Down at poolside, just before tea, Bernadette said, “Terry’s coming for dinner tonight. I told him we are lovers. He’s good with that, just worries about either one of us getting hurt.”

“Good. I’m glad you told him. I think he knew this would happen. Anyway, I have an idea I want to talk over with both of you.”

After a cookout by the pool with Terry doing most of the cooking and after Jack and the Nguyens had gone to bed, Peter, Bernadette, and Terry sat in a net-covered small pavilion discussing Terry’s last trip to the Middle East. Terry’s thesis was that sooner or later radical Muslims will declare war on the Christian West. “The two religions are and always will be incompatible and the minority of Jihadists will be the voice of Islam.

“The moderate Muslims will remain quiet, partly out of fear and partly because they, too, are tired of Western wealth and dominance,” Terry said. “On the personal side, it looks like I can have work as long as I want to work. A number of people and companies with a presence in the Arab world are paying big bucks for people with my skills.”

Peter asked, “With all your big-paying jobs, can you take two months off? I need your help and will cover expenses and extra pennies for your services.”

Bernadette broke in and said, “What about me or haven’t I shown you enough?”

Peter laughed and said, “I was taking your help for granted.”

“Right answer.”

“Of course I’ll help. I need a break anyway. What will we be doing?” Terry asked.

“Trust the Irish. Right to the point. No foreplay at all. First, I bought a mountain cabin and about 1,000 acres of mountain land. The cabin needs work done. There is a contractor doing some things right now, but there are other things I want done that I don’t want anyone except present company to know. That will be the first month’s work.”

“And what will be the second month?” Terry said.

“More work in the mountains. Hiking, shooting, spying, and lying. Some people I know that Bernadette has seen through her 10x scope have asked me to do something for them. I really can’t refuse. One of those kinds of things. These people can be considered to be the good guys as long as I cooperate. Also they are part of the law. There is a suspected terrorist-training camp they want me to look into. They’ve told me where the camp is but don’t know much about it. They said it’s possible the camp is legitimate.”

“Oh,” Bernadette said, “that makes it okay? I still think I should have shot them.”

Terry said, “I don’t even want to hear about my innocent niece getting involved with guns and things. What will her IRA friends think of her?”

“While we are cabin building, I want you to improve Bernadette’s shooting at targets 200 yards out.”

“Tell me more about the second month in the mountains.”

“The easterners call them mountains. To the people who have seen real mountains, they are just steep hills covered with forests. The work is straight forward. All we have to do is check out a camp teaching tactics, sniping, and general outdoor skills. Most, if not all, of the students are would-be terrorists holding real or bogus American citizenship. We collect some information and maybe close the camp down. There are some indications that the Soviets are involved. Just a routine assignment.”

“I like your friends even less,” Bernadette said.

Terry said, “Well, at least we have a month to think about it and work out some possibilities.”

“Terry, can you go to the Pennsylvania cabin the day after tomorrow?”

“Don’t see why not.”

“Bernadette, will you organize our caravan? The Nguyens, Jack, Rip, you, me, and Terry. Buy anything you need, including vehicles. Be nice to have a pickup truck. Get the Nguyens to buy the food and drink we will need. They can both drive. Maybe let them drive the pickup or Cadillac. It is, at least, a 15-hour trip. Set up stopping places for gas, meals, and sleep. We can’t caravan safely the whole way, but we can have organized rendezvous. Three or four short-range radios may be useful. Agree?”

“Yes. I love to buy cars. We’ll also need some blankets or sleeping bags. I didn’t mind sleeping in the tent. We’ll be very short of indoor sleeping accommodations.”

“You’re in charge. Make it happen.”

It was a 12-hour plus drive from McLean to Amelia Island. Peter was within three hours of his destination before he gave in to sleep and stopped in a motel near the exit to Hilton Head off Route 95. He was back home before lunch the next day. All was well at home. The Nguyens served a curried chicken and a medley of curried vegetables for lunch. Both Jack and Bernadette sat close to him at lunchtime. Rip had matured slightly in his absence. He was now curled up under the table. It was a strict protocol that Rip was not fed from the table but anything that fell on the deck was his. Somehow, Jack always managed to drop something with an innocent look of “how did that happen?”

