Thursday, August 5, 1977

 

A week later after Bernadette, Jack, and Rip had formed their own tight group, Peter drove up to McLean and checked into the Washington Hotel near Tysons Corner.

The staff knew him now and several nodded or said hello. People who reserved suites got special treatment. It was the same worldwide. Money made some things much easier.

Terry O’Brien had given him the name of an attorney from South Carolina who was now practicing in McLean. The attorney, Lee Jensen, had served with Terry in Vietnam. Peter needed a lawyer he could trust and one who would not ask too many questions. He had too much wealth in cash, gold, and diamonds. Somehow he had to convert most of it into investments and bank accounts. He had to become a tax-paying citizen with a social security number and bank credit. Tomorrow morning at nine o’clock he would meet with Lee Jensen. Terry had made the appointment a few weeks ago.

Lee’s office was in part of a townhouse off Old Dominion in McLean. It looked as if Lee Jensen was using part of his house as an office. The office had a separate entrance marked with a classic bronze plaque. Peter rang the doorbell and a young attractive woman opened the door and said, “Mr. Brandon, come in please. My name is Amanda. I’m delighted to meet a friend of Terry’s. He and my husband have been friends for years. Come with me and I’ll take you back to Lee’s office. He is expecting you. I just made a pot of black French Roast. I understand you take your coffee black and strong. Do I have that right?”

“Yes, you do,” said Peter with a smile, “I see Terry has covered some of the important facts.”

“The coffee and that you are a special friend is all we needed to know. Here is Lee’s office.” Amanda opened the door and said, “Lee, Mr. Brandon is here.”

Lee welcomed him with a firm handshake. He fits Terry’s description, slightly taller than I am and a few pounds under my 190. Has a distinct Southern accent and looks like a mild-mannered indoor guy except for the four-inch jagged scar on his right cheek. He or his wife knows antiques. The office is full of 18th century English pieces. Those are Dagestan Orientals on the floor. Also not woven yesterday.

Lee led Peter to a conference table and poured coffee. After sipping the coffee, Lee said, “Terry didn’t tell me much except you are a good friend, needed legal help, and could pay for it.”

Peter chuckled. “I wish it was that simple. Yes, I can pay for it. While money is not the problem, using it and growing it is.”

“Can you tell me some more? Anything you say in here is subject to lawyer-client privilege laws and protocols.”

“I have been in many countries and made a lot of money. My assets are in the form of gold, diamonds, and cash. I need some of it converted into bank credit, U.S. treasuries, and other securities so I can pay state, local, and federal taxes on future earned income. I want to form an investment company composed of you and me, if you accept me as a client. I don’t have the expertise or time to manage the money and do it according to the law.”

“How much money is involved?”

“The honest answer is I don’t know, but more than ten million and less then fifteen.”

“Where is it now?”

“I put it in several safety deposit boxes and small bank accounts where I could deposit eight or nine thousand each month and I have four hundred thousand in my briefcase.”

“Well, so far you’ve done the right thing. What else can you tell me about the origin of the wealth you have?”

“Not enough to satisfy most people. The money was not stolen. It is not income from drug operations or illegal activities and, while some foreign countries would like to cheat me and get their money back, no one legitimate is looking for the money nor is it on any Interpol watch list.”

“Who else is aware that you have the money?”

“In this country or its allies, no one but you.”

“How do you intend to pay me?”

“I was thinking about a sizable yearly retainer and a fee for successfully managing my money.”

“How large a retainer? I know that sounds crass but I’m struggling to get started here in Yankee land and cannot take on tasks that will not grow my firm.”

“I was thinking $250,000 to start and more subject to successful investments.”

“That’s generous but I have a feeling I’ll earn the money. Let’s shake on it. No formal contracts or records for now and maybe never. Agree?”

“Agree.”

“Okay, let’s get started. I’m going ask you some questions. No answer is better than a wrong answer. Tell me if you’d rather not answer.”

Lee pulled over a yellow legal pad and started asking questions about addresses, property owned, dependents, heirs. When he asked about father, mother, siblings, Peter shook his head and Lee plodded on. He asked for a social security number. Peter looked at him and said, “Here’s where you start earning your retainer. I do not have one.”

Lee stopped, capped his Waterman fountain pen and looked at Peter and asked, “Not even an old one when you were a kid?”

“No.”

“Birth certificates?”

“Yes.” Peter saw no need to tell Lee it was from a grave site in St. Cloud from the family of his grandfather who disappeared in Siberia in the late 1920s. Part of the birth certificate was legitimate, at least the form was, but the rest of it was forged. Jack had a proper birth certificate – only the name and place of birth was forged. Lee might be understanding but no need to push the envelope.

