Jack ran into a police roadblock on the narrow lane leading to the Brandon house. Up ahead he could see fire trucks and flashing lights. Firemen were still directing their hoses on the smoking rubble. Jack pulled the Jeep over and parked. Kathy pulled in behind him. She got out and thought this cannot be a damned accident. Local police were manning the block. Jack, with Kathy beside him, showed the badge he still had and told the sergeant he lived here.

The sergeant said, “It’s a mess in there, and the crime scene guys have the area cordoned off, but I’m going to let you through. Just stay clear of the house.”

Jack and Kathy ran toward the house.

The devastation was incredible. Only the detached four bay garage with the guest apartment had survived, untouched by the fire. Firemen were beginning to gather up their hoses. A cold winter drizzle was falling. A lingering smell of burned plastic, rugs and upholstery hung in the air. The house had collapsed. Only the south wall was still standing. From an angle they could see portions of the cars in the house garage crushed and smoldering in the debris. Jack showed his badge again and said this was his father’s house. The lieutenant said, “Sorry, everyone in the house is dead from gunshots.”

“Gunshots! Are you sure?”

“No question.”

“The firemen got the bodies out before the fire got to most of them. I’m sorry we had to meet at your father’s murder scene. We found six bodies, one outside and five inside. We believe the house was torched by the attackers. The bodies are all in the morgue. You don’t want to see them yet. Two of the bodies found inside and the one outside have not been identified. The only living thing here when we arrived was a big black dog that had apparently taken on one of the attackers and killed him but was shot in return. The dog is now in the McLean Animal Hospital.”

Jack told him that was his dog Shadow. The police lieutenant asked Jack to please stop in at the station and give them a statement and answer some questions after they had taken care of the dog. Jack said fine and left with Kathy in her car for the animal hospital.

The door was locked, but when they knocked and Jack told them who he was, the attendant opened the door and let them in. The attendant told him Shadow’s surgery was over. The doctor should be out of the surgery suite almost any minute, and Jack could go see him. He then called Lee Jensen who picked up on the first ring. Jack told him where he was and what had happened but told Lee not to come over. He would check in with him in the morning when he knew more. Lee said he would make time for Jack whenever he called and could come over. There were papers he had to sign. Jack thanked him and hung up.

Jack had no sooner put his cell in his pocket when the surgeon came out. The doctor said, “Mr. Brandon, that is some dog. He was shot by a large caliber weapon through his right shoulder. The angle of entry missed his heart and lungs and exited on the same side just under his right leg. No significant bone damage. There is extensive muscle damage which he should recover from. He lost a lot of blood, but his chances are good. I don’t know what the police told you, but they found your dog on top of one of the assailants, who was apparently trying to enter the house from the back. The man had a semi-automatic weapon still clutched in his hand. According to the officer who brought your dog to us, it looked as if the Bouvier had surprised him and in the fight tore out the attacker’s throat, but not before he was able to shoot your dog. According to the police several expended casings were on the ground. Now you can see your dog. He’s just waking up. Unless an infection occurs and I don’t think it will, Shadow can go home in three or four days.”

Jack gripped the doctor’s shoulder and made sure he knew Shadow should get the best treatment possible. Cost was not a problem. Jack asked Kathy to come with him into the surgery recovery area. Shadow watched Jack approach and licked his hand when Jack held his head. Tears ran down Jack’s face, and he was so choked up he could barely talk to Shadow. When he looked up at Kathy, he saw she was also crying. Shadow was restrained with an IV in his front leg and a drain tube in his chest. Kathy said she could stand people getting hurt, but not animals.

Jack and Kathy sat with Shadow until the big dog dropped off to sleep. Promising to come back in the morning, they eased quietly out of the room. Both he and Kathy got into her car and headed for the McLean Police Station.

Lieutenant Gallagar was waiting for them. He told them this wouldn’t take long. His first question was about Peter Brandon’s business interests. Jack said his father was always searching for good investments and did a bit of quiet philanthropy. Then the lieutenant, apologizing to Jack said, “I have to ask you where you were tonight?”

“We were both having dinner at the Ritz.” When Kathy confirmed Jack’s statement, the lieutenant said, “Okay, but I have another problem. At least four armed men attack a house with a very sick old man, an elderly Vietnamese couple and a dog, and three of them get killed. You gotta admit that, given surprise was on the side of the attackers and the attackers lost three men, is a bit unusual. Can you explain?”

