The Perfect Candidate: A Lance Priest / Preacher Thriller (No. 1) by Christopher Metcalf Page B

in front of the opened doors allowing his fairly attractive but fake co-passenger to exit first. He then followed her down the hall to room 510 where they checked-in with a cordial, but cold receptionist who obviously found this day’s assignment of welcoming nobodies below her low pay grade.
    “Please have a seat and someone will be with you shortly,” the receptionist gestured to the chairs lining the wall and immediately returned to her newspaper.
    Lance and his elevator partner sat in two of the 10 chairs lining the walls of the small waiting room, an open seat between them. She proceeded to pull out a folded copy of the New York Times from her purse and continued a story she had started reading earlier. Lance craned his neck to scan the headlines on the front page. She caught his eye and smiled.
    “I only get to read the New York Times in the library,” he apologized.
    “No problem. That’s what I did back at school. Are you still in college?”
    “Yes,” he smiled back, “University of Tulsa.” He told the truth.
    “Really, I had a friend graduate from there.” Sarah lied to add detail to her story.
    “Really, who was that?”
    “Tina Stempler was her name in college, now she’s Tina Mayes. Mrs. Brad Mayes as she likes to joke.”
    “Don’t think I recognize the name. What degree did she graduate with?”
    “Marketing,” she replied and turned back to her paper.
    “Great.”
    “I’m Sarah Ridenhour by the way.” She turned back.
    “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m Vance Porter.” They shook hands. From above, Lance giggled at the little twist on his name. Stupid really.
    “Nice to meet you. I guess we’ll get to know each other a bit today.” Her smile was very nice.
    “That’s what I hear. Supposed to be six or eight of us, right?”
    “Yep.” And she turned back to her paper while turning the page.
    The door opened and two more candidates who made it to the oral assessment stage of the Foreign Service Officer applicant process entered. The gentleman was in his late thirties with tiny gold-rimmed glasses. The woman was probably 32 but had a premature grey streak in her black hair.
    Ann Bancroft . Lance thought to himself. The grey streak in her hair made him think of the movie The Graduate . Lance thought for maybe the 20 th time in his life that it was amazing that Bancroft was only six or seven years older than Dustin Hoffman but was masterful at playing a seductive older woman. The opening chords and “doo-dooing” of the movie’s theme song started playing in his head and he had to listen to Simon and Garfunkel sing for a few minutes. Lance recalled reading somewhere that Joe DiMaggio had been really pissed when the song and movie came out. Joe didn’t think he had gone anywhere. Lance laughed at yet another bit of useless trivia rambling around his head. He would kill on Jeopardy!
    A moment later, another chap walked in. This guy was dressed for business with a navy suit, striking white shirt and deep red power tie. He was followed a few seconds later by two women in their late 20s who had struck up a conversation riding up in the elevator together. The heavier one finished their conversation with an exclamation, “Now, wouldn’t that be perfect.”
    The dour receptionist welcomed them and directed them to join everyone else by being seated.
    Lance scanned the group again from above, taking in details that hardly mattered to most but amounted to something more than nothing. Clothing, accessories, shoes, haircuts, eyewear and other minutia came together to create a whole, a complete and comprehensive visual portrait. Little things like being right or left-handed, cologne and leg position told him most of what he needed to know about his fellow oral assessees. Or so he thought at the time. Dumb.
    Sarah finished the front section of the Times and decided to put her paper away since the clock on the wall now read 8 a.m. sharp. Her timing was impeccable because less than five seconds later a