Lee said, “Okay, that gives us something to work with. Do you have any employees?”

“Yes. I have a paid Vietnamese couple that Terry told me once were part of the Quang Ngai Province, PRU.”

“Both Terry and I worked with the PRU in I Corps. Very good fighters, men and women. Do they also protect your property?”

“Yes, and my son, Jack.”

“The PRU was never slow to shoot. In a dangerous situation they will not hesitate. Anyone else?”

“Yes. I just hired a governess for Jack.”

“Wonder how she would feel if she knew the background of your house staff?”

“She’s fine with it. She is at least as good with protection responsibilities. She’s earned a brown belt in Hapkido in Ireland.”

“Jesus Christ, Peter, are you getting ready for a war?”

“No. Just hiring one of Terry’s relatives to watch over Jack and teach him some manners beyond eating his meals with chopsticks.”

“Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Yes. I may want to buy some property in Pennsylvania’s Allegheny Mountains, and I’ll need a way to pay for it. Can you set up a company to own my cars and property and also pay expenses?”

“Different from the investment company?”

“Your call.”

“You’ve given me a bit of work. Let me get started. What form is the gold in?”

“Small bars. I haven’t weighed them.”

“Next time you come, bring them. They’ll be easier to convert than diamonds. How do you feel about investments?”

“I need to grow what I have and am willing to take risks with new start ups. I’m also okay with providing seed money to good ideas and committed developers. I expect to be back here in ten days or so. How about buying the property I talked about?”

“Give me some cash and I’ll issue the seller a check and arrange for the settlement. Entire process shouldn’t take more than a day or two. I’ll set up an account you can draw from as you need cash. Later we’ll get you a credit line but not yet.”

“Great, I feel good about this. I’ll give you a hundred thousand as a payment on your retainer and two hundred for you to keep on account for me here. I’ll call. Expect me in less than ten days. If I’m successful in buying what I want, I’ll be four hours from here for several months.”

Lee stood and shook Peter’s hand. “Take care, my friend. You’ve just taken the boredom out of my life.”

Peter laughed. “You just taken some stress out of mine. See you soon.”

After lunch, Terry and Bernadette left to get her two suitcases. They were back in an hour and Bernadette picked her bed, bath, and small sitting room suite and settled in.

Terry left to get ready for his trip and the Nguyens served a light supper with some of the lunch spread and a spicy noodle soup. Bernadette sat with Jack and began correcting his table manners. He bonded quickly with his governess and happily followed her instructions.

After she put Jack to bed, Bernadette joined Peter by the pool for coffee. She was wearing a short pleated white skirt, with a white halter-top, and open toed platform sandals. She sipped her black coffee. “It may be an illusion, but I’m cold sober and relaxed for the first time in years. I feel safe and that is a happy feeling. I would like to rebuild my life on this start.”

“We both have a journey. I still don’t feel safe all the time. Mostly it’s because of my concern about Jack. I’m going to do something I’ve never even thought about doing before. I’m going to tell you something about myself that will help you understand my, maybe, over-protective concern about Jack. I don’t believe I need to ask you to never reveal what I tell you. Not even to Terry.”

Bernadette nodded and sat back in her chair, cradling her cup of coffee in her hand.

“I was married to a woman I loved. We had two children, Jack and his baby sister, Christina. We were making an effort to build our lives when something terrible happened. Jack and I came back to our little farm from a short shopping trip. I found my wife and daughter shot to death. Before she was gunned down, my wife killed three of the attackers with a handgun, while running and carrying a baby. Five more yards and she and Christina might have escaped. I killed one more of them and had killed four others of them a month earlier. I have to operate on the belief they are still searching for me. Now do you still want the job? There may be some danger.”

“Thank you for telling me. I sensed there were some hard times in you. You have the look. The one I’ve seen in top IRA fighters. Yes, I want the job more than ever. On one condition. I want a concealed weapon.”

“Granted. Anything else?”

“Yes. I want to sleep with you tonight. You can love me or fuck me but we need to get the male-female tension out of our way. No commitments. We have enough tension without mixing sexual desires into it.”

“What if either one of us wants to continue the sleeping arrangement?”

“Easy answer, we do it. I can’t believe you’re a rapist or the whining type. If I don’t want sex at anytime, I’ll say so. So can you. Agreed?”

“What’s not to agree to?”

“For appearances I’ll keep the suite but be with you every night. It’ll be fun playing house. You’re not my first but I’ve never lived with anyone before.”

