Split Second by David Baldacci
pole at King; however, King threw himself to the floor, and Morse missed.
King pulled Michelle’s gun and pointed it at Morse.
“No more bluffs,” Morse said with a sneer.
“No more bluffs,” answered King.
The bullet hit Morse in the chest. Looking astonished, Morse dropped to his knees and let the pole fall from his hands. He glanced down, touched the blood streaming out of the wound, then stared dully back up at King.
King rose slowly, pointing his gun squarely at the man’s heart. “The first shot was for me. This one’s for Arnold Ramsey.” King fired and Morse fell backward, dead.
“And you really should have had more respect for the Secret Service,” said King quietly as he stood over the body.
When King saw the blood on the end of the metal pole, he froze for an instant, then turned and stared in disbelief. Kate lay against the wall, the side of her head crushed in. Morse had missed him and hit her. The young woman’s lifeless eyes stared at him. Morse had killed both the mother and the daughter and orchestrated the death of the father. An entire family wiped out. King knelt down and gently closed her eyes.
He could hear Michelle screaming for him through the dumbwaiter shaft.
He looked at the dead woman for a long moment. “I’m so sorry, Kate. I’m so damn sorry.”
King picked up Joan and placed her in the dumbwaiter, then got inside and pulled the rope with all his strength.
Inside a room off the basement corridor, the detonation timer that Morse had engaged before his murderous attack clicked to thirty seconds and counting.
On the third floor King lifted Joan out of the dumbwaiter and explained to Michelle what had happened with Kate and Morse.
“We’re wasting time,” said Bruno, who obviously couldn’t have cared less about the young woman’s death. “How do we get out of here?”
“This way,” said Michelle as she ran down the hall. They reached the end, and she pointed to the garbage chute attached to the window opening. “There’s a Dumpster at the end of the chute.”
“I’m not jumping into a garbage bin,” said Bruno indignantly.
Michelle said, “Yes, you are.”
Bruno seemed about to explode in anger before he noted the deadly serious look in her eyes. He climbed into the chute and with a shove from Michelle rocketed down, screaming all the way.
“You’re next, Michelle,” said King.
She climbed into the chute and disappeared.
As King, carrying Joan, climbed into the chute, the detonation timer clicked to five seconds.
The Fairmount Hotel started to implode right as King and Joan landed in the Dumpster. The force of the hotel’s disintegration knocked the Dumpster over, which was probably a good thing because the metal bottom shielded them from the brunt of the concussive force, smoke and debris. In fact, it pushed the heavy container a good ten feet across the pavement where it came to a stop a few feet from the electrified fence.
After the dust cleared, they climbed out and looked at the pile of rubble that used to be the Fairmount Hotel. Gone were the ghosts of Arnold Ramsey and Clyde Ritter, as well as the specter of guilt that had haunted King all these years.
King glanced over as Joan groaned, then slowly sat up and looked around, her eyes finally focusing. She saw John Bruno and snapped back. She swung around and spotted King, her expression one of complete astonishment.
He shrugged and said, “Better start taking catamaran lessons.”
He looked over at Michelle. She smiled weakly and said, “It’s over, Sean.”
He gazed at the rubble once more and said, “Yeah, maybe it finally is.”
EPILOGUE
A few days later Sean King sat on a charred hunk of wood that had been part of his beautiful kitchen as he surveyed the spot where his home had been. He turned when he heard the car pulling up.
Joan got out of her BMW.
“You look fully recovered,” he said.
“I’m not sure I ever will be.” She sat next to him. “Look, Sean, why won’t you take the money? A deal is a deal. You earned it.”
“With all you went through you deserve it more than me.”
“All I went through! My God, I was drugged. You went through a nightmare fully awake.”
“Just take the money and enjoy life, Joan,” he said.
She took one of his hands. “Well, will you come with me? At least that way I can support you in the lifestyle you’ve grown accustomed to.” She attempted a brave smile.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll stay here.”
She looked around at the devastation. “Here? What’s here, Sean?”
“Well, it’s my life,” he said, and slowly removed his hand from hers.
She rose, looking embarrassed. “For a moment there I thought the fairy-tale ending would actually happen.”
“We’d fight all the time.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“Let me know how you’re doing,” he said quietly. “I do want to know.”
She took a long breath, dabbed at her eyes, then looked at the mountain vistas. “I don’t think I thanked you for saving my life.”
“Yes, you did. And you would have done the same for me.”
“Yes, I would have,” she said earnestly. She turned away, looking so miserable that King rose and held her. She kissed him on the cheek.
“Take care of yourself,” she said. “Be as happy as you can be.” She started to walk away.
“Joan?” She turned back. “I didn’t say anything about you being on that elevator, because I cared for you. I cared for you a lot.”
King was alone for a while until Michelle drove up and joined him.
She said, “I’d ask how’s it going, but I guess I know the answer to that.” She picked up a hunk of drywall. “You can rebuild, Sean, better than before.”
“Yeah, only it’ll be smaller. I’m in a downsizing phase of life. Clean, simple lines, maybe even a little clutter here and there.”
“Now, don’t go crazy on me. But where are you going to stay for now?”
“I’m thinking about renting a houseboat from the lake marina and docking it here. Spend the winter and maybe the spring on the water while I rebuild.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She glanced at him nervously. “So how’s Joan?”
“She’s off with her new life.”
“And her new millions. So why didn’t you take your cut?”
“Indentured servitude isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” He shrugged. “She’s actually a good person, if you look behind the titanium exterior. And I think she really loves me. Under different circumstances maybe it could have worked.”
Michelle looked as though she wanted to know what circumstances had prevented such a result but decided it was best not to ask.
“So where have you come from? D.C.?” asked King.
