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.”