Peter took her hand and said, “Let’s get started.”

“I’m ready. I should tell you it’s been over a year since I’ve had a man, and he was a terrible lover.”

The master suite was the most impressive sleeping quarters Bernadette had ever seen. A king-size bed, full bath with open shower, and large garden soaking tub. His and her basins and cabinets. Bernadette looked around then turned to face Peter. “Hurry,” she whispered. She was already naked except for her platform sandals. She was not wearing anything under her short skirt. When they were lying together, she slowly opened her legs and eased him into her.

Later in the soaking tub, Bernadette said, “For a guy without any recent encounters, you are very good. I like tenderness but followed by hard, quick sex. Your body is very hard like you have been working out all your life.”

“I’ve worked at martial arts for years, especially Hapkido. Hapkido is a Korean…”

Bernadette interrupted. “I know what Hapkido is and have a brown belt. We’ll have to practice together some time.”

“What are your other skills?”

“You mean outside the bedroom?”

“Yes. Those skills are impressive.”

“Well, my specialty is knife fighting, including throwing. I’m seldom without my throwing knife, except in hot tubs. Don’t like to get the handle wet. Throws off the balance.”

“What about guns? What do you want to carry?”

“I like the Colt .45 Army issue and four magazines.”

“The lady knows her weapons. I’ll give you a .45 tomorrow. I’ve a couple hidden away in the house.” They soaked for a while longer in the tub, then Peter took her hand and said “It’s time for bed.”

Bernadette was soon sleeping, breathing softly in a deep sleep. Peter studied her face and thought is this the same woman who was such a wanton lover a few minutes ago? I’ve not had many women but Bernadette is different. She is as composed and confident naked in bed with a new lover as she was fully clothed. She is her own person and I am very glad to have her with me, for my sake as much as Jack’s. He is already bonding with her. I must not let him be hurt again. He was young when his mother was killed but he knew something had happened and she was gone. He cried at night for days for his mommy. So Peter, be careful. Bernadette may not be permanent even if I want her to stay with us. She has her own life’s trail to follow.

July 1977

 

Peter was enjoying life sitting by the pool with Jack and Rip. The Florida sun was as hot as advertised and a warm breeze came across the marsh from the inland waterway. Peter liked marsh living much more that the noisy, salt-riven lots right on the ocean. He had a Boston Whaler in a boathouse at the end of a pier in the marsh. With its small electric trolling motor, it made the ideal fishing platform for a 115-pound Bouvier, an active, constantly questioning five-year-old who was almost ten. If only Sally Ann and Christina were here, life would be perfect.

Terry O’Brien, the only man he’d met he liked well enough to spend time with, had called earlier and asked if he could bring his niece, who was visiting from Ireland, for a swim. Jack and Rip adored Terry. Peter asked the Nguyens to make a picnic lunch.

Rip heard Terry’s car come in the driveway and raced around to the front of the house to escort them to the parking area. After receiving his greeting from Terry and meeting his companion, Rip ran back to Peter with his stubby tail wagging and waited for the humans to do their curious meeting ritual. Peter stared at Terry’s niece. This woman is gorgeous. Long black hair, great figure. She is nearly as tall as me. Her Irish accent has a beautiful lilt. By the time he had recovered, Terry was making introductions. He said, “Peter, this woman, Bernadette O’Brien, is my niece, maybe several times removed. Never mind the lineage. She has always been my niece.”

Peter said, “It is always a pleasure to welcome beautiful women to my house. You are the first. Now meet my son, Jack.”

Jack took her hand and said, “Now come swim with Rip and me.” Bernadette laughed and let Jack lead her away.

As Jack led Bernadette to the pool, Terry said, “She is here on more than a vacation. I’m trying to get her to break with the IRA before it’s too late. She is a highly trained IRA assassin, very skilled with knife and gun. I need your help. I don’t want her to end up in prison or constantly running for her life. She’s not married, has no attachments. I think many Irish lads are frightened being around her. She could take all of them, probably a couple at a time.”

“I’ll do what I can. Is she in danger now?”

“No. No one from her past knows she is here. According to her, her name is not on any wanted list. The danger will be from her friends if she tries to leave the IRA. I have to go away for a couple of months. Can you look in on her from time to time?”

“Sure. This may sound funny, but I need a governess for Jack. The Nguyens are good, but there is a lot they don’t understand about growing up in the western world. I’ll pay her a living wage so she will have more options about the future. You know, education, job skill training, or something more general. Whatever she may be looking for.”

