Langley, Seventh Floor of the CIA Headquarters.
The air here always carries a slight cool ozone scent from precision instruments operating, mixed with the rich aroma of top-grade coffee beans and a kind of intangible pressure.
The thick carpet absorbs all noise, leaving only the low, constant hum of the central air conditioning system, like the unwearied heartbeat of this building.
Simon took a deep breath, suppressing the untimely nervousness in his chest, and knocked twice with clear, confident sounds on the heavy walnut door of the Director's office.
"Come in."
Director Vincent's voice came through the door, as steady as a smoothly polished granite.
Simon pushed the door open and entered.
Through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows, the generous early summer afternoon sunlight of Virginia poured in, gilding the interior's wooden furniture and the obscure abstract paintings on the walls with a dazzling golden edge.