Jack said, “Well, my father believed people should be able to protect their homes, and he had a gun collection and knew how to use them. As a boy he taught me to shoot both handguns and rifles. His servants, veterans of the Vietnam War, were skilled with small arms. The dog’s my Bouvier des Flandres, named Shadow. He’s a trained and very powerful watch dog. I’m guessing he gave the alarm that got my father and the Nguyens ready. Given those factors, it’s not so strange the people inside an attacked building should have some success.”

“Hmm. I think you’ve explained my problem. You both can go now. Where will you be staying?”

Jack answered, “I’ll be staying in the apartment over the garage at my father’s house. Before we go, I have to ask a few questions. What can you tell us about the attackers? And when will we be permitted to look through the fire site? I assume it is still a crime scene. You can call Captain Shorer at this number. I’m sure he’ll vouch for me. Please give me as much detail as you can about my father’s murder.”

The lieutenant smiled at Jack, got up and shook his hand and said, “I’ve a high regard for the Pittsburgh police in general and Captain Shorer in particular. I’ll extend you every courtesy I can. You can use the garage, and our investigation at the site should be completed within a few days.”

Lieutenant Gallagar thought for another moment, then told them what he was going to say was not for publication and was off the record. “We don’t think it was a robbery. The violence, the size of the attacking force, the firepower they carried and the burning of the house just don’t add up to a robbery unless, of course, something of incredible value was in the house that the surviving attacker or attackers found and took with them. I believe you would’ve told me if that was the case. Secondly, these guys were all rather long in the tooth. I haven’t heard officially yet, but to me it doesn’t look like any of the dead attackers was under sixty years old. They all looked to be in good shape, though. As to ethnic backgrounds, they did not appear to be Arabs. They looked like Caucasians.”

In answer to Jack’s question, Lieutenant Gallagar told them the weapons were all nines and the two submachine guns they found were Uzis. The one handgun found with an attacker was a CZ-85 of Czech manufacture. The third dead attacker looked to have been killed by a shotgun. Le Dinh and his wife were found with empty shotguns. Other than the weapons the dead men carried, they had nothing else on them. No one knows yet how many there were or how they got there. Not one of the people contacted by the police noticed anyone leaving the scene. They had all heard the gunfire, and several had called 911.

It would be some days before forensics finished the ballistic report. They were now attempting to trace the weapons found at the scene. Fingerprint analysis would take some time. Some of the burns on the hands were extensive. Gallagar told Jack he could look through the wreckage the day after tomorrow or the next day. He would be in touch. Jack asked when he could take his father’s body and make funeral arrangements. Gallagar made a phone call and, when he hung up, said the day after tomorrow.

Jack spotted Kathy in the lobby. He thought too bad this is serious business. She is drop dead gorgeous. Jack walked up on her blind side and said, “UNC never had a decent football team.”

Kathy replied, “I saw you coming, and lucky for you UNC never played your school. Pitt hasn’t exactly been going to many big bowls.”

“Touché. On that, let’s go have dinner.”

Kathy saw Jack’s momentary surprise when she mentioned Pitt. She did not have a file on Jack but Google did. She guessed he had never googled himself.

When Kathy stood, Jack was surprised to see she was only three or four inches under his six one. She looked and moved like a natural athlete. She was stunning in her simple black dress. A pearl necklace and pearl ear rings were her only jewelry. Once seated at a corner table in The Steak House with reasonable privacy, Jack asked her if she had heard from Frank. Kathy told him Frank had told her to be candid and she was in the company of good people.

When Jack asked her why she was willing to leave the CIA with such a good career going, Kathy said, “My main reason is I need more money to keep my mother in a very expensive nursing home for Alzheimer patients.”

“If I may ask, what are your other reasons?”

“Sure. My brother died in the Twin Towers terrorist attack. I hate terrorists and want to help destroy them. My brother was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He never hurt anyone.”

“Aren’t you helping destroy them working for Frank?”

“Frank has too many restrictions on his activities to be effective. Congressional oversight, political sensitivities, the left wing influence of the media and academia, and the culture of law and order justice pushed by the trial lawyers are serious hurdles. Then the trial lawyers control the legislature and handicap the kinds of operations needed to beat radical Islam. It wasn’t so bad in the field, but working here at Headquarters is not for me.”

“Kathy, may I call you Kathy?”

“Sure.”

“Shall we take a look at the menu.”

Kathy saw Jack looking at the wine list and said, “Any red wine is good for me.”

“What are you going to select for your entrée?”

Kathy put down her menu and said, “Why don’t you order for me?”

“Okay, but no second guessing.”