“Peter, tell you what. Ask her. Whatever she decides is okay with me. She may be young in years but not in experience. She has seen too much and done too much. She’s smart and is painfully rethinking her past. I’ve heard her crying a couple of times. My job as a security consultant requires me to spend chunks of time in bad places. I need the money and I know about violence, security, and physical protection but not much else. Especially not how to comfort my young, troubled niece.”

“When Jack brings her back, give me some time and I’ll ask her. Okay?”

“You got it.”

When Jack came up holding Bernadette’s hand, Peter asked him to go help the Nguyens with the picnic lunch and told him he could have one coke. Jack and Rip ran off to the kitchen. Peter said, “Bernadette, please sit down over here. I need some help and Terry told me to ask you.”

Bernadette laughed. “Generally, men don’t start talking to me about helping them. It’s usually more specific but something tells me that if you wanted a woman for sex, you would have no trouble finding one.”

“Believe it or not, I haven’t even had a date for two years. Sex hasn’t been high on my priority list.”

Bernadette laughed again. “Now that you’ve explained yourself, let’s get to the point.”

“I need a governess for Jack. Like Terry, I travel a lot and can’t take Jack with me. With a governess he would be able to stay here or come with me. I’ll pay you well and give you free room and board in my house. It’s divided into a couple of guest suites. You can have your pick.”

“You mentioned pay.”

“How about five thousand a month to start?”

“Dollars!?”

“Yes. But I can do other currencies.”

“No. No. I accept,” she said and shook Peter’s hand.

“When can you start?”

“I already did.”

As they were shaking hands, Terry came up and said, “I hope that means you now have a job.”

“Yes. A great job and a place to stay. Maybe America is the ‘golden mountain’ the Chinese talk about. And I’m working right now so don’t distract me. Here comes my ward and his dog that weighs almost as much as I do.”

Frank Batcher spent the better part of what was left of the night studying what came out of the midnight delivery to his mailbox and what he would tell his boss in the morning. It wasn’t every day that a source like this appeared. So far he had managed to hold off all the “do it by the book” people in his chain of command. They all wanted to focus on finding this “potential asset” and bringing him under control and direction. Something in Frank’s assessment of this new source was that he was smarter and a better student of the espionage craft than they were, and he would spot any attempt to identify him at the first attempt. Tomorrow morning he and his Division Chief would try to see the Director of Operations.

When Frank and his Division Chief walked into the Director’s suite, he was confident they had worked out a good approach. When Frank finished his briefing of last night’s event, the Director said, “Frank, what you are telling me is that you want to wait and take no action if and until your new unknown source contacts you again. Is that right?”

“Yes sir.”

“You know that will not sit well with all the process people around here who spend all their time trying to second guess the real case officers who actually run agents. Well, it just so happens I agree with you. It is often better to not make a decision than make one based only on protocol.

“Now you have to listen to me give you my theory about your source. For the last two plus years we have picked up indications that the KGB has been making a big search effort for something. In all my time in the world of clandestine operations, I have never seen anything like it. I’m going to tell you both something that does not leave this room.

“A little more than two years ago the KGB started paying an unusual interest in American banks. We had reports of KGB officers in or near banks in Minneapolis, Chicago, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, and Washington. Four of their experienced case officers were killed in broad daylight in their car parked across the street from a Mellon bank. All the men were armed. Two with AK-47s. None of them fired a shot. I believe a lone man killed them all with a .22 silenced semi-automatic.

“Some weeks later, three cars full of KGB officers attacked a farm house in Latrobe, Pennsylvania. For you golfers, that’s Arnold Palmer’s hometown. Three of them were found by the local police shot to death. A young woman and her infant daughter were found dead in the back pasture just a few yards from a tree line she was apparently running toward. She had a Browning 9mm and managed to kill three of them, while trying to escape carrying a baby.

“No questions yet. Hold them, please. A woman, two children and a man were living in that house under the name Webb. A thorough background check turned up nothing. No fingerprints on record. The Webbs arrived in Latrobe the day after the killings in Pittsburgh. They paid cash for everything, including a late- model Cadillac from Arnold Palmer’s dealership. There is no record of the two-year-old or the man, probably the father. They just vanished. No name and no identified vehicle.

“Two years later, your source shows up. Provides solid proof that he is or was a KGB officer. Does he have a motive for getting even with the KGB? I’ll say he does. The radio he gave you is a big deal. We’d never even seen one before. To top that he locates an illegal agent, cases his house, practically tells you how to take him down but suggests watching him might be a better tactic to keep from spooking other Russian agents in the same network.

