A minute later I almost bumped into a handsome ponytailed college kid in jeans and a plaid shirt, playing the classical violin on the polished marble floor of the stunning Beaux Arts station.
Normally, positive things like classical music and grand architecture put a smile on my face, but I guess I wasn’t in the mood. After my encounter with its power, the majestic polish of DC had really left a bad taste in my mouth. Like the robotic Air Force colonel’s office, it was pleasant but seemed all veneer. Just something nice and distracting to look at while who-the-heck-knew-what went on behind the scenes.
My train wasn’t due to leave for another half hour, so I decided to do some shopping. I was in the upper mezzanine level of the station in a cool old-fashioned general store called Union General, buying some gifts for the kids, when a woman bumped into me.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, reaching down and picking up a plastic bag off the floor. Gray-haired and middle-aged, she wore green nursing scrubs. “Here, sir. You dropped something.”
“No, you’re mistaken, ma’am. That’s not mine,” I said.
“You dropped this,” she said again, and gave me a look. Then she turned and quickly left the store without looking back.
What the—? I stared after the woman as she disappeared into the crowd.
Inside the bag was a bottle of Coke and the Washington Post. Inside the Post was a folded piece of paper with a typed name and address.
Paul Haber
200 Lincoln Lane
Marble Spring, Pennsylvania
Under the name and address was a one-sentence message, also typed.
THIS MAN KNOWS WHAT YOU’RE LOOKING FOR.
“How do you like that? Manna from heaven,” I mumbled. I put the note back into the bag and headed quickly for the store exit.