Inside the building it was surprisingly busy for so early in the morning. At least thirty people were walking around the lobby which was just beyond the wide entrance hall and the metal detectors. Some of them wearing long coats and business suits, some of them police officers, some of them secretaries, each of them adorned with a laminated, white identification tag clipped onto their clothing. Seeing the tags sparked the man's memory. He walked over to a small bench and placed his briefcase on it. Carefully turning the numbered wheels parallel to the handle, he unlocked and opened it, to take out a single, manilla envelope. Inside the envelope was a letter and one of the laminated, white identification tags. He clipped the tag to the left lapel of his suit jacket, and walked down the hall. He approached the metal detectors, and placed his briefcase on the conveyer belt in front of the X-ray machine.
A curly haired lady handed him a small, plastic basket without a word. The man dropped his keys, a handful of change and a plastic encased silver dollar into the teal basket. Looking up at him, the lady took the basket and looked up at him. "Go ahead Sir."
"Thank you."
He walked forward past the X-Ray machine, and through the empty doorframe of the metal detector. The machine clicked quietly as he walked through it, but did not beep. After he was through the detector, a large police officer walked over to him with a hand held metal detector.
"Please hold up your arms sir"
As he did, the officer waved the humming wand over the man's body, starting from his right foot, then up under his arm, over his head, across his arm, then under it. As soon as it got to under his left arm, it began a shrill beeping.
The whole floor stopped dead in their tracks. The officer immediately dropped his hand to his gun and narrowed his brow. He put the hand held metal detector on top of the man's briefcase which had just come out from the X-ray machine's probing tunnel.
The man looked surprised, and moved his hands to look into his coat.
"Do not move a muscle sir," the officer unclipped the clasp on his gun's holster, "put your hands behind your head."
The man hesitated for a moment, then did so.
Without taking his eyes off the man, the officer motioned for his counterpart, the other officer to cover him. He also had his hand on his gun.
The officer reached forward to check where the metal detector gone off. He felt under the armpit, for a shoulder holster.
"I don't have a gun officer, it's just --"
"I said don't move a muscle!"
The officer reached into the man's breast pocket.
"Found something!"
The lady behind the X-ray machine ducked behind it, and someone screamed. The other officer pulled out his gun and aimed it for the man's head.
Carefully grasping the object in the pocket, he kept his unrelenting stoic, gaze upon the man and pulled out a metal case. With one hand, pushed the button to open it only to find it empty aside from a maroon piece of fabric which dropped down to the floor.
"It's just my glasses case sir. I forgot to put it in the tray. I'm sorry."
Both officers breathed a heavy sigh of relief "He's clean. False alarm."
"May I put my arms down, officer?"
The officer smiled a bit, "You may. We have to be extra cautious with what happened in Oklahoma not too long ago."
"I understand. Am I free to go?"
"Yes, please be on your way," he handed him his glasses case. With that, he picked up his briefcase and his basket of items. He walked down the hall to the busy lobby, catching the stray glance from some of the its denizens.
He walked to the reception counter and stood in line behind a rather tall, skinny man wearing an offensively bright, orange shirt and carrying a white plastic bag.
The orange shirted man walked to the large oak desk and began to speak with the receptionist. Their conversation did not last for more than a few minutes before the man with the orange shirt yelled at the woman to "Go screw herself," then stormed out muttering about the "damn government."
Taking off his hat to expose a head of short dirty blonde hair, he walked to the desk where a pretty, young receptionist sat. He placed his hat on the counter as she looked up and forced a weak smile in.
"It's a Monday alright, how can I help you sir?"
"Yes, I'm Mr. Goodwin, first name Brian." He returned the smile. She typed the name into the computer that sat humming to her left. "Alright, what is the nature . . ." she trailed off.
"Is there something wrong?"
"No, um, not at all. It would appear I have a letter for you. Please wait a minute as I go get it" her showing a obvious signs of confusion.
She hopped off her stool, and walked over to a wall of slots where she pulled out another small, manila envelope. She brought it back to the desk, handed it to Brian and took her seat.
"Is that all?"
"It would appear so sir. I would assume you are to read the letter, there's a bench over there by the water fountain you can use" a slender arm adorned with a single bracelet pointed to the porcelain fountain over his left shoulder.
"Alright. Thank you miss."
"You're welcome, sir. Have a nice day," she smiled at him again. Brian stepped out of line and began walking to the bench. The envelope had his name typed onto its front was taped shut. He was about to open it when he heard his name being called out. "Sir! Mr. Goodwin!"
He turned around to see the receptionist again jogging towards him, holding his hat. She arrived at where he stood. "You forgot your hat sir."
He smiled again, "Thank you very much. You were right, it is a Monday."
She smiled again, and walked back to her desk.
He placed his hat atop his head, and sat on the dark oak bench. Opening the envelope with his forefinger, he found a letter and what looked to be a white credit card.
Brian examined the card for a moment; it had a black magnetic bar across it, but was otherwise blank piece of plastic. He placed the card on his lap and unfolded the letter.
"Room 702. Floor 7. Take the elevator. 6357281."
"Floor seven?" he repeated aloud.
Brian's confusion had mounted to a newer level with the acquisition of the card and the this new letter. The other letter had at least been addressed to him at the top of the page. This one only contained the scarce text and the FBI letterhead.
He put the letter back into the envelope, then back into his briefcase, and the card into his jacket pocket. He stood up, and walked towards the four large and rather ornate elevators, two of which with their doors open There another security guard sized him up, checked his identification tag and nodded at him.
"Thank you," said Brian as he walked into the elevator. Inside the elevator was empty, and very clean. Brian could see his reflection in the metal plate where the buttons were. Looking into the lobby he noticed a slight commotion in the hall where the metal detectors were and unpleasantly remembered his previous ordeal with them.

Page Three
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