The Ugliest Building

Mark Twain called the building I work in, “The ugliest building in America.” I agree. The Dwight D. Eisenhower Executive Office Building isn’t the largest in Washington, D.C., but its imposing façade makes it feel like it is. I work for the Office of E-Government and Information Technology. I have a satellite office in the bowels of this monstrosity. Working in this building gives us quick access to both the President and Vice-President because they also have offices here. This access may be why I’m in this situation, or maybe it’s the project I’m assigned to, or both.

Every Tuesday, weather permitting, I leave my cubbyhole office for lunch at the Founding Farmers Restaurant. It’s a seven-minute walk up 17th to Pennsylvania Ave. I can get in some steps and enjoy the green space of Edward R. Murrow Community Park as I pass by. Today’s springtime breeze offered hints of the summer heat that would soon roast the city. My mind was in the clouds when I felt a bump from behind. I turned to see who it was when a second man joined the first and jostled me toward the curb. As I struggled to free myself, an unmarked van screeched to a stop alongside us, its sliding side door already opened. A third man reached out from inside the vehicle and within seconds, I was captured. We had just taken a right on H St. NW, when a thick black hood was roughly pulled over my head, and my world went dark.

Unable to see, I no longer had any points of reference. My sense of time and distance became scrambled. I tried silently keeping a running count the way many of the heroes in thriller novels do when they find themselves in a similar situation. After about two minutes of counting, I realized how useless the exercise was and stopped. Instead, I would try to remain calm, listen for any conversations my captors may have, and be ready to escape should an opportunity present itself.

Once my pulse stopped pounding in my ears, I tried to figure out why someone would want to snatch me off a public street in broad daylight. Yes, I have a top-secret clearance because my agency is involved in thwarting cyber-attacks, but we work as a team. One person would not have enough information to be worth risking a kidnapping. Maybe it was my access badge. No one can enter the building without swiping their badge and placing their hand on a fingerprint reader. Was that their plan? Would they take me somewhere secret, steal my I.D., and cut off my hands? While I was running various scenarios of what was about to happen in my mind, the van came to a halt and shut down.

The door slid open, and without saying a word, two of my kidnappers, one on either side, pulled me from the vehicle. My head still covered, they guided me through what seemed like a corridor and pushed me into an elevator. With no way of knowing what floor we stopped at, all I could do was follow their lead as we walked down another corridor. I had no idea what type of building we were in, but it felt eerily quiet. A door opened, and they pushed me through, pinning me against a wall. My heart raced and sweat oozed from every pore. I felt the zip ties being cut from my wrists. Reflex took over, and I reached for the hood, but powerful hands immediately restrained both arms. A raspy male voice croaked, “Don’t move.” Then, a door slammed shut, and I was alone, surrounded by deadly quiet.

Several minutes passed before I realized I was alone. I mustered enough courage to remove the hood. Scanning my surroundings, I saw it was an oversized closet, not a room. A single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling showed me where the exit was. Seizing the opportunity to escape, I made a dash for the door and tried the knob—it turned. With all my senses on high alert, I cautiously stepped out into a large, darkened area. Immediately, the overhead lights sparked to life and a chorus of Happy Birthday echoed throughout the room. Relief washed over me.

A coworker explains, “We know how much you like thrillers, so we put you in one for your birthday.”

It’s an ugly building, but it’s filled with beautiful people.