After lunch when it was time for Jack’s nap, Bernadette led Peter up to the master bedroom and demanded a briefing. Peter said, “How can I brief you when you’re sitting on my lap and wiggling?”

“Come lie down and let me get the wiggling urge out of my system, then you can brief me.”

Lying beside Peter with one long, shapely leg still lying across his body, Bernadette said, “Okay, I’m almost done wiggling. Now the briefing and don’t hold anything back.”

“First I missed you very much and missed the comfortable feeling that my back was covered. In two cases some people died. One I killed, and the others tried to trap me but I figured it out and sent the good guys to show up for dinner rather than me. It was a trap and at least two were killed and maybe three others arrested. I watched from some distance but don’t have any more details.”

“What do I have to do to convince you that you’re safer with me than not?”

“Nothing. Jack’s safety is more important to me than my own. So I feel safe when I know you’re here with Jack. You are probably the deadliest governess anyone ever had for their son. If you weren’t so good I’d have you with me all the time.”

“Okay. That’s a good answer. I have to have more time to think up a response.” As she rolled over on Peter, she said, “Your briefing is over. My turn.”

Thursday August 26, 1977

 

It took Peter most of the morning to find James B. Casey in Frederick, Maryland. Peter had seen Jim Casey on only one occasion but they hit it off well. Peter had a genuine desire to help the Caseys escape from their espionage past. He thought, True, they are here illegally. So what? There are millions of illegal immigrants in America. These people are paying taxes. So far they have done nothing to hurt America. From a KGB viewpoint, they have adjusted too well. There are no kids, and both husband and wife are agents. They will have the smarts and experience to keep the identities I gave them and stay right here or go anywhere they want to go. They don’t need the hand of American security forces watching them. In five years no one, not even me with my inside knowledge, could find them.

Peter called Jim Casey and Jim asked him to come to their house for dinner. Peter accepted but wondered why Casey was breaking protocol. A handler of agents like Peter never went to the home of one of his agents. The security risk was too high for the agent in case the handler had made a mistake and had picked up some FBI surveillance. Years of work, risk, and preparation on the part of the illegal agent could vanish with nothing positive to show.

For the next hour Peter debated what he should do. He had too much at stake to walk into a possible trap. He decided to play it safe and called Frank Batcher at his office number. He used the telephone name Frank had given him and was put through immediately. He explained the situation to Frank and recommended that a team show up instead of him at the Caseys’ home at 6:45 PM.

Peter parked his car three blocks from the Casey house and walked to a place he could see the house from a distance.

At exactly 6:45 he noticed two casually dressed couples walking toward the Casey house. He suspected the back of the house would be covered as well. The couples continued on their walk and a single male pulled up, parked his car, and hurried up to the front door and rang the bell. The door opened, and the two couples came up at a hard run and pushed inside. A quick burst of gunfire and it got quiet. There were now two ambulances at the curb. Two stretchers came out with covered bodies. A squad car arrived and the two officers surrounded the house with crime tape. From his vantage point 75 yards away, Peter saw two handcuffed men and a woman led out and put in a black van that had just arrived. He had seen enough. Somehow the KGB had found the Caseys or the Caseys had alerted the KGB. He had to be more careful. No longer could he think the danger was less than it had been. The search was still active and had found a loose thread somewhere. He had almost disregarded his instincts. Never again. This was a close call. He would start back to Amelia Island now, after making sure he wasn’t being followed.

The next day, Peter located John Bowers in Poolesville, Maryland. Bowers had been in America for 30 years. He had a wife and grown family who did not know he was a KGB agent. Peter called him and set up a meeting in the small park along the Potomac at Whites Ferry. John, who had met Peter twice as Mr. Walters, was obviously nervous. Peter was waiting for him at a picnic table with a couple of bottles of cold Sam Adams beer. Peter waved Bowers over and shook his hand. As they sat down, Peter said, “It’s been more than two years since we last met. How are you doing?”

“I’m living where you told me to go. Kids are doing well. Your extra money helped them finish their educations without a crushing debt. My wife is unhappy, she wants to go back to Wisconsin. My report is in this envelope.”