“He also understands evidence he gave you probably couldn’t be used in court without his testimony, which you will never get. The last thing is that he gives you the name and address of a Russian illegal agent trained to conduct terror operations in Washington if war seems probable. He knew this agent’s mission, his personality and then to keep you dumb asses from getting killed, he does the job for you. Killing this terrorist, using guess what? A silenced .22. If we find any brass at the scene, I’ll bet it matches the brass from the shooting in Pittsburgh.

“Then your source drags the body into the bushes to give him time to take the dead terrorist’s keys and search his apartment where in less time than seems possible he finds the guy’s cache and the next night puts it all in your mailbox. At least he is human and needs sleep.

“Okay, Frank. I think I saw some bells go off in your head. Right?”

“Yes sir. There is only one way this source could know everything he has told us. This guy is a highly trained KGB officer who was running a network of illegal Russian agents in and around Washington. For some reason he decided to escape from them but recognized it would take a lot of money to hide with a wife and two kids. That money came from KGB operational funds in the banks with all the activity. This guy is smart, tough, and ruthless.”

“Yes, Frank. He is my kind of case officer. I want him working for us. I don’t care if we ever know his name. No one but the three of us needs to know. No briefing of successors without my direct orders and no support officers, no records. He will get no money. So, no financial records. We need a system to pass him information. Let him come up with one he can control.

“So here is what I want you to do…”

The scheduled 15-minute meeting took longer than an hour. Both Frank and his Division Chief didn’t say a word on their way back to their offices.

There is a reason that man is the Director of Operations, Frank thought. He showed me more in an hour than anyone else has ever taught me.

An hour after the meeting, Frank was called into his Division Chief’s office. The Chief said, “Have a seat, Frank. That was a remarkable meeting. Seldom have I seen the dots connected so clearly. This is going to get complicated. It could turn into a full-time job. I’m bowing out. I want you to report directly to the DDO on this. I’ve cleared the process with him. He’s fine with it. Turn over most of your workload to your deputy. I believe she is up to it. Good luck.”

“She is up to it. Thanks for your confidence and support.”

“Confidence you have. Support from here is questionable.”

Frank pondered that response as he walked back to his office. It wasn’t unexpected. His Division Chief had a keen sense of what could hurt his career and wasn’t big on taking chances. Frank knew that if this op went south, he was the guy holding the bag, especially if the current Director of the Clandestine Services moved on or out.

The last package from his new source included the identities and general locations of four other Russian illegal agents. For the next several months he had more than enough work. He also needed to hire and train six three-person surveillance teams, with instructions not to make waves. They needed to find and watch the agents pretending to be Americans. No arrests could be made if the court trial seemed problematic. Until proven otherwise, these people had to be treated as citizens with all the ensuing rights. Getting information out of your mailbox after midnight from some unknown person doesn’t make Russian spies out of people who look, act, and maybe are bona fide citizens.

Oakley was good. He was constantly searching for surveillance. He was an intelligence operative who lived only for his mission and the constant effort to improve his craft. Peter had to use all his skill to follow Oakley enough to understand his pattern of movement so he could pick a killing zone and method.

Oakley worked at making his movements as random as possible. Peter knew everyone had a pattern. The effort to avoid leaving a predictable movement pattern was itself a pattern. Oakley parked his car in back of his small apartment building with an outside set of stairs. Oakley’s car, an old Honda, was not hard to find. There were only five or six parking places. Peter had his key to Oakley’s pattern and could now establish a kill zone.

He would kill Oakley as he was locking his car at night. There were enough shrubs in full foliage at this time of year. Oakley had come back to his apartment between ten and eleven o’clock the last two nights. Peter bet that he seldom varied his return on the nights he went out. The car lights coming down the driveway would alert him to Oakley’s arrival.

Peter was thankful he had found this killer before the KGB had and sent Oakley after him. If he left this trained terrorist up to the American authorities, Oakley would either escape, kill one or more of his would-be captors, or be captured and go to trial where Peter could be exposed and charged with killing KGB officers in Pittsburgh and Latrobe. Not a good ending for the Brandons.

Peter was in place, well-concealed behind some shrubs by 9:30 PM. He was a good waiter. Spies, snipers, and stakeout teams had this in common. Impatience got people killed, missions blown, or both. His was not an occupation for the faint-hearted or advocates of “give everyone a fair chance.” Give an adversary like Oakley a fair chance and you could end up dead. No fair chance tonight. Peter chose a hiding place near the most undesirable parking space. Oakley’s had been the last car in the previous two nights.

