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explained.
    â€œLoving’s response?”
    â€œâ€˜Confirmed.’ That was it.”
    â€œThe primary wants the ‘details’ ”—Westerfield did air quotes—“by late Monday. Details . . .”
    I asked to see the printout. Noted a slight hesitation on Teasley’s part, then she passed it over when Westerfield gave no reaction.
    I read through the brief passage. “Grammar, spelling and punctuation are good. Proper use of ‘per.’ ” Teasley frowned at this observation. I didn’t explain that “as per,” what most people say, is redundant; she wasn’t my protégée. I continued, “And matching commas around the appositive, after ‘details,’ which you hardly ever see.”
    Everyone stared at me now. I’d studied linguistics a long time ago. A little philology too, the study of languages from analyzing texts. Mostly for the fun of it, but the subject came in useful sometimes.
    Ellis toyed his neck sideways. He’d wrestled in college but didn’t do many sports nowadays that I knew of. He was just still built like an iron triangle. He asked, “He left at eight-thirty this morning. He probably has weapons so he’s not going to fly . . . and he doesn’t want to risk being seen at an airport here, like you were saying, Corte. He’s still about four hours away.”
    â€œHis vehicle?” I asked.
    â€œNothing yet. The Bureau’s got a team canvassing the motel and restaurants around town.”
    Ellis: “This Kessler, what does he know that the primary’s so interested in extracting from him?”
    â€œNo clue,” Westerfield said.
    â€œWho exactly is he, Kessler?” I asked.
    â€œI’ve got some details,” Teasley said.
    As the young attorney dug through a file, I wondered why Westerfield had come to us. We’re known as the bodyguards of last resort (at least Aaron Ellis refers to us that way in budgetary hearings, which I find a bit embarrassing, but apparently it plays well on the Hill). The State Department’s Diplomatic Security and the Secret Service guard U.S. officials and foreign heads of state. Witness Protection cloaks the noble or the infamous with new identities and turns them loose in the world. We, on the other hand, handle situations only when there’s an immediate, credible threat against a known principal. We’ve also been called the ER of personal security.
    The criterion is vague but, given limited resources, we tend to take on cases only when the principal is involved in matters like national security—the spy I’d just delivered to the CIA gentlemen yesterday—or public health, such as our job guarding a whistle-blower in an over-the-counter tainted-drug trial last year.
    But the answer became clear when Teasley gave the cop’s bio. “Detective Ryan Kessler, forty-two. Married, one child. He works financial crimes in the district, fifteen years on the force, decorated. . . . You may’ve heard of him.”
    I glanced at my boss, who shook his head for both of us.
    â€œHe’s a hero. Got some media coverage a few years ago. He was working undercover in D.C. and stumbled into a robbery in a deli in North West. Saved the customers but took a slug. Was on the news, and one of those Discovery Channel cop programs did an episode about him.”
    I didn’t watch much TV. But I did understand the situation now. A hero cop being targeted by a lifter like Henry Loving . . . Westerfield saw a chance to be a hero of his own here—marshalling a case against the primary, presumably because of some financial scam Kessler was investigating. Even if the underlying case wasn’t big—though it could be huge—targeting a heroic D.C. police officer was reason enough to end up on Westerfield’s agenda. I didn’t think any less of him because of this; Washington is