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.”

The weather stayed good. Peter and Bernadette wandered all over his 1,000 acres and much of the adjoining land. Bernadette was intrigued with the way the cabin nestled into the hillside. Peter took her hand and said, “Look at this.” He moved some brush aside and exposed the opening to an old family coal mine. Bernadette said, “How deep does it go?”

“I don’t know its extent but it goes in at least a couple of hundred feet. I plan to build a hidden room in the shaft that will open into the master bedroom. Enough of this. I want to explore some more of the mountain while the weather is good.”

They moved the campsite a few times, but always close to the small stream. Bernadette practiced with the .22 Hornet until they were both satisfied. Both worked on their conditioning. Peter taught her a few deadly Hapkido moves, and she learned quickly.

Bernadette showed Peter her knife-throwing skill. She could hit a five-inch circle from 20 feet nearly every time. As much as he tried, Peter couldn’t get the wrist release right and threw a foot right of the target.

Bernadette said, “I hope you are better with gun.”

“Why? I’m counting on you to take care of me.”

When the contractor packed up for the weekend, he told Peter that the bathrooms and kitchen would be functional by the end of the next week.

Sitting in a picnic area alongside the Juniata River, Peter felt a peace he had never experienced before. The world would be perfect, if I could take this woman and Jack somewhere no enemies could ever find us. Next Monday, the problems will start. No ranking officer of perhaps the most effective intelligence agency in the world would want to see me just to talk. I don’t think I personally am in any danger in this meeting. I am just too insignificant for this man to be involved with killing or seizing me. I’m using Bernadette mostly to impress them that I don’t trust them and coming after me would have its downside.

After their excellent picnic lunch from the hotel kitchen, Peter asked Bernadette to drive. He wanted her to be able to find the cabin later and to get a feel for driving narrow mountain roads. But first they had to stop in Bedford to pick up groceries for a week.

By the time she drove through Jennerstown, Bernadette had picked up the skill of mountain driving with some coaching from Peter to anticipate the curves and brake, if necessary, before the curve and accelerate through it. Moving slowly through Ligonier she said, “This town is even more pleasant than Leesburg. I could live here.”

“Good, but you need to see this place in the winter. Cold, windy, and heavy snowfalls. The snow sometimes shuts the town down for a few days. I’ve never been here in the winter but the realtor I’ve been working with told me winters were hard on newcomers until they learned to stop fighting it.

“At the bottom of the next steep downgrade there is a small dam across the Loyalhana Creek.” Peter pointed out the right turn right across the dam and told Bernadette to follow the road. “But not too fast, you will soon be turning back to the west and up a steep ridge.

“Okay, there is your turn next on the right. When you reach the top of the ridge, slow way down. The turn off is hard to see – there is no mailbox and the opening is partially grown over with spruce trees. See the slight break about 75 yards in front on the right? Turn in there. Don’t worry, the branches will brush both sides of the car. There should have been some trucks in here, but I don’t see any signs of them. There is a gate across the driveway. Stop and I’ll open it.”

“Where is the place? I can barely find it with you telling me every turn. How did you ever get here?”

“A woman brought me here in her car.”

“I might’ve known.”

“She was more than twice your age and a sales person.”

“Is that your story?”

“The truth is the truth. Okay, the gate is relocked. Drive ahead and park in the small graveled circle.”

When Bernadette stopped, she was out of the car before Peter. “My God, Peter this place is like a hidden paradise. How much do you own?”

“As far as you can see from here. Around 1,000 acres. I was hoping work had started but no signs of it outside. Let’s go inside. We might not have to use the tent.”

Inside on the dining table there was a note from the contractor saying he would be there with a backhoe tomorrow morning to put in the 1,000 gallon diesel tank and generator. Another crew would be there to tear out the bathrooms and install new appliances. They may also be able to get a start on the kitchen. Peter put the note down and said, “I spoke too soon. Looks like the tent will be our home until Sunday. If it rains hard we can hurry back here and share the cabin with the workmen.”

“Not my idea of a honeymoon,” said Bernadette, flashing her rings.

“Are all Irish ladies so fussy?”

“We’re never fussy as long as our man feeds and beds us often enough. Can we stay here tonight and move out before the workmen get here in the morning?”

“Sure, but in that case come outside with me.”

As soon as she stepped out on the small porch, Peter swept her up and carried her across the threshold. “Every woman should get carried across at least one threshold.”

“That’s a good custom. I can now take that off my ‘to do before I die’ list,” Bernadette said.

Saturday August 14, 1977

 

Bernadette was an even earlier riser than Peter. She had room service bring breakfast before Peter finished shaving. He appeared just as Bernadette was going to go get him. She said, “I’ve been slaving over this breakfast for an hour. Now come and enjoy it before it gets cold.”

Peter loved to have a good cup of coffee before he started on the food. The coffee at the hotel was excellent. Peter helped himself to a plate of crispy home fries, eggs over easy, and dry raisin toast. “Today is going to be a super fun day for me, especially as I want to show you what I bought. No. It’s not anything in this room. No use in looking around. We have a four-hour drive before we get there. We have to pack up and check out. Please call down and ask them to pack us a picnic lunch for pick up in 30 minutes.”

