Split Second

Michelle read his thoughts. "Because they'd have to be able to hear us to make the recorded voice answer when I called out."

"Right." He pointed at the far wall where a section of the upholstered wall covering had been pulled back. "There's a door there. A passageway runs behind that wall."

"So there's their exit." She handed him the plastic bag. "Put it back exactly where you got it. I don't need a lesson from the FBI on maintaining the integrity of a crime scene."

"There must have been a struggle. I'm surprised we didn't hear anything," said the agent.

"How could we, with that death music bellowing everywhere?" she snapped.

She and the agent went down the passageway. The empty coffin on a rolling table had been left at a doorway here that opened onto the back of the building. They returned to the viewing room, and the funeral home director was called back in and shown the hidden doorway.

He looked perplexed. "I didn't even know that was there."

"What?" Michelle said incredulously.

"We've only been operating this business for a couple of years. That's when the only funeral home in the area went out of business. We couldn't use that building because it had been condemned. This place was a lot of things before it was a funeral home. The current owners did minimal improvements. In fact, these viewing rooms went fairly unchanged. I had no idea there was a door or passageway there."

"Well, somebody certainly did," she said bluntly. "There's a door at the end of that hall that opens to the rear of the building. Are you telling me you didn't know about that either?"

He said, "That part of the facility is used for storage and is accessed by entrances inside the building."

"Did you see any vehicle parked out there earlier?"

"No, but then I don't go around there."

"Anybody else see anything?"

"I'll have to check."

"No, I'll check."

"I can assure you this is a very respectable establishment."

"You have secret hallways and exit doors you know nothing about. Aren't you worried about security?"

He looked at her blankly and then shook his head. "This isn't some big city. There's never any serious crime."

"Well, that streak was just broken. Do you have Mrs. Martin's phone number?"

He handed it over and she was called. There was no answer.

Alone for now, Michelle stood in the middle of the room. All those years of work, all that time proving she could do the job-it was all down the drain. She didn't even have the consolation of having hurled her body in front of a would-be assassin's bullet. Michelle Maxwell was now part of history. And she knew she was also history with the Secret Service. Her career was over.

4

The funeral procession was stopped and each car was searched, as was the hearse. It was Harvey Killebrew, devoted father, grandfather and husband, lying in there when they opened the casket. Virtually all the mourners were elderly and obviously frightened by all the men with guns, and there didn't seem to be a kidnapper within the bunch, but still the agents directed all the cars and the hearse back to the funeral home.

Rent-a-Cop Simmons approached a Secret Service agent who was climbing into his sedan to lead the caravan back to the funeral home. "What next, sir?"

"Okay, what I need is this road watched. Anyone trying to come out, you stop. Anyone coming in, you stop and check for appropriate credentials. We'll get you some relief as soon as we can. Until then, here is where you'll be. Got it?"

Simmons looked very nervous. "This is really big, isn't it?"

"Sonny, this is the biggest thing you'll ever have happen in your entire life. Let's just hope it turns out okay. But I kind of doubt that."

Another agent, Neal Richards, ran up and said, "I'll stay, Charlie. Probably not a good idea to leave him here all by himself."

Charlie glanced at his colleague and said, "Sure you don't want to come back and join the party, Neal?"

Richards smiled grimly and said, "I don't want to be within a mile of Michelle Maxwell right now. I'll stay with the kid."

Richards climbed into the vehicle next to Simmons, who maneuvered his van so that it blocked the road. They watched as the caravan of agents and mourners passed out of sight, and scanned the countryside in all directions. There was no sign of anyone. Simmons kept his hand firmly on the butt of his gun, his black leather glove crinkling as he squeezed the pistol grip. He reached over and turned up the volume on his police scanner and then looked nervously at the veteran agent.

He said in a loud voice, "I know you probably can't tell me, but what the hell happened back there?"

Richards didn't bother to look at him. "You're right, I can't tell you."

Simmons said, "I grew up here, know every inch of the place. If I was trying to get somebody outta here, there's a dirt lane about a half mile down the road. You cut through there and go out the other side, you're five miles away before you even know it."