35
The doorbell rang at precisely quarter to six.
“Good morning, sir. Special Agent Harrison. May I hold your briefcase for you?” said a six-foot-tall African-American man dressed in a black suit that was wired up for sight and sound from head to toe.
“No, thank you, and where is Henry?” Tom asked.
“Secret Service, sir,” Harrison replied. “I am to escort you to the Roosevelt Room, sir.”
Tom followed him to the elevator where Harrison inserted his elevator pass in a slot and punched in a code. The elevator went down for a long time without stopping at any floors and the indicator light stayed on the floor where Tom had been picked up. We’re deep underground, Tom thought, at least six levels under the car park.
The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out into a corridor and stood o