Peter had picked the right place. At 10:30 PM he saw car lights coming slowly down the driveway. He crouched lower, keeping one eye shut to avert momentary blindness.The engine stopped. Lights out. In the darkness of the poorly lit parking area, he saw the door open and Oakley step out and close the door. From ten feet he had a clear shot and took it. He fired twice more as Oakley was falling.

No one could’ve heard the silenced .22 High Standard. Peter dragged Oakley into the bushes in front of his car, picked up the car and apartment keys from the ground where they had fallen, and climbed the stairs to Oakley’s apartment. He wanted to find some incriminating evidence to include with his report to Batcher.

It felt like the entire building was asleep. These were hardworking people. The first door on the left was Oakley’s. He slipped inside, locked the door behind him and began to search with his muted, small flashlight. After checking the toilet tank, he stood and let his mind focus on the room. He didn’t expect to find anything in the toilet tank, but he had to look.

This man was a dedicated KGB professional who had survived nearly ten years living undercover in America. His hiding place would be in this apartment. It would be easy to open and close. Big enough to hold a handgun, small clandestine radio, encrypting pads, at least one set of alias documentation, and a few simple disguise materials. All incriminating but comforting to have. Peter ruled out the kitchen, bedroom, and sitting room. He focused on a small walk-in closet off the one bedroom.

He studied the small closet for a few minutes and moved to inspect the four-inch baseboard molding. He liked the possibility of the baseboard running from the doorway to the closet wall. Easy access. Good security – Oakley could get in and out of his caching place without have to turn his back on the doorway.

In a few minutes he found the three-foot length of baseboard that was easy to remove. Behind it Oakley had cut and removed three inches of the drywall along the entire three-foot length. Between the 2-by-4 studs, he found what he was looking for. He packed it all into a small valise that he took off one of the closet shelves. Making a quick check, he moved to the door, eased it open a crack, stepped out, and locked the door behind him.

On the way back to the hotel, he went over what he would send to Batcher. This should make a believer out of him if he hadn’t taken down the Hartfords yet.

After midnight the following night, Peter parked a block from Batcher’s house and put his report and the items taken from Oakley’s apartment in the mailbox. He called from a phone booth in Georgetown. When Batcher answered, Peter said, “Get your mail. There will be no follow-up call. You should have all you’ll need. Remember, no attempts to identify me. There are no second chances. Any media reports will alert other members of the illegal network. They do not know each other but do know how to read and watch television. No mention of equipment or espionage agents. You may want to watch the Hartfords instead of arresting them. There are three more in this network. I won’t be using your mailbox again. Goodbye.”

Peter had told his network to relocate to their assigned areas six months before he broke away from the KGB. By now they would be in place with the names he had given each agent. Peter was sure these illegal agents now had no way of contacting the KGB unless they had decided not to move when he instructed them. The KGB had a record of their previous addresses, so with an intensive use of resources, it was possible the KGB could find one or more of them. After all, they had found him.

Peter had directed Harry and Mary Jane Hartford to move to the Leesburg area. If they were there, a simple phone book search may be enough. Otherwise he would have to set up an unscheduled meeting. He had to tell himself again that these people he was betraying were killers in waiting. They were all hardcore communists willing to die for their country.

The next morning Peter studied some local maps. Tomorrow he would find the Hartfords, but first he would do his homework and explore the area. He decided to go as far west on Route 7 as Purceville and then double back to the river crossing at White’s Ferry, from there go through Poolesville to the beltway and take 495 back to Tysons. It was a pleasant drive and traffic was light after the rush hour.

The ferry barge at White’s Ferry was interesting, a bit of private enterprise that would have never been allowed in the Soviet Union. He stopped for lunch in Poolesville and browsed in a local antique store, called Hearthside, recommended by the waitress at the restaurant. He bought some children’s books for Jack and returned to his hotel.

Peter was now ready for his first step to destroy the Soviet network of terrorists under his control. He had a late breakfast in Leesburg the following day. He bought a town map and stopped at a pay phone to look up the Hartfords. They were listed as living on Morven Park Road. Peter drove by the house, a small bungalow on the west side of Morven Park Road, set back from the road, fenced in yard, evidence of a dog in residence, the back of the house not visible from city street, the lot backed onto a wooded area. No good place to set up 24/7 surveillance team. He took several Polaroid shots, dictated some notes, and left the area. No car was visible.

Back in his hotel suite, Peter got out the supplies he had purchased in Leesburg. A ream of paper, sealable envelopes, latex gloves, and a pack of ballpoints. He cleared off the dining table and set up his portable typewriter. His concern was fingerprints. As far as he knew his prints were not in any system and he wanted to keep it that way. When he finished typing in the obvious data such as addresses, physical descriptions, and work skills, Peter added types of weapons in the house according to his own records, the mission assigned, training background, and personality information.

