back in a slight shock and then hastily made his way back through the tunnel. He reached into his pocket, drawing out a phone. Tapping the screen, he called a number. “Our suspicions have been confirmed, sir.” He said, still making his way out of possible earshot.
“Where does the tunnel lead?” The voice on the other side asked.
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“I do not know yet. What I do know is that there is a steel door with populus enim pulvis engraved onto it. Does that mean anything to you?”
“It’s Latin. It means for the people are dust.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“What’s behind the door?”
“People. I heard voices. Many voices. Maybe it is some sort of secret group, operating from within the shadows.”
“How long has it been since the building site was put up there?”
“It has been 25 years, sir.”
“That finally explains it. The architect is also most likely living down there.” Suddenly the voice quietly muttered to himself. “It can't be him.” The voice sighed. “Good job, get back for a debrief.”
Before the man had time to say anything else, the call ended. The voice called another number, putting the phone to his ear.
“Put me through to the chief of MI5 please.”
