Heroic Measures (continued)

November 12, 2001 . . .

Walter pulled into the parking garage. He was concerned to find it mostly empty, and then remembered that it was a federal holiday. Many of the businesses in the neighborhood were closed in its observance.

That explains the traffic jam at the downtown off-ramp, he realized. The parade must still be going on.

He was reassured when he spotted a familiar red, white, and blue-themed motorcycle. The paint job on it seemed new.

I wonder if Marc bought himself a new one with the insurance money . . .

Walter pulled into a spot near the elevator that led down to the main lobby. He saw a handful of other cars parked in scattered spaces throughout the level, but he recognized none of them.

Not surprising, he told himself, as I haven’t seen some of these people in years.

He got out of the car, locked it, and headed for the elevator. After pressing the button, he waited, watching the numbers change as it rose from the lobby floor. He felt curiously vulnerable standing there alone, but nothing in his senses warned him that he was in immediate danger.

Nerves, he scolded himself silently. I know it’s been a while, but get yourself together. You have more to fear from Abby for taking this time away from her and the boys.

The elevator chimed and Walter tensed as the doors slid open. The car was empty, but it still took a long moment before he was convinced that it was safe to enter it.

He stepped inside and pressed for the lobby level. It was not until the doors had closed completely, and the lift began to descend, that he breathed easier.

The chime that sounded as the elevator car reached the lobby interrupted his thoughts. He had been thinking back over other times when he had come here, usually on official hero-related business. It did not bring on the melancholy that he had expected, but it still felt like something more than mere nostalgia.

Walter walked across the foyer, noting that Raynes kept the marble floor as spotlessly polished as ever. He did not recognize either of the guards stationed at the security desk, but they seemed to know him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Eastman,” the older of the two men said.

He did not rise, but Walter got the sense that his body had a round shape similar to that of his head. If Raynes still maintained his high standards, Walter knew that very little of it would be flab.

“If you’ll follow me, sir,” the younger guard said, gesturing toward the interior of the building.

He waited for Walter to join him before continuing toward the inner bank of elevators.

Taller, and thinner in proportion than the other guard, he moved with a surprising grace.

Cat-like, Walter considered. And probably as fast.

He pressed the button to call the elevator and then waited with Walter until it arrived. Walter stepped inside and turned around to face the doorway. As they closed in front of him, he saw that the guard continued standing there.