When he finished printing his report, Peter double-enveloped the three sheets of paper. The outer envelope would be removed before putting the information in Frank Batcher’s curbside mailbox. After dark he put his report in the mailbox and called Batcher from an Arlington payphone.

When Batcher answered, Peter only said, “Look in your mailbox” and hung up.

He would send Batcher one more report before going back to Amelia Island. The next illegal agent was a bachelor who lived in a rented apartment in Georgetown. Alias Oakley was a dedicated Communist Party member. His mission was terrorism in the Washington area. He liked to kill up close.

Peter wondered how this fanatic got through KGB screening. Oakley’s brother had been killed early in the Vietnam War in Hanoi, and he held the Americans personally responsible for his death. He had told Peter he would never be taken alive and hoped he would soon be given the go-ahead to start killing Americans.

Peter felt this was not a case he could trust the Americans to handle. If several of them got killed, Batcher would want Peter brought in. No, he would handle Oakley himself and then put his report in the mailbox.

June 1977

 

After a 12-hour drive from Amelia, Peter checked into the Washington Hotel near Tysons Corner just outside McLean, Virginia. Driving that distance with his Florida license plates and parking in the hotel lot added complexity, but he didn’t want to be without a weapon. It wasn’t likely he would run into any KGB agents who knew his face there.

For the past year he had been researching the ranks and assignments of U.S. diplomats to find a CIA officer on the fast track. From his KGB training he knew what to look for. There were several tip offs. One was where the officer lived. Not many CIA officers lived in Washington, D.C., and not many State Department Foreign Service officers lived in McLean or farther west. Daily commuting was a fact of life, and the fewer hours spent in a car going to and coming from work was a strong influence in picking a place to live.

Peter’s checklist came up with a number of candidates. He liked one in particular. A Frank Batcher who lived alone near McLean along Old Dominion in an upscale but not affluent subdivision. This candidate was not a graduate of an Ivy League school, had served three years in the military, saw combat in Vietnam, and held a mid-level rank.

Peter wanted no personal contact with any CIA officer. Telephone contact from a pay phone was the limit. No identification and he wanted nothing from the CIA for himself. He only wanted them to help clean up his network of illegal agents posing as Americans. His first attempt at contact had to work.

He prepared a package to put in the Batcher mailbox. He made sure no fingerprints or other forensics could lead back to him. He included in the package one of the two miniature KGB radios he had kept. In the letter, Peter described in general terms information about his network without identifying himself in any way. He made clear he would control all future communications and any effort to identify him would end the relationship.

After ten o’clock at night Peter walked by the Batcher home and put his package in the mailbox. He then drove into Georgetown and called Batcher from a pay phone. Batcher picked up. “Batcher here.”

Peter said, “Look in your mailbox. I’ll call again in twenty minutes.”

In exactly twenty minutes, Peter called from a different payphone. Batcher answered and said, “An impressive package. What do you want?”

“I want nothing but your help in destroying a KGB network of illegal agents posing as Americans. These people are trained and equipped to cause havoc and mass deaths in America, if and when the USSR decides to begin an attack on the United States.”

“How do I contact you?”

“You don’t. I will contact you.”

“I’ll need some time to get approval for this activity.”

“If you believe that, I’ve contacted the wrong person and I will have to go somewhere else, maybe to another Agency. In one more minute this call will end.”

“If I agree, what is the next step?”

“I call you and tell you everything you will need to pick up a Russian spy. If that works then we will take down another one. I want nothing. No money. No awards. No recognition. If I have anything tangible to give you, I’ll tell you where to find it. You do understand dead drops, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Peter said, and hung up.

1977

 

The Brandons had been in Florida for two years. Peter had heard of Amelia Island and looked for a house there a few days after they arrived from Richmond. He had found a house on a spit of land on the Amelia River with an acre of land and an in-ground pool. The house design fit the setting. It was expensive, and he had had to find a way to pay for it with cash. Driving a Cadillac and wearing quality clothing helped. No one questioned his cash payment. He now had two more bank accounts and safety deposit boxes. His bank in Richmond confirmed he was a depositor. His aim was to get a large part of his wealth legitimate and taxable.

