Meg could disarm the timing mechanism on a plutonium bomb in under three minutes with just gum, tweezers and a nail file, but for some reason she always had trouble finding the right key to lock her apartment door. After rummaging through the bottom of her blue Kate Spade handbag hoping the third time would be the charm, she pulled out a chain attached on one end to a silver key and a dangleyboop in the shape of a pirate's skull and crossbones on the other.

"Finally," she huffed, sticking the key into the lock while pulling the doorknob toward her. After turning the contraption until she could hear the click of the deadbolt, she spun around to leave, but didn't make it two paces before her neighbor's door opened.

"Good morning," the handsome-in-that-nerdy-kind-of-way man said as he stepped out. A mix of Clark Kent and Harry Potter, he'd moved in two years ago just a few weeks after her. They often left for work at the same time, but in spite of their similarities in age and apparent marital status - chronically single and loving it, thank you very much - they never found much other common ground. For Meg, it was just as well. In her line of work, friends would be a distraction, as well as a liability. Not only would she have to find believable stories to cover up why she was gone so often (the truth was not an option), but anyone close to her could always become a target. 

Although she tried to keep her neighbors at arm's length, apparently this one was a pro at locking doors. He was done and next to her before she could slip away. Wearing a charcoal gray suit, tortoiseshell glasses, and a striped tie, he  also had the typical K Street look. Luckily, he was one of the few remaining good guys, lobbying for something that actually mattered.

"Hey, Ryan." Meg returned the greeting as they began to walk side-by-side down the hallway to the stairs. "How's saving the birds going lately?"

"We've made some real progress in pushing through new legislation to expand protection for the jack pine warbler," he said with way too much enthusiasm for seven am.

She smiled. "Today the warbler, tomorrow world peace."

"I'll do my best." He chuckled as they took the first step down.

Continuing in silence for the duration of the three flights, they only spoke again when they'd walked through the lobby and out of the building's glass front door.

"Have a great day," Ryan said, turning left on the sidewalk.

Meg turned right. "Thanks. You, too."

She walked a few blocks before taking the escalator down to the Metro platform. An orange line train had just pulled out from the station, but a blue train was directly behind. The car was already packed, but the throng of commuters pushed their way on board. Squeezed between a teen in a charter school uniform carrying an enormous backpack and a graying man with a buzz cut in a dark blue suit, Meg steadied herself by holding on to the overhead grab bar. A family of four in shorts, tees and sneakers - the go-to outfit for most out-of-town tourists - sat across the aisle perusing a local guidebook, while two women in hijabs chatted in French behind them.

Mornings in DC were both mundane and extraordinary. No other city in the world was as full of diversity and political power, yet still experienced the simple frustrations of getting to work on time while maintaining your cool. 

Today, that applied both figuratively and literally. The train car's AC couldn't keep up with the combination of summer heat and overpacked conditions, and Meg could feel the silk blouse under her fitted jacket stick to her body. She frowned. How in the world did technology exist to grow a human ear on the back of a mouse, but a breathable fabric couldn't be tailored into a professional garment?

At least the trains were running consistently, which was a win in itself. When a few stations later they pulled up to the Federal Center stop, Meg pushed her way out of the car and made a beeline to the escalator. She was still four blocks from her destination, but her route was through the blocky, concrete federal property built in the 1940s located right outside the exit.

The six-story Ford Building was once used by the FBI, and it currently held the offices for the US House of Representatives. Pulling a laminated ID badge out of her purse and throwing the lanyard around her neck, Meg took the marble steps as fast as her heels and pencil skirt allowed. In the lobby, she joined a short queue for a security check. After having her bag scanned and also passing through a metal detector, she headed toward a group of elevators in a nearby - yet inauspicious - corridor.

Meg pressed the call button for "DOWN," and although two of the four elevators opened soon thereafter, she waited for the last one on the left to become available. She stepped inside, but another woman also entered before the doors could close.

"Oh, I thought this was going down." The woman - about her age with blonde hair in a tight bun  - looked at the panel of available floor numbers. Starting at L for lobby at the bottom, the round buttons went upward numerically until six.

Meg had been holding the door "OPEN" button to keep the elevator from leaving. "You'll have to take one of the other three, I'm afraid. This one is special."

"Oh, I never realized. Thanks," the woman replied before getting out. 

Meg waited for the doors to slide closed before opening a panel labeled "Emergency Phone." Removing the handset, she waved her ID in front of a nearly indiscernible red light in the recess. The light turned green and she pressed a six-digit code on the phone's keypad. As soon as she returned the phone to its place, the elevator began its descent into the secret underbelly of the nation's capital that not even its Congressmen knew about.