Split Second

who could see only the interior of this space and not the ones housing guns, explosives and human chattel, there was nothing sinister or malign here. It was an artist's studio that lacked nothing for the creation of art in practically any medium, except for natural light. That was impossible in a place so many meters below ground. Yet the artificial light here was acceptable.

Neatly hanging on one wall were shelves holding heavy coats and boots, special helmets, thick gloves, red bubble lights, axes, oxygen tanks and other like equipment. The gear wouldn't be needed for a while yet, but it was good to be prepared. Rushing now could mean disaster. Patience was required. And yet he looked forward to the moment when it would all come together, when he could finally say that success was his. Yes, patience.

He settled himself down at a worktable and for the next two hours labored with deep concentration, painting, cutting, erecting and fine-tuning a series of works that would never grace the inside of a museum or, for that matter, any personal collection. Yet they were as important to him as the most distinguished masterpieces of any era. In a very substantial way all this work was his masterpiece, and like many of the old masters' works, it had been years in the making.

He continued his labors, counting down to the time when his greatest achievement would finally be complete.

24

Michelle was on her laptop, surfing through the Secret Service's database and finding some interesting items. She was focused and absorbed, and yet when her cell phone rang, she sprang off the bed and grabbed it. The screen flashed 'Caller ID Block,' but she answered it anyway, hoping it was King. It was. His initial words were very welcome.

'Where do you want to meet?' she asked in answer to his query.

'Where are you staying?'

'At a quaint little B and B about four miles from you off Route 29.'

'The Winchester?' he asked.

'That's it.'

'Nice place. Hope you're enjoying yourself.'

'I am now.'

'There's an inn called the Sage Gentleman about a mile from where you are.'

'I passed it on the way here. Looks very clubby.'

'It is. I'll meet you for lunch. Twelve-thirty?'

'I wouldn't miss it. And, Sean, I appreciate your calling me.'

'Don't thank me until you've heard what I have to say.'

They met on the broad porch that encircled the old Victorian-style home. King was dressed in a sport coat, green turtleneck and beige slacks, Maxwell in a long pleated black skirt and white sweater. Thestylish dress boots she was wearing brought her up to within an inch of King's height. Her dark hair fell across her shoulders, and she had even put on a bit of makeup, something she normally didn't do. Secret Service work did not lend itself to fashion pleasantries. However, because your protectee often attended formal events with well-dressed, wealthy people, an agent's wardrobe and grooming habits had to be up to the task, which wasn't always easy. Thus an old agency adage was: Dress like a million bucks on a blue-collar paycheck.

King pointed at the dark blue Toyota Land Cruiser with roof racks in the parking lot.

'Is that yours?'

She nodded. 'I'm into active sports on my time off, and that thing can go anywhere and carry anything I need.'

'You're a Secret Service agent. When do you have any time off?'

They sat at a table in the rear of the restaurant. The place wasn't too full, and they were enjoying about as much privacy as one could in a public place.

When the waiter came and asked if they were ready to order, Michelle immediately said, 'Yes, sir.'

King smiled at this but said nothing until the waiter departed.

'It took me years to get over that.'

'Over what?' she asked.

'Calling everyone ‘sir.' From waiters to presidents.'

She shrugged. 'I guess I never realized I was doing it.'

'Why would you-it's ingrained. With a lot of other things.' He looked pensive. 'One thing about you has been puzzling me.'

A tiny smile crept across her features. 'Just one? I'm disappointed.'

'Why did a supersmart superjock like yourself go into law enforcement? Not that there's anything wrong with that. It just seems like you'd have other opportunities.'

'It was a genetic thing, I guess. My father, brothers, uncles, malecousins are all cops. My dad's the police chief in Nashville. I wanted to be the first girl in my family to do it. I did a year's stint as a police officer in Tennessee and then decided to break the family mold and applied to the Service. I was accepted and the rest is history.'

After the waiter brought their food, Michelle dug into hers while King quietly worked on his wine.

'I take it you've been here before,' she said between bites.

King nodded as he finished off his glass of Bordeaux and started eating. 'I bring clients, friends, other lawyers here. This area has quite a few places as good as if not better than this one. They're well hidden in the nooks and crannies hereabouts.'

'Are you a trial lawyer?'

'No. Wills, trusts, business deals.'

'Do you enjoy it?'

'It pays the light bill. It's not the most exciting job in the world, but you can't beat the views.'

'It is pretty here. I can understand why you'd relocate to a place like this.'

'It has its attractions and limitations. Here, sometimes you fall under the delusion that you're insulated from the stress and tribulations of the rest of the world.'

'But they tend to follow you, don't they?'

'Second, you believe you can actually forget your past and start life anew.'

'But you have.'

'Had. Past tense.'

She wiped her mouth with her napkin. 'So why did you want to see me?'

He held up his empty glass of wine. 'How about joining me? You're not on duty.'

She hesitated and then nodded.

A minute later they had their drinks, and after they finished their meal King suggested they move to the small lounge situated off thedining area. There they sank into old leather chairs and breathed in the aromas of old cigar and pipe smoke augmented by the odors of ancient, leather-bound books on the worm-eaten walnut shelves that stood shoulder-to-shoulder along the walls. They had the room to themselves, and King held the glass up to the light coming in through the window and then sniffed it before taking a sip.

'Good stuff,' said Michelle after she took a mouthful.

'Give it ten more years, and you'll never know you were drinking the same wine.'

'I know nothing about it other than screw top or cork.'

'Eight years ago I was the same way. Actually beer was more my specialty. And it fit my wallet better too.'

'So about the time you left the Service you switched from beer to wine?'

'Lots of changes took place in my life about then. A friend of mine was a closet sommelier, and he taught me all I know. We took a methodical approach, working through French wines and then Italian and even nudged around California whites, though he was quite the snob about that. For him, reds were where it was at.'

'Hmmm, I wonder if you're the only wine connoisseur who's killed people? I mean they just don't seem to go