At the tennis club he met a retired Special Forces colonel named Terry O’Brien who suggested he hire a Vietnamese couple to take care of the house and Jack, as well as cook. Terry said they were great people and fighters who fought with the Provincial Reconnaissance Unit in Quang Ngai Province in Vietnam. Terry worked with them during the war and helped them get to the States. Le Dinh Nguyen and his wife quickly became indispensible to Peter.

They were wonderful with Jack. He was now five years old, and he loved them. Peter felt he could travel without worrying about Jack. Terry also introduced him to a breeder of Bouvier des Flandres. As soon as Jack saw the black, roly poly puppies, Peter knew he had to have one. He selected a male pup and when the puppy was 12 weeks old, he came to live at the Brandon house. From that day on Jack and the Bouvier he named Rip were never apart. Peter was astonished at how the dog watched over Jack. He always stood between Jack and any danger, including dangers only a Bouvier could see. Jack was a strong swimmer, but if Jack was in the pool, so was Rip.

Peter and Terry became good friends. They played tennis together at the Amelia Island club and practiced martial arts together. Peter had been trained in the USSR by North Koreans in their martial arts system called Hapkido, a very deadly fighting style. Terry had some military training in unarmed combat but he was more of a natural street fighter. He was some years older than Peter but could hold his own on the tennis court or in the dojang.

Terry was also an excellent marksman. His specialty was shooting at distances longer than 250 yards. He had been a sniper in Vietnam, often working far in front of Marines in I Corps with only his spotter and a radio. Peter wanted to improve his long-distance shooting skills and Terry volunteered to help him. Over a six-month period, Peter’s long-distance shooting skill improved to the point he could almost match Terry’s scores. Of course, Peter never told Terry both his father, mother, and grandfather were outstanding marksmen. Peter thought, Terry would have loved the story of my sniper father and mother at Stalingrad.

Peter felt he was now ready to pay back the KGB for killing his wife and infant daughter. He wanted revenge but also didn’t want to endanger Jack by increasing the resources the KGB was willing to invest to get him. He knew Yuri was beyond his reach, unless he ever got posted to the U.S. for a few years. But he could make a few KGB agents pay. Tomorrow he planned to head north for two or three weeks.

Terry agreed to move in for a few weeks to help the Nguyens and Rip look after Jack. Peter told the Nguyens he had some serious enemies. Their response had been for him to get them two 12-gauge pump-action shotguns and double aught ammunition.

When Peter gave them the shotguns, it only took a few seconds of watching them to know they were trained, experienced warriors. He had no worries leaving Jack with Rip there. Now that Jack had Rip and the swimming pool, he didn’t mind his father taking trips.

Peter and Jack arrived in Richmond very late at night. They checked into a motel and the next day Peter signed a month’s lease on a short-term rental in the Fan neighborhood of Richmond. Jack missed his mother terribly and cried saying, “Where mommy and Chrissy?” Peter tried hard to make up the loss by taking Jack with him everywhere he went.

Leaving the wagon in the attached garage, Peter and Jack walked out to a main street and hailed a cruising cab. Peter gave him the address of a Ford dealer. After the cab dropped them and left, Peter picked Jack up, crossed the busy street and went into a Cadillac dealership a block away. A sales man hurried up and asked if he could help them. Peter responded, “Yes. I’m looking for a new or late model Cadillac, probably a sedan.”

After looking at the new models with no sale, the salesman said, “We have a late model sedan with very low mileage. It has a few scratches and dents. Would you like to see it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s the white one sitting over there. Would you like to drive it?”

“No. I assume you have some kind of a warranty?”

“Yes, we do. Just like a new one.”

After dickering over the price, Peter said, “Okay. Is it ready to go?”

“Yes, it was just prepped. How will you pay for it?”

“I assume you take cash.”

“Yes we do. But it is a bit unusual.”

“I’m going through a divorce and do not want to display all my accounts to blood sucking lawyers.”

“Ten thousand will pay the cost of the car. There will be a little more for taxes.”

“Draw up the sales agreement. We have a deal.”

Back at the rental, Peter transferred all the cargo in the wagon to the Cadillac. Then he and Jack went for a ride into one of the higher crime areas of Richmond. Peter left the keys in the unlocked wagon and he and Jack walked away. Peter had no doubt the wagon would be gone within the hour. He had broken the name chain. There was nothing that could link Brandon to Webb to Kincaid. After resting for a few days, the Brandons left for Florida.

Peter established the first Brandon bank account by depositing $8,000 into a bank that had branches throughout the South. He also rented a safety deposit box and paid three years in advance. He left a sack of diamonds, several ounces of gold, and $100,000 in currency, all in the Brandon name. It felt good. If only Marie and Christina could be here, he thought.