"Who were the other agents assigned to Ritter?"

He looked sharply at her. "Why?"

She looked at him with an innocent expression. "Well, maybe Iknow some of them. I could go and talk to them. See how they dealt with what happened."

"I'm sure it's printed in some report somewhere. Go look it up."

"It would save me time if you'd just tell me."

"Yeah, it would, wouldn't it?"

"Okay, was Joan Dillinger one of the members of the protection detail?"

At this King rose and went over to the window, peering out for a few moments. When he looked back, he was scowling. "Are you wired? Either strip and show me you're not or you can just jump back in your scull and row your ass right out of my life."

"I'm not wired. But I will strip if you really think it's necessary. Or I could go jump in the lake. Electronics and water don't really go well together," she added pleasantly.

"What do you want from me?"

"I'd like an answer to my question. Was Joan assigned to the detail?"

"Yes! But on a different shift from mine."

"Was she at the hotel that day?"

"It seems to me that you already know the answer, so why are you asking?"

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Take it any way you want."

"Did you two spend the night together?"

"Next question and make it a good one, because it'll be your last."

"Okay, right before the shot was fired, who was on the elevator when it opened?"

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do. I heard the ding of an elevator right before Ramsey fired his shot. It distracted you. Those elevators were supposed to have been closed off. Whoever or whatever was on that elevator when it opened took your complete attention. That's why Ramsey could get his shot off and you never saw it. I've made someinquiries at the Service about it. People reviewing the video heard a sound too. It wasn't in the official record but I made some phone calls yesterday. They questioned you about it. You said you heard something but saw nothing. You explained it away as possibly a malfunction with the elevator. And they didn't push any further because they already had their responsible party. But I'm convinced you were looking at something. Or more to the point, someone."

In response King opened the door onto the rear deck and motioned her out.

She rose and put down her coffee cup. "Well, at least I got to ask my questions. Even if I didn't get them all answered."

As she was passing by him, she stopped. "You're right. You and I are now forever linked in history as two bad agents who screwed up. I'm not used to that. I've excelled at everything I've ever done. I'm betting you're the same way."

"Good-bye, Agent Maxwell. I wish you all the best."

"I'm sorry our first meeting had to be this way."

"First and hopefully last."

"Oh, one more thing. Although it was never covered in the official report, I'm sure you've already considered the possibility that the person on the elevator was used to distract you while Ramsey pulled his gun and fired."

King said nothing.

"You know, it's interesting," said Michelle as she looked around.

"You seem to find a lot interesting," he said curtly.

"This place," she said, pointing at the high ceilings, the glistening beams, the polished floors, everything neat and tidy. "It's beautiful. Perfectly beautiful."

"You're certainly not the first person to say so."

"Yes," she went on as though she hadn't heard him. "It's beautiful, and it should be cozy and warm." She turned and looked at him. "But it's not. It's very utilitarian, actually, isn't it? Items placed just so, almost like they were staged, staged by someone who feltthe need to control it all and in doing so took all the soul out of it, or at least didn't put any of his own soul into it." She wrapped her arms around herself. "Yes, very cold." She looked away from him.

"I like it that way," he said tersely.

She glanced at him sharply. "Do you, Sean? Well, I bet you didn't used to."

He watched her long legs and energetic pace quickly cover the distance down to the dock. She put her scull in the water and very soon was merely a speck on the surface of the lake. It was only then that he slammed the door shut. As he was walking by the table, he saw it, stuck under her coffee cup. It was her Secret Service business card. On the back she had written in her home and cell phone numbers. His first impulse was to throw it away. Yet he didn't. He held on to it as he watched the speck grow smaller and smaller until she rounded a bend and Michelle Maxwell disappeared completely from view.

23

John Bruno was lying on a small cot staring at the ceiling, a twenty-five-watt bulb his only illumination. The light would stay on for an hour and then go off; then it would come on for ten minutes and then be extinguished; there was never any pattern. It was maddening and debilitating and designed to break down his spirit. It had done its job well.