Fifteen minutes after getting up from the breakfast table, they were in the car. Bernadette knew not to ask where they were going. He would tell her or not before they got wherever they were going. The road they were on led directly to a park along the Potomac River. The sign at the entrance said Great Falls Park. Peter parked and they got out.

Peter said, “Next Monday about 12:30 PM, a car will pull up over there by that big rock. Our car will be out of sight. One man will get out and walk to the center of this parking lot. Another man, the driver, will remain in the car. There may not be a driver, but one is allowed.

“I will talk with this man for no longer than 30 minutes, probably much less. If I raise my right hand over my head, kill the man with me and shoot at the man in the car. Kill him if you can but do not expose yourself. You will be up on that hillside at least two hours before the meeting time. We will have short-range open radio communications. Keep all messages short, with no names. I know you know all this but I like to cover everything.

“If anything happens to me – killed, hit hard, overpowered by men we missed – hide the rifle and make your escape on foot back to the hotel. There will be a package for you at the desk that will have enough money for you to fly back to Jacksonville and rent a car to go to Amelia Island. Use the car in the garage at my house to take Jack, Rip, and the Nguyens back up here. Use a different hotel.

“The package will have the address of my attorney, a friend of Terry’s, give him the note in the package. He will provide what money you need and give you some instructions about moving into the cabin in the Pennsylvania Allegheny Mountains.

“You will see the place tomorrow. You can all wait there, out of sight. Never admit you were in the park. You were shopping when all this happened. You don’t know where I went. When we get back we will wander through the mall to help your story. That’s it.”

“My God, Peter! I’ve been around men planning operations for the last three years and I’ve never heard any briefing like that. You have had some serious training somewhere. Let’s leave it at that. I’m glad to be on your side. Now show me where I’ll be hiding.”

Thursday, August 12, 1977

The drive up to McLean on Route 95 was much easier with company and two drivers. Peter saw that Bernadette was a natural driver. Her anticipation skills were exceptional. With weapons in the car, they were careful not to get stopped for speeding. Peter said, “It will be good to have a place to keep some weapons and other gear. If we didn’t have loaded weapons, we could fly up. I hope to soon have a place to stay. This drive is boring and tiresome. If I never see 95 again, I won’t complain.”

Walking from the valet parking at the Washington Hotel, Bernadette had to remind herself this was make believe as she entered the hotel on Peter’s arm wearing a wedding ring and a two-carat diamond engagement ring. He gave them to her during the drive from Amelia Island. She thought, It was a good thing I wasn’t driving when he gave these to me. A girl doesn’t expect to be engaged and married at 70 mph on Route 95. Peter told her the rings would make the next few days easier. She asked if she had to give them back. He said he wouldn’t ask for them.

Bernadette noticed that the staff knew Peter and greeted him. When she entered the suite he usually stayed in, she understood why. Terry told her Peter was well to do but this was ridiculous. She could retire on what he’d spent since she met him.

As soon as the bellhop left and the door closed, Peter said, “Tonight we have a good meal, try out this giant bed, and get ready to work first thing after breakfast. Tomorrow’s dress is Levis, walking shoes, and a dark tee. Also wear this ball cap and your dark shades.”

An hour later, Peter was on his way back to Amelia Island. He made it as far as South Carolina before pulling into a motel for some sleep. He got a very early start the next morning and was home in time for lunch. Jack and Rip jumped all over him. Bernadette told him later she wanted to do the same thing but uncharacteristically restrained herself. The Nguyens hurried to put on a great lunch in record time. Peter thought, Life is good. I wish I could keep it this pure and simple.

That night Bernadette, wearing only her new jade pendant, stretched tightly against him while their breathing returned to normal. She said, “Peter, I have never had a family or even knew what it would be like. This is wonderful. I’m at peace, happy spending time in this place. It is like stepping off the spinning world. I know this can’t last but I’m going to bank every day.”

“I know the feeling. I’m sorry, but the day after tomorrow I need you to come with me. I must go back up to Washington. I’ll need more than your companionship. I need your skills to cover my back while I talk to some dangerous people. There will be time to have fun and I have a surprise for you. Will you help me?”

“Yes, of course, I’d be unhappy if you went into a dangerous situation without me. What will I need?”

“You’ll need the .22 Hornet with the 10x scope and the .45 Colt I gave you last week. How comfortable are you in the backup sniper role?”

“Not a lot of experience. But I know how to wait and anything under 150 yards is good. But I’ll need to practice with the Hornet.”

“Good answer. We’ll have time for practice. Do you have any clothes for lying in the woods?”

“No.”

“Okay. Tomorrow we’ll get you a duck hunting set of camouflage clothes.”

“What other outfits will I need?”

“Take your best dress, heels, and bag. Also comfortable shoes, Levis, T-shirts, and rain gear. What you don’t have, we’ll get. Our hotel is near an upscale mall. Not to worry. The right clothing is part of your job. Look at it as an allowance.”

“Why are you being so good to me?”

“I would like to be better to you. I need you and I want to be with you. I feel good with you around and am proud to be seen with you. Besides, Jack and Rip told me you’re good.”

Bernadette took a mock swing at him and said, “What do they know? They’re both too young.”

“Go to sleep, you Irish witch, before I want you again.”

“Is that a promise?”

Peter went back to the hotel and spent two hours in the workout facility and then took a nap with his .22 High Standard under his pillow and a chair against the door. Being safe was inconvenient, but so was being dead.

Peter felt refreshed after his nap and drove over to the huge shopping center at Tysons Corner. He bought some clothes at Bloomingdale’s, three conservative dark suits, several shirts and ties, dress shoes, and some presents for the Nguyens, Jack, and Bernadette. His clothes needed alterations and would be sent to the hotel in a few days. It was good to live like regular people. After his phone call to Batcher tonight, he suspected the time out would be over.

