The supper of hot soup, trail mix, and instant rice with hot sauce was over and the small fire was dying down. Since sundown it had been growing colder. Terry volunteered to take the first watch from a promontory a hundred feet above and south of their camp.

Bernadette said, “I don’t care if my uncle is sitting up above us. Put these sleeping bags together. I’m cold and want you to love me. I promise I won’t scream. With the kind of life you lead, I want to be with you. Not wasting a day. I feel the odds are going to catch up with us before I can give you a house full of Brandons.”

“Bernadette, as long as we are facing so many dangers, enjoy each day. I don’t want to live my entire life being so careful and protective. I don’t see any relief for at least two years. I want to hold you close and not make your life so difficult, you may decide to leave.”

“No chance. You couldn’t drive me away. I’m here and here to stay. My uncle has already told me living with you would be dangerous. My life has always been dangerous. You have given me something to live for. Before I met you, all I had was a belief to die for. This is better. Now it is bed time.”

When they reached the high point of 1,000 feet, Terry asked Bernadette to lay out the next line of march, which she did correctly in quick time. Before they started out, Terry said, “Let’s check our packs. I think I heard some pack noise from my point position.” Terry quickly found the problem in Bernadette’s pack and padded the rattling items. He also put the heavier items on the bottom to make the pack less top-heavy.

Terry took a quick look at Peter’s pack and said, “You’ve done this before. Bernadette, note where Peter is carrying his ammo, right where his left hand can quickly get a loaded magazine. At the next stop we do a foot check and another one two hours later. We cannot deal with bad blisters or turned ankles. We have to be able to move very fast without worrying about a sore foot or painful ankle.”

Bernadette insisted on carrying an equal load. Peter noted she showed no signs of fatigue even though they had been climbing steadily. He thought, this Irish girl is incredible. I didn’t think after my wife was killed that I could ever love again. I was wrong. I love this woman and must protect her. I wish she was back with Jack. So far this seems too routine. I have to keep my edge. Terry is good at this stuff. This is probably a walk in the park to him. Must remember these people are serious and very dangerous.

An hour before the light began to fail, Peter said, “Okay, this looks like decent campsite. I judge we’re within two miles of the training camp. We should be several hundred feet above the camp of the bad guys. I’d like to keep that advantage.

“Tomorrow morning we’ll find the camp and set up our hides. The camp shouldn’t be hard to find. There is a jeepable road into the camp from the east. We’ll be approaching from the west and should not be in their extended training area. I don’t know how their shooting ranges, if any, are oriented. If we stay a few hundred feet higher than their camp we shouldn’t have to contend with any danger from their firing range.

“There is another problem. I’ve no idea what they are teaching in the camp. Logically, they are not teaching standard military skills, such as patrolling, use of mortars, heavy machine guns, or shoulder-fired rockets. I expect they are teaching casing of targets, communications between cells or individuals, recruitment of sources, placement of explosives, maybe bomb making, small arms, and standing up to interrogation techniques. The training subjects make me believe they won’t be roaming in the hills around their camp but they may have lookouts posted. Now a treat. I always travel with some scotch but in this case I have some Irish whiskey. Does anyone pass?”

September 12, 1977

 

Leaving the Nguyens, Jack, and Rip at the cabin with the Cadillac, Peter, Bernadette, and Terry climbed in the big cab of the pickup. A locked box secured into the truck bed contained their weapons, camp gear, extra clothing, ghillie suits, and provisions. Peter drove. “My hope is that we won’t have to go into the camp. From the maps and photos we looked over, we should be able to find a place where we can camp a mile or so from the training camp in a good defensive position with multiple escape routes.

“Three days of observation and photographing with our new super duper long-range camera that weighs too much should give us time to collect what we need. It’s possible we may have to go in the camp building or buildings, but not until we totally understand the tempo and activity of the camp.

“I’ll drive through Charleston on the main drag looking for the turn off to County Route 20. We’ll continue for ten miles southwest on Route 20 and look for a place to get this truck off the road and far enough into the tree line, so with our black tarp thrown over it, we can leave it for a few days. My estimate is it will take us a little more than a day’s walk to get into position. If for any reason we get separated, we meet at the truck. I know we’ve been over this, but I like to cover the essentials to refresh our plans and maybe discover some flaws.”

