Gene adjusted his bag on his shoulder and pressed the elevator button. The complete lack of any other sound made the hum of electricity dominate the granite lined chamber. Somewhere in the bowels of the building cables were pulling and gears were turning. A bright blue number popped up on the screen above the elevator to the left of him, dots beside it flickering so to imitate an arrow moving down. No going back now, he thought.
Nausea twinged sharply in each breath. Some part of this felt like a trap, but he wasn't sure if that was because that was likely or because there was a big old Chekov's gun telling him that the details of his environment couldn't be so sharp, clear and specific if they weren't also significant in some way. The threat of an ambush certainly made a rather pedestrian interface on a normal elevator seem significant. Perhaps that was it.
When the elevator doors opened he found himself staring into an empty cabin, its mirrored walls showing him different angles on his own regret. This is idiotic, Gene thought. They wanted something from him. This whole stupid thing had started because they wanted something from him. If they killed him they didn't get it. And Ethan had already demonstrated they could find him and track him through his normal life. Why would they bother constructing an elaborate scenario--a meeting as much cloak and dagger as possible--just to kill him? Especially in a city like DC where drive by shootings happened on streets with expensive French bistros and luxury condos? A city where people drove stick to prevent themselves from being car jacked by 12 year olds? If they wanted him dead, Gene decided, this was a really shitty way to go about it.
"Typically one needs to step on the elevator to have it successfully take you to the right floor."
Gene glanced at Ethan from the corner of his eye. The older man was perfectly outfitted: crease in his pants so sharp it looked like he hadn't sat down all day, white button down shirt practically seamless, it was like he had taken a break at 6pm to go have himself dry cleaned.
"Maybe I planned on taking the stairs," Gene replied.
"For what possible reason would you walk up eight flights of stairs?"
"So I know exactly where they are when I need to run down them and out of the building."
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