“Keep your report. I have some good news. You have two options. The first is to go back to the USSR next month or to relocate anywhere you want in Wisconsin.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Back to the Motherland or back to your wife’s family roots. What is so hard to understand about that?”

“This is a test. You know I have to say back to the USSR.”

“No test. You’ve done what we asked. It would be hard and expensive to relocate you and your family to Moscow. I want you to just disappear in the United States. Much more secure and inexpensive for us. We may contact you someday, but I doubt it. Your choice.”

“I’m still afraid this is a trap. Our Agency does not operate like that. If I opt to stay here, you will come after me someday.”

“Think! I don’t care where you go. Don’t tell me. How can anyone find you? I never turned in your current name. I have no idea how you got your wife to accept the name change. She must really love you or you’re a great convincing liar.”

“When can I go?”

“Soon as you can. I have a bit of advice. Do not use any name the KGB knows and do not settle anywhere near any address on record or your wife’s family’s home. Go at least 25 miles away or they will find you.”

“I don’t know why you’re helping me, but I appreciate it.”

“One more thing. Here’s an envelope for you. It contains $25,000 to help with the resettlement. This is our last meeting. You will never see me again. Be free but careful. Goodbye.”

Peter felt good about his meeting with John Bowers. He had done his time and deserved to be left alone. Peter had done his best. Neither the KGB nor the FBI should be able to find Bowers.

9:50 PM

Peter, peering through a hole in the wall of a large clump of azaleas, could see Oscar approaching right on time. No doubt Oscar was a pro if a bit of a fanatic. Another ten steps and Peter stepped out of the shrubs right beside Oscar, who in spite of his professionalism, jumped and gasped, “Holy God” in Russian. Peter said, “Are you Russian?”

“Martin, you scared the shit out of me. No contact for three years and you jump out of the bushes.”

“Okay. My report doesn’t have to mention a pro like you cursing in Russian in a very loud voice. You have been left alone for a long time. Let’s keep strolling up the street. First question, are you comfortable in your new cover position and new town?”

“Yes. I have a perfect set up. A job that gives me access to the Metro system and I have a small chem lab over my garage that has everything I need to make ricin.”

“Do you have enough for your mission?”

“I have enough to do several Metro stations. Just give me the word. I hate these smug Americans and their precious freedom at the cost of their downtrodden class of workers. They need a good taste of Russian-style freedom to work your ass off for the benefit of those who need more than they can earn.”

“Is the ricin in a safe place that you can get to in a hurry when we need to strike?”

“Absolutely, it is stored in my lab.”

“How about the American woman you live with? Does she know where it is?”

“No. She has no idea. She can visit me in the lab where I work on my research for another degree from a university that works by mail and taped lessons. I have a homemade lock box behind an American flag hanging on the wall. It is not easy to find. Even if anyone looked behind the flag, they would find nothing without finding the secret opening in the wood panel walls. What about my decoding pads? I miss not being able to get broadcast secret messages.”

“I agree. It would make my job much easier and safer. But Moscow believes there is a weakness in the system. We have lost a few agents, and Moscow suspects the broadcast system. I can’t figure out how that could be. But I don’t tell them what to do.

“One last question. Do you want to go back to the USSR or just retire here when the time comes?”

“I don’t want to go back until I get to do my part by killing hundreds of our enemies, and I never would want to retire here. I want to go home whenever the Center decides.”

Peter saw that they were approaching the kill zone he had selected to use, if necessary. Oscar was looking straight ahead. Peter dropped back a half step, and in a blur of movement put his left hand around Oscar’s head, faking a clockwise twist and then pulling his forehead while Peter’s right hand pushed his chin hard in a counter-clockwise move. The twisting motion from both hands and a body pivot to the left snapped Oscar’s neck. Peter swung his hip, knocking Oscar into the shrubs and out of sight from the street. He looked around again, saw no one, and continued walking to his parked car a block away on a side street. Twenty minutes later, Peter was back at the hotel. He left again in an hour with a short report for Frank Batcher.