“Our radios are in the clear,” Terry said. “We must be careful how we use them.”

“Yes. Only messages of a few words. I don’t think there is an intercept capability any place near here. But Terry’s right. Act as if your communication could be intercepted.”

Bernadette asked, “What kind of a camp are we going to set up?”

“Minimal. No tent. We’ll tie up a tarp if it rains. I don’t expect we’ll get out of these clothes until the job is done. We won’t have to wear the ghillie suits in camp. No sense in scrubbing the green and black skin paint off. A very small, no-smoke fire for hot liquids, coffee, and soup. Meals are all prepackaged. We will have one person awake at all times in a position to watch over the camp. If we need to we should be able to move our camp in minutes. We will try to always be in sight of each other. Any person in an advanced position will always be covered by two rifles.

“I want to avoid any firefights. But if one happens, we take no prisoners. It’s better to mess up the mission rather than lose one of us.”

Bernadette said, “We’ve gone ten miles. Our map shows a series of fire roads in the forest. A couple cross Route 20 just ahead. I suggest you take the second one.”

Peter slowed and shifted into four-wheel drive.

Terry said, “Up there about 50 yards. See that slight break in the tree line?”

Peter checked his mirror, braked, and pulled into the fire road. He said, “Now look for a place to hide our black truck.”

Bernadette pointed. “Straight ahead, on the right by that large pine tree.”

Peter said, “Looks good,” and powered the Ford through the soft pine branches and parked in a grove of 20-foot pines. When they had their gear out of truck and covered it with a black plastic tarp, it was almost invisible. Peter and Bernadette had selected the AR-15 as their shoulder weapons. The automatic rifle was light with a choice of 20-or-40 round magazines. It was not a burden to carry 300 rounds of the light ammunition. Terry stuck with his favorite, the US M40A1 Sniper with the 10x scope.

Terry had the map spread out on the Ford’s tarp-covered hood. Bernadette, looking intently at her compass, said, “Okay. What am I to do with this?”

Terry laughed. “Okay, Irish city girl, watch and learn.”

With Bernadette watching every move, Terry laid his compass on the map and drew a line from their current location to a destination close to the suspected terrorist training camp. Terry said, “Once we get to this place I’ve marked on the map, I’ll do the same thing again, getting closer to the camp each time. Professionals like me call those lines azimuths. Use your great memory to remember the degrees of each azimuth. To find the truck from our next destination, simply follow the reverse line, or azimuth.”

“I hate to say it but that sounds simple. I understand it and never had any of your fancy courses.”

“The only other lesson for you is to always trust your compass. In doubt, it is right and you are wrong.”

Later that night when Peter and Bernadette were sitting around a small campfire by their tent, Peter asked Bernadette about her uncle. Peter said, “I see a six-foot-two heavily muscled man who is immensely strong with hair clipped as short as the clippers could cut. Beyond that and my respect for his integrity and kindness, I only know I like him very much.”

“I read some papers he had lying on his desk when he was making an application for foreign security work of some kind. I’ll give you what I remember.” Bernadette stared at the flickering small flames and started to recite. “Terry left the service as a colonel with multiple tours of special operations combat duty in Vietnam and as a combat advisor in Angola and Central America. Two Silver Stars, three Purple Hearts with the scars to go with them, and numerous campaign ribbons were listed under awards. They didn’t mean anything to me and I didn’t focus on them. There was practically no weapons course he had missed. Weapons training, operational planning assignments, and intelligence collection and analysis were where he excelled. He is good with languages with a natural ability to learn languages. In addition to Chinese he speaks Spanish, French, and German.”

“Bernadette, you have amazing recall.”

“I’ve always been able to recall and see things in my mind, if it was important to me. Focusing is the important part. You want me to tell you about our first night together?”

“No. I’d sooner you show me.”

“Okay! I’ll lead, you follow. I knew you had some promise.”

