The Classified Files of the State — Part One
Part One.
The city was already blanketed in an immense fog at a quarter to four, a sure sign that winter had arrived. Nonetheless, the reflection of the Thames River could still be seen, illuminated by the lamps from a bygone era that lined its shore. This historic sight was a perennial draw for tourists.
Though I passed this street every day, I had never noticed such sublime beauty. It wasn’t until I was on the bus, heading home from work, that I appreciated the view. The driver had slowed down as we crossed the Vauxhall Bridge, the traffic notoriously chaotic due to the numerous intersections and traffic lights that forced drivers to turn left to avoid the U.S. Embassy on the other side of the river. On the opposite corner, just in front of the bridge, stood the MI6 building — the headquarters of the British Secret Service.
As I gazed out the window, my eyes were drawn to one of the windows of the buildings that lined the river. A transparent curtain was partially drawn, as if intentionally left that way to allow the southeast wind to slip through, or perhaps as an easy escape route to the old metal bridge — a path to nowhere.
From my seat, I could make out the silhouette of someone inside the building. Judging by the long hair, I…