Peter slipped his report into the mailbox and called Frank’s home from a pay phone in a McLean gas station. When Frank answered, Peter said, “I lied. I put another package into your mailbox. The agent is dead. His address is in the report I put in your box. You need to get into his house quickly, though you might want to wait until his body is found. He has enough ricin in his lab for several attacks on a metro system during rush hour. His hiding place is described in the report. The woman living in the house knows nothing about who he really was or what he was doing. Goodbye.”

August 24, 1977

 

After dropping Bernadette off at Dulles Airport, Peter drove to Falls Church, parked on a side street and opened the phone book he brought from the hotel. Running his finger down the columns of Jones’ he found Oscar. How many Oscars could there be with Jones as the last name?

Turning right off Broad Street, Peter drove up Lawton Street until he spotted the Jones house. It was an attractive middle-class neighborhood with good-sized lots that were all well taken care of. Trimmed lawns, shrubs a bit overgrown, and large trees lined the street. A blue hydrangea bush was blooming beside the Jones house. A vintage Subaru was sitting in the driveway. No sign of any kid swings or bikes in the driveway or lawn. Oscar had a long-term live-in he swore didn’t know anything about his background. The Subaru was probably hers.

Peter parked where he could watch the house for a few minutes. Fortunately, there were a few ‘For Sale’ signs in the neighborhood that gave him reason enough to be there. But only for a few minutes.

I don’t want to involve the woman. She will have enough trouble with the FBI. No way I can talk to him in his house. The talk thing is not going to work. Oscar is a hardcore card-carrying Communist, totally dedicated to his mission. He won’t be taken alive. I’ll have to call him. Give him the right keywords to identify myself and get him to go where I can kill him if I have to. The only question is do I take the chance of talking to him first or just kill him. It’s hard to have any feelings for a man whose mission is to kill hundreds of people and spread panic. My gut instinct is to just shoot him and get it over with. I’ll call him tonight.

Peter hadn’t told Frank Batcher everything he knew about Oscar Jones, the KGB agent with the mission to shut down the subway system in the nation’s capital by releasing ricin poison during rush hour. Peter last met with Jones three years ago when he gave him instructions to move to Falls Church, Virginia, a suburb in the Washington metropolitan area.

Jones had worked for eight years as a chemist in a chemical plant in Toledo, Ohio. Back then, Peter had had all his agents give him their decoding pads. Without the decoding pads, none of them could receive messages from anyone but Peter. He told them the pads were defective and had to be replaced.

Peter, using the name Mr. Martin, called Oscar from a pay phone in McLean at 7:00 PM and, after identifying himself with the right protocol, told Oscar to meet him tonight at 10:00 PM, walking up Great Falls Street toward McLean on the left side of the street past the city tennis courts and to keep walking until they met.

Peter knew Oscar was comfortable with the contact instructions. They were practically right out of the training manual. This procedure gave Peter control of when and where along the walking route he would make contact. If he saw anything indicating his agent was being watched, Peter could abort the meeting and when no contact occurred, the agent would continue his walk for another ten minutes and then return home.

Peter watched Oscar come out of Lawton Street and turn right on Broad toward Great Falls Street. He stayed put in his car until Oscar was out of sight. Noting no surveillance, he drove another route to get near the tennis courts before parking his car and returning on foot to a concealed position in the heavy shrubs near the courts. He would be able to come out of his waiting position the instant Oscar strolled by.

After a comfort food lunch in the McLean Deli, Peter drove back to the hotel. After a shower, a nap, and another shower, Bernadette said, “I thought I heard something about a briefing that would tell me what happened today. Right?”

“Yes, come close and I’ll do my best briefing.”

“Peter! I’m close enough. Your damned briefing, please.”

“First, we were right. They want something and for the time being will not threaten our safety. They want me, and people who work with me, to do some dirty work for them. Work they cannot do effectively by following the law. But they encourage us to break the law to protect American citizens. A tactical and moral position that is familiar to all governments.”

“They want us to be their assassins?”

“That’s close but it is a little more complicated. They have located a camp teaching survival skills and paramilitary training to people holding an anti-American philosophy. There is some evidence that the KGB provided start-up money and a leader to operate the camp. They want me or us to watch the training camp and provide the government with information.”

“Sounds like pretty standard government counter-espionage operations.”