Two and a half weeks later, the storage area in the mineshaft was nearly completed. Peter, Terry, and Bernadette built a wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling bookcase on the back wall of the master bedroom. Behind the space for a TV set, Peter installed a switch hidden behind a power plug to swing open a door-sized section of the bookcase. The switch, operated by turning the power outlet lower plug one-half turn counter-clockwise, caused a section of the bookcase to smoothly rotate on its center support.

The finished hidden room was about 15 by 30 feet. Several black, good-quality metal four-drawer filing cabinets lined one wall. A large gray metal desk with an IBM electric typewriter, a black metal supply cabinet, and three metal chairs completed the furnishing.

The concrete block walls were painted white with a textured paint. The cement floor was painted light beige with three small oriental carpets to relieve the sterile atmosphere. A large white board with an array of markers and a cork wall to hang maps covered a side wall.

The atmosphere in the room did not have the damp musty feeling of an underground storage area. The thermostat controlling the electric baseboard heaters maintained a constant 68 degrees. Two large grated vents in the ceiling provided heat and cooling. A metal conduit containing the power lines ran down both long walls. A metal door was set into a cement block wall at the back of the room. Behind the door was the beginning of a small, well-stocked armory. A glass case of handguns lined one wall. On the opposite wall a series of gun cabinets held an assortment of sporting rifles and shotguns. Terry said, “Later we can add some automatic weapons like, M-16s, the shortened AR-15 version, Uzis, and AK-47s. None of them are hard to buy, but it takes time to find the right sellers.”

“I like the escape you built into the back of this hidden room,” Bernadette said. “Who would believe that behind the next door was a way out of here?” She raised the locking lever bar and stepped into the darkened space beyond. Peter and Terry followed her into the tunnel. A small point of light identified a light switch that dimly illuminated a long narrow tunnel that seemed to lead deeply into the mountain. Except for a few ventilation shafts and old shoring timbers, the tunnel was bare. After about 30 feet the tunnel turned sharply to the right and angled toward the surface. Another 10 feet and there was an aluminum ladder fastened to shoring timbers. At the top of the ten-foot ladder was a trapdoor.

Bernadette started up the ladder. Peter whispered to Terry, “Do you think she can open the trapdoor?”

“You’re damn right I can and stop whispering like a couple of school boys.”

She reached the trapdoor and opened the locking bar. She pushed upward. Nothing happened. Bracing herself, Bernadette put her shoulders against the door and pushed steadily upward using her legs. The trap door started to swing up. She gathered her strength and thrust up as hard as she could. The door swung up and crashed open.

“So much for a quiet escape,” Bernadette muttered as she was climbing out of the hatchway. She moved to one side to let Peter and Terry climb out. They were all in a small cave that looked out over the valley. The cave was only big enough for three people to sit under the short overhang. The trap door had been concealed with small stones, loose dirt, and leaves. Bernadette said, “Okay, who is the woodsman that weighted the door to camouflage it?”

Terry said, “I guess I over did it a bit. I’m surprised you could open it.”

“It’s a good thing I went up first. You two wimps would have needed help. What good is an escape route that almost can’t be opened and then makes a huge noise in opening?”

Peter said, “How about an excellent Vietnamese lunch?” They all started back through the tunnel to the cabin.

Bernadette said, “It’s a good thing I’ve been working so hard or I’d be fat as a pig by now. The Nguyens are excellent cooks. I’ve no interest in going out to lunch. With them here, I could live here permanently. I don’t know how they do it. One of them is nearly always awake. I took a walk outside the tent before first light a few days ago. Mr. Nguyen was moving quietly on the slope leading to the tent. He saw me. Stopped and raised his shotgun over his head to keep from scaring me even more. I’m glad they’re on our side.”

“You wouldn’t believe the firefights they have been in,” Terry said. “Between them, they have more combat experience than most Special Forces troops.”

Peter said, “With them watching at night and Rip never leaving Jack’s side, I can almost relax. Jack and Rip have learned how to entertain themselves without constant adult supervision. One of the workmen got too close to Jack, and Rip moved between them and growled. He’s full-grown but will add more muscle. He knows his job.

“Given that Bernadette and I have some bad enemies, I want to keep the existence of this place to our small group. Do we want to stage out of here to check out and possibly take down the training camp?”

