'And made you a star too.'
'Every great impresario needs a muse. And don't be fooled, I brought out the best in her. We would have been unstoppable. Instead, my artistic power disappeared when she married him. So my career was destroyed even as Arnold wasted her life in his pathetic little academic world at a third-rate college.'
'Well, that was your doing. You ruined
'You've asked a lot of questions, let me ask one. What really turned your attention to me?'
'Something I heard pointed me in your direction. So I started digging into your family. I found out your father was the attorney who got Ramsey off the murder charge in D.C. I guess your plan was to make Ramsey appear guilty so Regina would stop loving him, then you'd swoop in as the white knight, save Arnold and take Regina as your prize. That's right out of a movie script.'
Morse pursed his lips. 'Only the script didn't work.'
'Right, but then you waited until another opportunity came along.'
Morse nodded and smiled. 'I'm a very patient man. When Ritter announced his candidacy, I knew that opportunity had come.'
'Why not just kill your romantic rival?'
'What's the fun in that? Where's the drama? I told you it's just not how I do things. And besides, if I'd simply done that, she would have loved him all the more. Yes, I had to kill Arnold Ramsey, but I didn't want her to mourn for him. I wanted her to loathe him. Then we could be a team again. Of course, Regina was older then, but the talent she had-that never goes away. We could still make the magic happen again. I just knew it.'
'And so the Ritter assassination was your next major production.'
'It was actually very easy to convince Arnold to do it. Regina and he had finally separated, but I knew she still loved him. Now was the time to show him as an unhinged killer, not the noble, brilliant activist she'd married. I secretly met with Arnold numerous times. I'd helped support them through the lean times. He saw me as a friend. I reminded him of his younger days looking to change the world. I challenged him to be a hero again. And then when I told him I was willing to join him, that Regina would be so proud, I knew I had him. And the plan worked beautifully.'
'Except that the grieving widow rejected you once more. And this time it was far more devastating, because the reason was she didn't love you.'
'That actually wasn't the whole story, which is why we're here today.'
King looked at him quizzically. 'And then later she committed suicide. Or did she?'
'She was getting remarried. To a man remarkably similar to Arnold Ramsey.'
'Thornton Jorst.'
'She must have had a defective gene for such people. I began to see that my ‘star' wasn't so perfect. But after all these years if I couldn't have her, no one else could either.'
'So you killed her too.'
'Let's put it this way: I let her join her miserable husband.'
'And now we come to Bruno.'
'You see, Agent King, every great play has at last three acts. The first was the national guardsman, the middle act was Ritter.'
'And all this is the closing curtain. Bruno and me. But why? Regina is dead. What do you gain by doing all this now?'
'Agent King, you lack the vision to see what I've created here.'
'Sorry, Sid, I'm more of a down-to-earth guy. And I'm not in the Secret Service anymore, so you can just drop the ‘agent.' '
'No, today you're a Secret Service agent,' Morse said firmly.
'Right. And you're a psychopath. And when this is over, I'll make sure you're reunited with your brother. You can throw the tennis ball to him.'
Sidney Morse pointed his gun at King's head. 'Let me tell you exactly what you're going to do. When the clock reaches 10:30
'So will this be an exact replay of 1996?'
'Well, not exactly. I don't want it to be boring for you.'
'Hey, maybe I'll have some surprises of my own.'
Morse chuckled. 'You're not in my league, Agent King. Nowremember, this isn't a dress rehearsal. It's the real thing, so hit your marks. And just so you know, this play will have only a one-night run.'
Morse disappeared into the shadows, and King sucked in a long breath. Morse was every bit as intimidating and masterful as before. King's nerves were close to running away from him. It was him against who knew how many. He had one gun, and he didn't for a second believe his ammo was anything other than blanks. He eyed the clock. Ten minutes until it started. He looked at his own watch. It read almost 12:30. He didn't know whether that wasA.M. orP.M. Morse, of course, could have set his clock for any time he wanted.
He looked around, trying to find something, anything, that might help him survive. All he saw was a replay of a horrific event that he'd never wanted to think about, much less relive.
And then it struck him: who was going to play the role of Arnold Ramsey? The answer came to him in a flash. Like father, like daughter! That son of a bitch. He really was going to do it again.
Michelle flitted along the trees, keeping a close eye out for anyone near the hotel. As she did so, she saw Jefferson Parks climb into a truck, its wheels kicking up dirt as he raced off. Okay, one less opponent to worry about, she thought. Satisfied it was safe to try it, she bent low and crab-walked to the fence. She was about to start climbing but then drew back. The low hum had puzzled her, and then she saw the wire running to the fence. She stepped back, picked up a stick and tossed it against the chain link. It hit and was immediately fried. Great, the fence was electrified. She couldn't use the gap in the fence because she'd told Parks about it, and they might be watching for her there, not convinced of her death by drowning. And the gap was so small she couldn't have avoided touching the fence anyway.
She moved back into the woods and thought through the dilemma. Finally she remembered what she'd seen on her first visit here and realized it might be her only way in. She ran to the backof the building where the slope of the land running up to the fence formed a perfect launch site of sorts. She'd been a champion long and high jumper in high school, but that had been a while ago. She measured off the distances, did a few practice jogs, eyed the height of the fence in relation to where she'd be jumping from. She removed her low-heeled shoes, tossed them over the fence, took up her starting position, said a silent prayer, drew in a long breath and took off at a dead run. She counted off her steps, just as she'd been coached. She came within a few seconds of aborting the whole thing as the electrified fence drew closer and closer. If she failed here, the defeat would not consist merely of a few tears at being beaten in a track meet. This one was for keeps.
She lifted off, her legs, arms and back working in unison, her muscle memory returning just in time as she twisted her body, arched her back and cleared the top of the fence by six inches. There was no soft foam to break her fall, and she slowly rose, aching all over, and put her shoes back on. Threading her way to the building, she found another broken window and slipped inside.
72
As the time moved to 10:26, a man appeared from the same doorway King had come through. John Bruno looked confused, frightened and ready to vomit. King could relate; he wanted to throw up too. He and Bruno were the Christians awaiting the lions as the bloodthirsty crowd eagerly anticipated the coming slaughter. When King approached him, Bruno instantly recoiled. 'Please, please don't hurt me.'
'I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help.'
Bruno looked at him with a bewildered expression. 'Who are you?'
King started to say something and then stopped. How exactly could he explain this? 'I'm your Secret Service