Kathy thought, Good. Maybe I can learn something else about this man. He certainly passes the looks and manners test. But why am I receiving signals this very rich, handsome man is enjoying my company? He should be married and off the market. Any woman would kill to have those green eyes. He is very good-looking but not in the least the cute type. His clothes are in good taste but not expensive. Yet here we are dining in the Ritz and he drives an old Cherokee. What is going on here?

Just then their waiter appeared to take dinner orders. Kathy snapped out of her musings and paid full attention to her prospective employer’s order.

Jack put the menu down and said, “The lady and I will start with the French onion soup, followed by organic field greens salad, braised beef short ribs with asparagus and baked potato. Bring a bottle of Chilean cabernet for us before dinner.”

“Sounds good. How did you know I wasn’t a vegetarian?”

“I never met a vegetarian that didn’t announce that when sitting down at the table.”

As soon as the wine was poured, Jack said, “Unfortunately, we have to turn to business for a bit. I know you are more than competent. Frank gave you top marks. So all I need to know is if you are willing to work for me. The pay will start at $500,000 per year plus expenses.”

“Wow! I can be bought, but please tell me something about yourself before I commit myself.”

“Why don’t you ask questions instead of me rambling on?”

“Okay. Tell me about your work experience.”

Jack went over his experience in the Marine Corps, his education and his work on homicide cases with the Pittsburgh police. By the time he finished, dinner was over. They both passed on dessert but ordered coffee.

Kathy said, “Okay, I’m your new employee. Who do I work for and what can I tell other people?”

“My lawyer is working up what you would call a ‘cover company’ to pay us and our expenses. I don’t have the name yet, but it will be a new start-up consultant company with a local address and decent office space. Benefits will be channeled through our cover company. I want you to start immediately. I’ll need help getting everything set up and having an expert to advise me has to be a good thing.”

“Call Frank and I’ll start tomorrow. Where should I report?”

“Follow me in your car and I’ll show you. I’ll wait for you in front of the hotel. We can use a guest apartment for a while. And if my father is still up, I want you to meet him.”

Jack saw Kathy pull in behind him, and he set off for the ten-minute drive.

Two hours after Jack departed for his interview with Kathy Grayson at the Ritz, Peter Brandon was resting comfortably in his library and wondering if Jack would want to hire the woman Frank had so highly recommended. A quiet winter rain began with the onset of darkness. The fireplace threw a pleasant warm glow. He loved to sit by a fire. He knew his time was short, but he was pleased with the way his son was responding to his past. Jack seemed to have a natural feeling for this kind of work. Yes, he had done right to give Jack this opportunity.

Musing over Jack’s possible reaction to Miss Grayson, he heard Shadow barking and remembered he was outside. As he moved toward the back door, he heard Shadow’s barking change to a roaring growl followed by several gunshots. Peter yelled an alarm to Le Dinh and stepped quickly back into the library and took his Browning 9mm and an extra magazine out of his chair side table. He chambered a round and went to find Le Dinh. He heard breaking glass followed by several shotgun blasts and automatic weapons firing. He was moving down the hall to the living room, when he saw two dark figures coming toward him. Peter fired and kept firing. The first figure was hit and dropped. He shifted his fire to the second figure who had taken cover behind a seventeenth century American chest of drawers on the left side of the hallway. Peter emptied his thirteen round magazine and was reaching for another one when submachine gun fire from the hallway entrance struck him in the legs and chest. He felt himself falling. His last thought was he had cheated the doctors. He would die his way.

Since Shadow’s alarm at the back door, only thirty seconds had passed. The last assailant and the only person alive in the house took time to spread an accelerant and start a fire before he went out the back door and through the wooded park to his car. Peter had killed one of the attackers, Shadow another at the back door. Le Dinh’s shotgun had cut down a third at the front door before he and his wife died under a hail of bullets. Le Dinh was not unaccustomed to violence. He had been a decorated leader of one of the CIA’s Provincial Reconnaissance Units in Vietnam. Le Dinh and his wife were more than just servants who cooked and cleaned for Peter Brandon. Three of the armed attackers with surprise on their side had died in the attack. Before the remaining attacker reached his waiting car, sirens from the police and fire departments were entering the area.

 

The Brandons arrived back at their home in time for Jack to take Shadow for a walk before the lawyer, Lee Jensen, arrived with a carry-out dinner. Jack was anxious to get started with a life far different than he had ever dreamed. Picking a spot in the fading sun, Jack let Shadow off his leash and sat down to think over the earlier meeting with Frank. He was committed now. He had to trust Frank Batcher, and he had to trust Frank’s people almost the same way Shadow trusted him. The big black Bouvier always stayed close enough to keep Jack in sight. He often wondered who was taking care of whom as he walked back to the house.