“Yes, closing out a few things. Bruno withdrew from the election, luckily for America. They caught up to Jefferson Parks at the Canadian border, by the way. So you suspected him?”
“Right near the end. This whole thing started when Howard Jennings was relocated to Wrightsburg and came to work for me. Parks was his handler. He was the only one who could have arranged that.”
“Well, that one was staring me in the face, and I never even saw it.” She shook her head and continued, “Parks recruited Simmons and Tasha Reed, the woman I shot at the hotel; they were both formerly in witness protection. Morse paid them all to help. The warrant for Bob Scott was a phony. Parks stashed it in the box he gave Joan so we’d be led to the bunker that Morse bought in Scott’s name. They found Scott’s body in the rubble.”
“All in the name of love,” said King wearily.
“Yeah, Sidney Morse’s sick, twisted version of it anyway.” Michelle sat down next to him. “So what’s next for you?”
“What else? Back to being a lawyer.”
“Are you telling me that after all this exci
“It’s a living.”
“Yeah, but it’s not really living, is it?”
“Well, what about you? I guess you’ve been reinstated at the Service.”
“Actually I resigned this morning. That’s what I really went to D.C. for.”
“Michelle, are you crazy? You just threw away years of your life.”
“No, I saved myself from more years of doing something I really didn’t want to do.” She rubbed her chest where the slug meant for Bruno had hit her. “I’ve been a human shield. Not the healthiest way to spend one’s time. I think I bruised a lung.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Well, I have a proposition for you.”
“Another proposition from a lovely lady. What did I do to deserve this?”
Before Michelle could answer, another truck pulled up. It was an A-1 Security van. Two men clad in work clothes and tool belts climbed out.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” said the older of the pair as he looked around at where the house had been. “What happened here?”
“Really bad timing on my part, getting that A-1 system,” said King.
“I’ll say. I guess you won’t be needing us today.”
“No, but when I have another house, you’ll be the first person I call.”
“Was it a fire in the kitchen?”
“No, a bomb in the basement.”
The older man just stared at King, then nervously motioned for his helper to jump back in the van. They kicked up gravel in their flight.
King nodded at Michelle. “Okay, your proposition?”
“All right, here it is.” She paused and then announced in a dramatic tone, “We start a private investigation firm.”
King stared dumbly at her. “You want to hit me with that one more time?”
“We start our own P.I. firm, Sean.”
“We’re not detectives.”
“Sure we are. We just solved a huge, complicated mystery.”
“We don’t have any clients.”
“We will. My phone’s already been ringing off the hook with offers. Even Joan’s old firm called; they wanted me to take her position. But I say, screw that, let’s go into business for ourselves.”
“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”
“Serious enough that I already put a deposit down on a little cottage about a mile from here. It has lakefront. I can do sculling, and I’m also thinking about getting a boat and a wave runner. Maybe I’ll invite you over. We can race.”
He looked at her and shook his head in amazement. “Do you always move at the speed of light?”
“I figure if you think too much about things, life sometimes just passes you by. And my best decisions always have been made on the fly. So what do you say?” She put out her hand. “Is it a deal?”
“You want an answer right now?”
“Now’s as good a time as any.”
“Well, if you want an answer right now, it’s going to have to be…” He looked at her smiling face, and that little spark she always carried in her eyes, and then he actually thought about spending the next thirty years of his life crafting brain-numbing legalese while earning his living in quarter-hour increments. He shrugged and said, “Then I guess it’s going to have to be yes.” They shook hands.
“Okay,” she said excitedly, “sit tight, we have to do this right.”
She ran to her truck, opened the door, and a pair of ski poles and a snowboard promptly fell out.
“I hope your office will be neater than your truck,” said King.
“Oh, it will be, Sean. I’m really very organized in my professional life.”
“Uh-huh,” he said doubtfully.
She jammed the stuff back in and returned with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.
“I’ll let you do the honors,” she said, handing him the bottle.
He looked at the label, then popped the cork. “Nice choice.”
“It should be for what I paid for it.”
“So what do we call this fledgling agency?” he asked as he poured out the champagne.
“I was thinking… King and Maxwell.”
King smiled. “Age before beauty?”
“Something like that,” she answered.
He handed her a glass of the bubbly.
“To King and Maxwell,” said Michelle.
And they officially clinked glasses on it.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To Michelle, my number one fan, best friend and love of my life. I wouldn’t be here without you.
To Rick Horgan, for another great editing job. I think we each owe the other a beer.
To Maureen, Jamie and Larry, for all your help and support.
To Tina, Martha, Bob, Tom, Conan, Judy, Jackie, Emi, Jerry, Karen, Katharine, Michele, Candace and all the rest of the Warner Books family, for always going the extra mile for me.
To Aaron Priest, my guiding light in more ways than one.
To Maria Rejt, for her insightful comments.
To Lucy Childs and Lisa Erbach Vance, for all you do behind the scenes.
To Donna, Robert, Ike, Bob and Rick, for all your help and invaluable input.
To Neal Schiff, for your added wisdom and help.
To Dr. Monica Smiddy, for all your thoughts and specialized knowledge. Your overwhelming enthusiasm was much appreciated.
To Dr. Marina Stajic, for all your help. It was fascinating talking with you.
To Jennifer Steinberg, for once again finding lots of answers.
To my wonderful friend Dr. Catherine Broome, for patiently answering all my questions.
To Bob Schule, for being such a great friend and first-class consultant, for reading the early drafts and giving me lots of good advice.
To Lynette and Deborah, for keeping the “enterprise” straight on course.
And lastly, my apologies to any passengers on the Amtrak Acela train who overheard me discussing with various experts poisoning techniques for the story line and were probably scared out of their wits with my seemingly diabolical intent.
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