He filled up his car at an all-night gas station and used the pay phone after checking for any outside cameras. Frank answered on the first ring and said, “Batcher.”

“Just a call this time. Nothing in your box. Are you acting on the information I gave you?”

“Yes and no. We have the information and have located the people and have them under loose surveillance. As you said, taking them down could have consequences we are not ready to deal with. Your information is very good. So good it is limited to one other person besides me. That person is my Chief’s chief. He wants a dialogue of some kind with you. You set the place, time, and rules.

“He is an operational genius and wants you to help us with some problems. He doesn’t care who you are or where you came from, he just wants a chance to communicate. He will come alone and you can leave at any time. The man who wants to talk to you doesn’t believe we could either pursue you or trap you. He thanks you for saving the lives of his officers by taking down the terrorist/sniper in Georgetown. Are you willing to meet him?”

“Maybe. But I must have total control. I will call you two weeks from today at your office number. When I call he must be ready to go to my meeting site. You may drive him. I will give you less than 30 minutes. It will be nearby. Give me your office number. I will call at noon. Goodbye.”

Peter thought, This might be good or very bad. I have to see. We will need some official help at some point. So far they have played it straight with me. Actually, they told me more than I expected.

Keeping his suite, Peter drove to Somerset, Pennsylvania, early the next morning. His route out of Tysons Corner was against the morning traffic, and he was in Somerset by noon. He stopped for a cup of coffee in Somerset and picked up the local paper and some free real estate flyers. There were dozens of houses for sale and scores of mountain properties. He saw an ad he liked and noted the real estate office was practically in the center of town.

Peter walked in the office and asked the woman on duty about the ad they had running in the brochure. He showed her the ad. The agent, who wore a pin that said Betty, told him to look on the table next to the door for a Platt map and some pictures, including an aerial photo. Peter liked what he saw. A single building, a large log cabin, sat in the northern corner of a thousand acres of forested mountain land with a small stream running down the valley.

Peter asked if anyone could show him the property. Betty said, “Nancy Squire will be back from lunch in about 45 minutes. If you would like to go out and have coffee or lunch, Nancy will be back when you return. She is free to show the property this afternoon. What is your name?”

“Peter Brandon. Can you tell me how long the property has been for sale?”

Betty replied, “A little more than a year. The coffee shop a few doors to your right is not a bad place for a quick lunch.”

After his quick lunch, Peter met Nancy and they started the drive to the cabin. According to the site map, the cabin sat nearly in the center of 1,000 acres on the south slope of the mountain. A chain link fence enclosed ten acres. The driveway was approximately a quarter of a mile from the narrow, hard surfaced road. A locked gate blocked the driveway. As Nancy drove through the opened gate, Peter could see the roof of the cabin nestled against the sharp slope. She pulled into the gravel turn-around space and shut off the engine

Peter could now hear the subdued murmur of an unseen mountain stream down the steep slope. The sun was high in the sky and the slight breeze swirled in the heavy leafed branches of towering oak and red maple trees surrounding the small clearing. The back of the cabin was set flush against the steep, heavily wooded slope. Nancy asked Peter if he wanted to see inside. Being a shrewd realtor, she saw that her client was making his own inspection. Peter murmured he would, and she opened the only door into the cabin. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges. The cabin smelled slightly musty. It was empty of all furniture, no wall hangings or drapes. It was larger inside than he thought it would be from his outside view. There was a Pullman kitchen with very old appliances, a sitting room with a slow-burning wood stove, two bedrooms, one larger than the other. Two baths that needed upgrading.

Off the back of the kitchen was a heavy metal door that led to a spacious storage area containing a hot water heater, a pump, and pressure tank for the well. Nancy said, “You probably will want to put in a large generator, in case the long power line in from the State road goes down and it will.”

“There is a lot of work that needs to be done to make this place comfortable. I like the setting and the cabin itself is in good condition. I suspect it was built 40 or 50 years ago and has been kept up. I’ll offer $250,000 for immediate sale and occupancy.”

“Okay. I’ll take the offer to the owner this afternoon or tonight, and I’ll need to talk to your lawyer about the payment process.”

“Good, he will take care of the payment and represent me at settlement.”

Two days later, Peter owned a log cabin in the Allegheny Mountains. He asked Nancy, his realtor, to recommend a local contractor who he could trust. When she gave him a name, he said, “I’m not interested in the lowest price. I want good and dependable workmanship. A company that can meet deadlines. Now can your office manage the work and payment schedule?”

Nancy said, “I mostly own this agency. Sales are slow so, yes, I’ll manage the work for a 15% fee.”

“Agreed. Stay in touch with my attorney. He will be sending the checks out. If you need me, go through him. I travel a lot. Give me a yellow pad and I’ll write what I want done.”

 

Thursday, August 5, 1977

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How much money is involved?”

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

“Where is it now?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you intend to pay me?”

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

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

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

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

“Agree.”

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

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

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

“No.”

“Birth certificates?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, and my son, Jack.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is there anything else I need to know?”

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

“Different from the investment company?”

“Your call.”

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

“Small bars. I haven’t weighed them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Granted. Anything else?”

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

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

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

“What’s not to agree to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are your other skills?”

“You mean outside the bedroom?”

“Yes. Those skills are impressive.”

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

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

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

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

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

July 1977

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You mentioned pay.”

“How about five thousand a month to start?”

“Dollars!?”

“Yes. But I can do other currencies.”

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

“When can you start?”

“I already did.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So here is what I want you to do…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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