 

Peter drove west on Route 7 to Leesburg where he turned north on Route 15. “I could live here,” Bernadette said as they passed through Leesburg. “America is such a vast place. A poor Irish girl is lost in this mix of terrain, vegetation, architecture, highways, and ethnic groups. It is much simpler in Ireland, Catholic or Protestant, English, Scottish, or Irish with an occasional Welshman. While Ireland is simpler, its historical angers persist as strong as ever. There weren’t enough ingredients for the mixing bowl of differences to produce common goals, hopes, and tolerances for others. I doubt it will ever change.”

“Bernadette, I want you to break all ties with the IRA. You are a very intelligent woman. Pick out an area of study you do or could enjoy, and we’ll find a university that offers what you want. Paying the bill is part of our unwritten contract. When this current phase of danger in my life lessens, please think about what I said. The IRA is not what it used to be. There is no value in killing innocent civilians, including women and children. How can you justify an organization that uses indiscriminate bombing to further their cause? Where is the honor in that? Where is the justification for killing your own because they chose another path?”

Bernadette thought for a moment. “Yes, I’ve lost my belief in the IRA. You know, they don’t allow members to just walk away. Especially those who know as much as I do. I’m okay for a bit longer. They recognize everyone needs a break and travel to America to further the cause, even with casual contacts, is a good thing. While Terry has nothing to do with the IRA, they respect him and do not want him as an enemy, which he would be if they did anything to me.”

“After the killing of my wife and daughter by men who were and are after me, my number one goal is to protect Jack. To give him a chance at life. Even though I love you, if the IRA makes you a target, your presence will endanger my son. Without that problem, I would ask you to marry me right now. The best we can have in the near future is for you to escape the IRA and get an education.

“Depending on what happens, I hope we can see each other. If we’re careful, I don’t see why not. Even if the time I have to wait to see you seems long, I will wait for you. No other woman will take your place. You are young and can make whatever decisions you choose about life. Compared to you, I’m an old man. Probably 15 years older and many miles behind me.

“What if I get pregnant?”

“I would be proud to have a child with you. If you get pregnant, we will manage to maintain some kind of a family, and the child will have a father and not want for anything. The future is very unpredictable. Maybe none of our enemies will be a problem. Sometime I’ll tell you my life story and family history.” Peter turned to look out his window.

“Notice we left the rolling hills of Maryland and Virginia and have been climbing into the Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania. The wide spot in the road just ahead is Breezewood, a major Pennsylvania Turnpike exit. We’ll be taking Route 30 north and west. You will be travelling over one of the oldest and most important roads in the early history of America. I hope you like the outdoors because we will probably be sleeping in a small tent. I have most of the gear we’ll need in the trunk, but we’ll need to stop in Bedford and get some food and drink for camping. While there we might as well get some lunch. Are you hungry?”

“Thought you forgot about eating. We young Irish girls need to be fed otherwise we get cranky. Hunger kills our sex drive. Nothing I can do about it.”

“In that case, I’d better hurry. We’ll be at a roadside rest and picnic area in ten minutes. Hope the picnic lunch is good. May be your last good meal for a while.”

Back at the hotel they showered and dressed casually to go shopping. First was Bloomingdales. They walked into the women’s section. The sales staff paid scant attention to them until one of them saw Bernadette’s diamond ring and jade pendant and hurried over.“May I help you?”

Peter said, “We don’t have much time but this beautiful woman needs some casual and formal wear, head to foot.”

Turning to Bernadette, he said, “Darling, why don’t you get comfortable in one of the dressing rooms, and I’m sure the ladies will bring you a number of items. Just tell them which ones you like. I think you need several outfits of dress and casual. Let’s see what we can accomplish in one hour.”

The sales clerk hurried away and came back with two more sales attendants. To speed things along, Peter moved about the racks pulling off items that he thought would be good on Bernadette and handing them to a confused sales staff. Soon, a steady stream of sales ladies was carrying bundles of outfits back to the largest dressing room.

At the end of an hour Peter called in to Bernadette to see if she had made any selections.

Bernadette giggled and said, “This is really fun. I think I picked about twenty outfits and am now trying to decide the couple to take.”

Peter said, “Not to worry. Bring them all.” He caught the attention of the nearest sales clerk and said, “Please bring the outfits she likes over to the desk and get the total for me. Don’t forget the shoes.”

Peter had the packages sent over to the hotel so they could browse the mall without carrying armloads of packages. The entire bill came to $13,291.83. Bernadette had a hard time keeping a straight face. She hadn’t spent that much on clothes in her entire life. Peter tipped each of the four sales ladies with a $50 dollar bill.

Back in their suite, Bernadette made Peter sit while she modeled all the outfits. She said, “I know modeling all these outfits for you might seem a bit much, but people like us shouldn’t pass up enjoying-the-moment opportunities. Our pure pleasure fun times are limited. So lean back. Enjoy and tell me which outfit turns you on the most.”

Peter said, “All of them. You are a beautiful young woman and in these clothes, and without them, you are the kind of woman men dream about. I intend to manage things so that both of us together or separate will have many more opportunities to enjoy the pleasures of life, especially the small ones that just happen. Now leave those four-inch black pumps on, nothing else, and come to bed.”

“Good! You do have an erotic side.”