“Yes. It does. But I wonder why they don’t do the job themselves. They have the people, equipment, and charter to handle operations like this. It’s possible that they want to do this without exposing a sensitive source. Or they don’t want to take the political risk of failure within their own organization, or are fearful of Congressional oversight exposing an operation conducted against American citizens in the U.S.”

“You’re hurting my Irish sense of morality. I need a world of good guys or bad guys. The people you met must have a very flexible core of values. I neither trust them nor like them. I feel we would be better off if you had raised your arm and given me the take out signal. These people will use you until you become a problem and then make you go away.”

“I don’t disagree. Right now I need them in ways they don’t even know. My plan is to keep them happy until I don’t need them any longer. I will need your help.”

“You have me. I’m your woman. You couldn’t drive me away.”

“The danger to you is that I want you too much and will keep you near me long after it is safe for you. I want you to build a new life on my protection and money. A life I can sometimes share. Protecting Jack and you are my top goals in life, and I won’t fail either of you. No matter what.”

“That’s what I love about you, you’re so wishy washy.”

“Okay, your orders. Tomorrow you fly to Jacksonville. I need you to be with Jack and I need to do some things up here I can do better alone. I will be in Amelia in a week or ten days.”

“I’ll go but if you get hurt, I’ll hurt you much worse for not having me at your back.”

Monday, August 23, 1977

 

Peter hung up the payphone in a McLean gas station and left for the meeting site in Great Falls Park. He had dropped Bernadette off inside the park at 8:30 AM. I have done all I could. I’ll soon know if it was enough.

He drove west on Route 193 until he came to the park entrance. He made the right turn and parked out of sight of the actual meeting site. Using his small handheld radio, he checked in with Bernadette. She was all set. It was overcast. Rain was promised. No one had come into the park. She had not seen nor heard any movement in the brush- and tree-covered slopes.

At exactly 12:30 PM a black Chevy pulled into the park and parked where he had told Frank. There was a driver in the car. It was probably Frank. He had only caught glimpses of him when he was casing his house and neighborhood. It was beginning to drizzle. A middle-aged man, slightly stout, wearing glasses, and carrying a rolled umbrella in his right hand walked rapidly with the left shoulder leading as if he was favoring an old injury. Five feet from Peter he stopped, looked around, and said, “Is it okay if I put the umbrella up?”

Peter smiled and said, “No. I’m glad you asked for you would be dead now.”

The man smiled back and said, “I guess getting wet is a better option.”

Peter said, “You have my attention. What do you want with me?”

“No small talk first?”

“We already did that with the umbrella talk.”

This time the man laughed. “Maybe you can help me.”

“I’m listening.”

“First, let me tell you what I think I know about you. I don’t expect you to confirm or deny. Just listen. You were a KGB officer who somehow got into this country and ran from the KGB, taking their money with you. In the escape you killed five of them, in Pittsburgh and Latrobe, and your wife killed three more before she and your daughter were killed by AK-47 fire. A remarkable achievement for both of you.

“When you got the chance you contacted one of my officers and gave him KGB equipment and information about a network of KGB illegals, spies, and saboteurs from your own network. I don’t know where you are living now and I don’t care.

“You have proved to me that we have nothing to fear from you and that you are willing to help. Taking down the sniper illegal agent in Georgetown is all the proof I need of your skills. You can plan and act. Not a usual combination of skills. I need you to help me protect this nation. I suspect that is consistent with your own objectives. Why else would you have come to us when you were already free of the KGB? You also don’t seem to want anything from us. Is that right?”

“Your connection of the dots is accurate. No. I do not want anything from you. I’ll help the cause of freedom but not at the cost of the rest of my family or a long life here in America. America, by the way, is the home of my ancestors. My grandfather got left behind in Siberia, and we have been hoping to get back to America for generations. The KGB has never connected these dots. Now they cannot. I assume what we say here stays here.”

“It stays here. This conversation could hurt me rather badly. I don’t want you ever to talk to anyone but Frank or me. Frank reports directly to me. No notes or records. I will not ever expose you to Congress. Some would say I don’t have to because there is no money involved. That judgment could change with shifting political agendas.”

“What exactly do you want me to do?”