When he returned, Jack found his father was taking a much needed rest. Settling down in the library with a cup of black tea, Jack opened the package Frank had given him. Each dossier had a picture attached of a very attractive woman. Kathy Grayson was younger with long blonde hair. The other, Anita Marino, was older than Kathy and as dark as she was fair. Opening Anita’s file, Jack started reading. After graduating from the University of Pittsburgh, Anita served ten years with the Army in the Rangers and later in the Special Forces. She had seen combat in Iraq with the Special Forces and served with distinction. She was promoted to the rank of major before deciding to leave Special Forces for the CIA. Her specialties were demolitions and small unit tactics. At the end of the brief write-up was a handwritten note saying both women would be forthright in talking about their backgrounds during his interviews. Jack guessed Frank believed written records should be kept to a minimum and the best way to keep a secret is not to put it in the records.

Kathy Grayson joined the CIA right after she graduated from the University of North Carolina (UNC). During her eight years with the Agency, she served two tours in the Arab world and one tour in Moscow. Her Arabic was quite good, Russian less so. Of the two, Anita was the better language student, speaking several languages with near-native pronunciation. At UNC Kathy majored in Middle Eastern and South Asian studies. She had completed more than half of the class work for a Master of Arts degree. Jack decided he would try to see them both tomorrow. Now he was going to work out in the house gym. On the bottom floor of the house, his father had installed a rather complete workout area in a 20’x20’ room with a padded floor for martial arts practice.

After a hard work out with weights and a shower, Jack was just checking on his father who was sleeping soundly when Shadow’s loud barking alerted him to a car coming up the driveway. Jack opened the door as Lee stepped up on the porch. Shadow bounded out the door to confront this invasion of his turf. Jack told Shadow it was okay. Jack could see Lee had held his composure but just. An unexpected confrontation with a 100-pound black bear-like dog had caused Lee’s jaw to clench a bit.

Following a dinner carried in from the Café Italia and a bottle of decent Chianti, Lee opened his briefcase and, with the use of charts and graphs, began to explain the financial mechanism controlling the Brandon assets and real estate. All were controlled by two separate holding companies through a cascading tier of corporate sub-owners. Lee told Jack, while the ownership could be tracked back to the Brandons, it would take a team of experts at least a year to unravel the network he and Jack’s father had set up. Lee’s firm handled all the legal requirements and managed the tax returns each year.

After Lee finished his presentation, Jack told Lee he intended to hire a few employees, and he wanted to pay them and required expenses through a holding company. The company should be difficult to trace back to the Brandons and fit the activities of a group of consultants. A location in Northern Virginia would be preferable. He would also need an office complex for six people, very low key with no nosy neighbors and no competitive consultant businesses or lawyers’ offices in the same building. He wanted to see the building before Lee took care of the lease arrangements. Lee told Jack he could handle that requirement. But it would be at least a week before he would be ready to show Jack a possible location.

The next morning Jack called both Grayson and Marino on the numbers Frank provided. In both cases he had to leave a message to call his number. His father found him on the sun porch enjoying a cup of strong black coffee. Jack told his father he had left a message for the two people Frank had suggested he interview. Peter sat across the coffee table from Jack and said, “If you are going to talk to people in the spy business, you’d better learn some of the jargon.”

The next four hours were taken up with exposing Jack to the vocabulary of clandestine operations. His father covered alias documentation, surveillance principles, and general tradecraft and communications options. Jack knew many of the principles from his police training and on-the-street experience, but nuances appeared when it came to espionage and terrorism. By the end of the afternoon, Jack had learned a new lexicon of dead drops, brush contacts, safe houses, secret writing, clandestine signaling, double agents, the uses and limitations of disguises, surveillance and counter-surveillance.

The phone rang just as his father was going to take a short rest before dinner. Kathy Grayson was returning his call. Jack asked her if she had a few hours to spend with him.

Kathy said, “Sure, especially if you feed me.”

Jack laughed and said, “You’re on. Meet me in the lobby of the Ritz in an hour.”

“Okay. How will I know you?”

“Easy. I’ll be the only man in the Ritz lobby who knows your birth date and grade point average at UNC.”

“No fair. I don’t know anything about you.”

“Yeah. I know. See you in an hour.” Before she could answer, Jack hung up.

