It confused him; he lost count how many times he went over the letter and checked the authenticity of it. It was a letter from the president but why was he selected to take part of the project?
The letter waited for him in his office as he came back from lunch. Bradley was lucky; he rarely blew off practice. Had he stuck with his regular schedule, he wouldn’t have received the envelope until the next week. Bradley made the last-minute decision to work on a few things in his company; after making headlines with the season he had, he placed his “hobby” on hold.
He accepted the complimentary ticket even though he could’ve driven to DC. But he would not deny a first-class trip; never mind he had enough to afford his own private jet. Bradley Smith, IV wasn’t a braggart.
He reflected to the reason for his forced participation: was it because of the light stint he did in a military prep school? His stepfather persuaded his mother into sending him at a young age; he noticed the man disapproved of him. Bradley shook the memory out of his brain; he was a child: what did that have to do with the present moment? He hardly remembered what they attempted to teach him at the academy!
He sighed as he got off the plane. The one positive part was that the trip was spur-of-the-moment; there would be no crazed autograph seekers waiting for him in the terminal. He moved his hand through his strawberry blond curls; moving away for a year might do him good. He didn't know what pressure he would be under but he was confident it would be less irksome than what he dealt with.
No sooner had he strode inside the terminal, he bumped into three men in dark suits. Secret Service, he said to himself. Bradley refrained from rolling his eyes, seeing that the three didn’t mistreat him. In fact, they treated him like a valuable commodity.
They didn't speak to each other as the men guided Bradley to an unmarked vehicle with black privacy tint. He peered around to see if anybody observed but hardly two people looked his direction. Everyone else went on with their activities. It unsettled him at the ten-minute silence in the car. Bradley desired to ask all the questions he had but he remained quiet; what convinced him they would tell him anything?
The journey ended at a secured small building, which peaked his curiosity. Bradley had traveled to DC plenty of times but he didn't recognize where he was or the building’s purpose. Examining his surroundings offered even fewer indications of his whereabouts. The area disappointed Bradley: he figured he would go to the Pentagon; a place he’d never been. Still, no words were uttered as they passed through the building. There was nothing inside and it disturbed him a bit. What if this was a trap? Bradley wanted to laugh; why would anybody go through those lengths to kidnap him?
They came to a room that resembled the lobby of a prominent hotel; it definitely was large enough, he noticed. The carpet was of a lavish crimson and there were large leather lounge armchairs spread about the room.
“The president will be with you soon.” one man spoke. Bradley opened his mouth at least to thank the man but the door shut before a sound came out. He heard the mechanical noises of locks from the outside and he studied the door. It was firm; too sturdy to kick open. The only way out would be to remove the door. He ran his hand over the golden hinges and shook his head; that would do no good. A reinforced door: someone would have to literally blast their way out.
Bradley’s thoughts broke off as he heard movement behind him. He turned and studied the room once again; the arrangement of the chairs and the size of the room concealed whoever was in there. He had expected no one would be, and that put him on alert. Bradley cleared his throat, hoping that whoever was in there would make themselves known. Instead of hanging around, he made his way further inside the room and jumped as six pairs of eyes rested on him.
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