The Headquarters

 I was then escorted into a convoy Bentley that took me from Pall Mall to Oxford Street, where I ensued to take the underground (to the English this means the subway).  I was given instructions to stay on the train until the last stop, and a man would escort me to an undisclosed location.  I then stayed on the train, when suddenly, the conducter came out and announced, “Last stop.”  With this, the lights on the train went out, and I found myself alone, in the dark, not knowing where I was or what was going to happen.    A tap arrived on my shoulder, but instead of flinching I invited the touch, as if it were done by a mystic with healing powers.  I was soon to find out that it was.    “Hello young Sir,” said the man in a thick Indian accent, “it is a pleasure to meet you, Zero I assume?”    “Yes, you’re correct.  And who may you be?”    “My name is Shankara, a simple yet inquisitive what they call one-point of the Order,” he replied rather obtusely, like some kind of zen monk.  “I am here to take you to the Headquarters of the heathrow hotels, and ultimately to show you the heathrow airport hotels.”    Shankara then led me off the train and brought me down a long, rat- and feces-infested tunnel.  And then it appeared: an elevator at the end of the tunnel.  Shankara smoothly limped up to this strange apparatus, pressed a button and then gestured me to enter.  I nervously obliged.    The elevator creeped down to the only level, which was another way of saying the lowest level, which, according to Shankara, was five hundred feet below sea level.    The door opened.    “Oh my GOD!” was all I could say...