Don't Fret the Timing

Don't Fret the Timing

by

A.R. Moler

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2012, 2017 by AR Moler

Cover illustration by P.E. Ash

Chronology of stories in the Division P universe

Braided Lives

Hell Dogs Squadron

Seeking The Balance

Falling From a Height

Zero to 165

Don't Fret the Timing

Braided Lives 2

Begin and End With You

The LD50 of Memories

Fragmentation (Coming in 2017)

Chapter One

Have a seat, Agent Breckenridge, said the slender blond woman sitting behind the desk.

Secret Service Agent Vaughn Breckenridge had to stop himself from saying something appallingly stupid. When you're told that you're being interviewed by a woman named Sumiko Pierce, you expect a petite, dark-haired Asian woman. Ms. Sumiko Pierce was neither. She was very blond, her hair pulled back in a demure chignon, and judging from the gray eyes and very Nordic-looking features, there didn't appear to be a single hint of Asian genetics anywhere in her background.

She had a dossier spread open on the desk in front of her. He found himself wondering if he could lean far enough forward to get a peek; instead, he forced himself to sit down in the indicated chair.

It says you have requested consideration for upgrading from field agent to protective detail. Ms. Pierce glanced up at him. Why?

Vaughn was disconcerted by the question. It's a career advancing move, he replied.

Are you hoping to take a bullet for someone important? Her tone was cool and even.

No...Very few Secret Service agents have ever died in protecting a designated individual from an assassin. He was being truthful, but he also found the questions kind of bizarre.

Have you ever considered working for a different government agency?

Yes, I originally contemplated applying to the FBI, but decided that I preferred the opportunities the Secret Service offered. Where was this heading? Had he stepped on somebody's bureaucratic toes? Or unwittingly pissed off someone among the powers that be?

Have you ever heard of Division P? she asked.

A rumor, but I'm not sure that anyone around here actually believes it. He watched the woman tilt her head a little. Her features were somewhat sharp. She was neither beautiful nor ugly. Something in the way she looked at him kind of made him want to check and see if he had broccoli in his teeth or toilet paper stuck to his shoe.

Well, Division P has heard of you, and we've decided you are worth looking at, Ms. Pierce said.

Breckenridge felt like he had swallowed an ice cube. The pit of his stomach was suddenly very cold. Division P was rumored to be a covert ops group of psychics run by the federal government. Nobody he'd ever talked to seemed to know for sure if they were real or just a hoax that ranked up there with X-files and UFOs.

***

It was kind of like watching a bug squirm in a spider web, thought Sumiko, except she had no intention of actually harming Agent Breckenridge in any real way. Every month she went out from the Division P headquarters in Virginia, seeking candidates for recruitment. Division P had access to any and all personnel files and records for federal government employees. It was their preferred recruiting ground, since very few Division P people worked for the group full time. The man seated across from her was dark-haired, dark-eyed, dressed in a conservative navy suit and tie. Mmm, hot. The guy looked like an advertisement in GQ, and those dimples... Lord, he was gorgeous.

According to his file, the man had grown up in Texas, gone to college in Florida, and joined the Secret Service in 2003. Parts of his service record were average, showing years of good solid work. Sumiko was however not interested in the average parts. There were also four separate instances of pull-it-out-of-your-ass case breaking miracles and two near disasters.

Over the past couple of years Sumiko had learned that men with psychic talent tended to fall at either end of the bell curve. Women tended to hide in the middle. The men either trusted their gut and gained reputations for insightful last minute saves or they distrusted their instincts and tended to fall from one catastrophe to the next. Both had their value. Agent Breckenridge had a little of each. Standard case reports seldom told more than the surface point of view compared to what Division P was interested in, hence the need for face to face interviews.

With all due respect ma'am, why would a group of psychics want me? Agent Breckenridge asked.

Because we believe you might have talents that could be enhanced by training and then put to use for our projects. She watched his hand twitch. Even if she hadn't seen the momentary clench of his fingers on the arm of the chair, she would have felt the nervous skitter of his thoughts. His brain was rifling through ideas and scenarios. Her own telepathic talent allowed her to hear bits of what he was thinking if she concentrated, but for the moment she just let the impressions wash through her.

My intention is to observe you on the job at intervals for the next couple of days and also to test you. If you have what we're looking for, a job offer may be made. If not, this will in no way impede your pursuit of career advancement. Are you interested?

His response was a little hesitant. What benefit do I get out of this?

Good, he wasn't giving her a straight refusal. She'd had a few of those. Money, a higher security clearance, and access to some rather unusual resources. Some of our people claim the best perk is knowing others who face the same challenges.

I'm... interested.

Good, please read and sign. She slid a document across the desk to him. It's a relatively standard non-disclosure agreement. I'll give you a little time to read over it.

***

When Ms. Pierce pushed herself back from the desk, Vaughn scarcely paid attention; he was wondering exactly what the non-disclosure agreement said. When she turned and began to roll forward, however, his mouth dropped open. She was in a wheelchair. How absolutely fucking unobservant could he get? He hastily shut his mouth and wondered if his face was a flaming shade of red. She glanced at him as she headed for the door and he leaped to his feet, yanking open the door for her and nearly banged it into her feet.

I... um... sorry, he mumbled.

"I'll be back in