“The short answer is I want you to kill enemies of this nation that I cannot have arrested and tried because of the rules of evidence necessary when foreign spies and saboteurs are given constitutional protection meant only for U.S. citizens. If I apprehend them, it will alert others, because I cannot keep the information away from the media.”

“I don’t see myself as a government assassin.”

“I don’t see you like that, either. You will always have the freedom to refuse assignments after being briefed.”

“Can you give me an example?”

“Yes. There are three USSR agents in your network who are still free. Some of their missions, if successful, could cause many deaths and damage America’s command and control system. Other than your information, I’ve no basis for arresting or even watching them. I would have trouble getting a warrant, though I probably could. And if I could get enough court-acceptable information to prove they are not U.S. citizens, I might, might be able to have some jurisdiction to make an arrest. Then would come the lawyers, the ACLU, and other progressive liberal groups to their rescue. In the end, unless they confessed in front of proper witnesses with legal counsel, they would most probably walk.

“I’m asking you to find them and talk to them about entering some kind of a protection program or voluntary deportation.”

“You’re asking me to commit suicide. I’m willing to find them and maybe talk to some of them about entering a program that would let them stay here and not be punished, but no deportation. The first thing they would say back in Moscow is that I talked to them representing the U.S. Government. The hunt for me would pick up steam. More resources would be committed. Maybe I made a mistake somewhere. One of them picked up a clue and the search, which I believe has wound down, would get new life.

“I’ll find them for you and talk to the one who has the mission of poisoning the water supply of a large city. If he refuses to go into a protection program, he will have to be killed. I cannot take on increased risk for a man who intends to kill thousands of Americans.”

“Okay, find them for us, and we’ll take it from there.”

“Good, I accept.”

“There is always one more thing. We have located a possible terrorist training camp. The information came from a long-term illegal agent who came into America through Canada years ago.

“I want you to check out this camp and report back to me what you have found. Are people actually being trained to commit terrorist acts in America, or is it just training so-called survivalists, minutemen, and ardent re-enactors?”

“And, and…?”

“What? Oh, you mean why should you take this risk?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“It just so happens that I thought of that. May I reach in my coat pocket?”

“Yes, but very slowly.”

“Is your shooter that good?”

“Better than you can believe and dedicated. The shooter may have a problem in heavy rain, so I would have to do the job myself. Right now you should be feeling the crosshairs of the shooter’s scope just above your left ear.”

“I believe you. Here is a letter I drafted. Note it is signed by the Director of Central Intelligence. No file copy. This is the only one. The blank file copy has a torn in half ten-dollar bill stapled to the blank but numbered page. The original I’m giving to you contains the other half of the ten-dollar bill. The bill is your bona fides in case you have to use this letter. The other pages contain what we know of the survival camp.”

Peter scanned the letter. It identified him as a loyal American citizen who has taken on dangerous missions assigned to him by the CIA. The bearer should be granted all possible immunity for actions he had to take in performing his mission. He has saved the lives of hundreds of American citizens.

Peter folded the papers and put them in his rain jacket. “This may help. What are you going to tell Batcher about this meeting?”

“As little as possible. Look at him as being my messenger. Now I’m going to go back to my car. Please give my best to your shooter on the slope behind me. I didn’t see anything. Just back tracking the line of fire, which you so carefully kept open. Lines work both ways. Thank you. No handshake. I don’t want to push my luck.”

August 22, 1977

Sunday afternoon they were back in their suite at the hotel. Bernadette said, “Thank you Peter, I really feel that we were on a honeymoon. I’ll never forget your mountain hideout.”

“I hope we can repeat the adventure several times. Rip and Jack will love romping in the little stream. Late this afternoon I want to go over tomorrow’s action. Please question and make suggestions. You have a good feel for the operational flow.”

“If these people want you to do something important for them that no one else can, we will still be free after the meeting. If not, we’ll be dead for I’m not going to grow old in a British jail.”

“Well said, but if you follow my plan you can escape as long as you don’t shoot.”

“If they come for you, I’ll shoot. That’s the way I am. Won’t even think about it. Thinking too much is not good for taking action. Get in the zone and act. A very good IRA trainer told me that.”

“I can’t change the way you think, but it would be easier for me if I knew you were safe and going back to be with Jack.”

“Sorry.”