“I like it here,” Bernadette said. “I feel safer here than in the city. IRA types aren’t as comfortable in the mountains and forests as they are in any urban location. My vote is stage from here. Thanks to the gun shows we’ve hit in the last three weeks, there is a better selection of weapons here.”

“Don’t let this go to your head little niece, but you are very good,” Terry said. “I’ve seldom had such good students. Either one of you can have my back. Peter, you are a natural. It must be in your blood.”

While Terry was talking, Peter wondered what Terry would say if he told him both his mother and father were decorated snipers, and that he had been conceived on the Stalingrad battlefield.

“Your set up is a little unorthodox but the results are outstanding. I agree with my beautiful and lethal niece. Let’s stage out of here.”

“Okay, here it is! Bernadette, we need you on this trip. I wish we didn’t. I’d feel better if you were here with Jack. For his sake as well as yours. I feel we are a family, including brother Terry, and I don’t want to lose anyone. On this trip it is not the mission first. Our safety is first.”

The Brandon crew had been in the cabin for almost two weeks. It was as if the outside world didn’t exist. The contractor finished his work, and the daily coming and going of trucks was over. All were in love with the privacy and views of the forest-covered mountains. Jack loved to run down the grassy slope with Rip and jump in the creek. Peter enjoyed going to town in the new four-wheel drive Ford pickup truck and was putting the skills he had learned as a carpenter’s helper in Canada to good use. He was happy. He loved working with his hands and he had a natural skill both with weapons and tools.

With Terry’s help, he replaced the outside door with a modern steel-line door and a dead-bolt locking device. They also added an alarm system that covered all the outside windows and door as well as the driveway. Motion-activated sensor lights were put on the cabin’s four corners.

As they were standing at the entrance to the mine, Terry said,“I think the first 100 or so feet of this mine is the original cave. At some point, maybe a 100 years ago, a family living on or near this site used this cave as the first part of a coal mine. Notice where it narrows severely. That is where they started digging.”

Peter said, “I want to extend the master bedroom into the cave to create a hidden room to store weapons and use as an escape route from the cabin if ever necessary. My plan is to prepare the entrance to the cave, pour a six-inch concrete slab inside the cave, and then build the extension room inside the cave. Later I’ll simply join it to the bedroom by a hidden door.”

Terry said, “No problem. With some hard work and a rented backhoe, we could easily build the extension into the mine. When we’re finished, it would look as if the cabin’s back wall was flush with the hillside. Six months after it’s completed, I doubt anyone could tell from looking at the outside.”

Peter said, “Are you telling me that you can run a backhoe?”

“Yes and a bulldozer, if necessary. Part of the skills I picked up between jobs and summers, when I was struggling to get through Furman University without owing anybody anything.”

“Let’s go rent a backhoe and I’ll call the contractor and get him to pour a floor in the cave for a storage area.”

“If we get a backhoe today, your contractor can come tomorrow to get ready to pour the floor. A couple of hours to do the pouring and a couple of hours to finish off the floor. In three days we should be able to start building your secret room,” Terry said.

“I think we could finish by two weeks from today,” Peter said. “I’ll have the contractor run power to the storage area, too.”

After a tiring two-day trip, the Brandon caravan of a new pickup truck and Peter’s Cadillac pulled into the cabin’s parking area. The workmen were gone. Even the extensive repairs to the six foot, black chain-link fence enclosing the cabin and ten acres was finished.

Everyone helped unload the vehicles. The Nguyens delayed any food preparation until Mrs. Nguyen got the kitchen scrubbed down. Bernadette tried to help but got chased away. She then took charge of getting the tent set up down by the creek. Terry walked around the cabin, noting where floodlights and sensors should be installed. Rip and Jack went into exploring mode and soon had covered the cabin and fenced grounds. The small creek was the best. Rip and Jack romped and splashed in the creek and made enough noise to scare wildlife miles away. Peter and Bernadette stopped the setting up of the campsite to watch the now full-grown Bouvier and Jack frolic in the brook.

Bernadette said, “Why can’t it stay like this? Watching them makes me want to have a baby sister for Jack.”

“If we can get through one more year and get you away from the IRA, who knows. With luck maybe your wish can come true.”

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.