Kathy put the phone down and wondered how interesting this was going to be. He was pushing her wardrobe by taking her to the Ritz. Basic black might have to do.

The meeting was scheduled for 2:00 p.m. in Great Falls Park in Virginia, no more than a fifteen-minute drive from the Brandon home. Jack and his dad arrived at 1:30. Peter told his son he made it a rule to arrive early for any clandestine meeting so he could check out the meeting area. He said he would not under any circumstances meet anyone here if there was even a small chance of the meeting turning hostile. There was only one way in and out by car. Any escape would have to be on foot. Even with a friendly meeting, Peter had taken the precaution of using a rental car that could not easily be traced back to the Brandons.

It was a little cool and the Park was almost deserted when Frank arrived driving his brown Passat. Peter and Jack were waiting at a table, partially obscured by pine foliage yet giving them a clear view of arriving cars. Le Dinh, his father’s Vietnamese cook, had sent them off with a thermos of hot coffee and some chocolate chip cookies. Peter raised his hand and Frank headed for the picnic table. As he got closer, Jack could see Frank would be hard to pick out in a crowd. He was slightly pudgy with definite male pattern baldness, wearing rimless glasses and projecting a calming aura. His brown eyes looked both intelligent and intense. The clothing looked as though it were all off the rack of a decent department store.

Peter and Frank shook hands and exchanged a short hug. Jack had never seen his father hug anyone but him. He thought these two aging men really liked each other. Jack’s musing was broken when his father introduced him to Frank Batcher, deliberately using Frank’s last name. Peter Brandon told his son to speak up at the meeting with Frank at any time. After all, it was his life and future now at stake. Jack said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My father has told me quite a bit about you.”

Frank said, “Then you have me at a disadvantage since I know next to nothing about you. I hope we can fill in some blanks today. But first I have to know how my friend and advisor is doing.”

“Some days better than others. It is such a pleasure having my son here with me. There is no use fooling myself, I’m steadily losing stamina. Soon, the doctors tell me, I will have to use a wheelchair full time. But enough of that. I have given my son a decent summary of our work together without many details.” Turning to his son, Peter said, “Frank will not record this meeting nor will he make it a matter of record. But, and I say but, he has an excellent memory bounded by a deep sense of honor and integrity. I believe you can talk straight to him without including our names. This process protects both Frank and us. At this point if he really wanted to find us he probably could. I’ll leave you two to get to know each other. I’m going for a short walk, and I may take a little rest in the car.”

“Thank you, Paul. That is high praise.” Turning to Jack, he asked, “What should I call you?”

“How about Nick? I’ve always liked the name.”

“Okay, Nick, tell me something about yourself.”

“Let me start with the qualifications side. I have a decent education from a large university, three years plus as an officer in Marine Recon and almost a year in combat in Iraq. After the Marine Corps I worked four years in a big city police homicide division. I’ve been in a number of fire fights, been wounded twice and have several police decorations. I think there is a strong correlation between the skills of a detective and the field work of an intelligence officer. I hold several levels of a black belt in a very esoteric martial art. Through the years my father has taught me survival skills, both in the wilderness and on the street. He was insistent I understood and could recognize surveillance tactics. I’m skilled in the handling of all sorts of small craft. In fact, he has taught me so much, we would have to stay here after dark to finish.”

Jack paused and said, “Does that help?”

Frank said, “Yes, it does. Your background and experience are impressive. Your qualifications put me at ease. I want to continue working with you but differently from the way I worked with your father. Your father and I worked on uncovering and arresting undercover Soviet agents who were in this country illegally. He knew how they thought, their problems, logistical support and communications systems and their deep cover arrangements. We were quite successful, but his well of information is now nearly dry. Terrorism has replaced Russian espionage as my number one problem. We believe terrorist organizations, particularly al-Qaeda, are planning to turn to attacking soft targets as a means of destabilizing government at all levels.

“When citizens do not feel safe in the conduct of their everyday life, the pressures on our law enforcement and legal system become enormous. The tragedy of 9/11 is in the past of our short-term memories. Our war against terrorism is hampered by congressional oversight that constantly tries to move toward management of our counter-terrorism units and a president who sees himself as the Appeaser-in-Chief. The tools we need to keep America safe are hard to acquire in a politically partisan environment.

“This situation is compounded by the politicization of the intelligence leadership positions. Appointing managers to the CIA who have never served with the CIA overseas is beyond ludicrous. You might as well appoint political hacks to coach NFL teams. Some jobs require particular skills and deep experience. The Director of the CIA is one of them.

“This is probably my last job with the CIA. In five years it will be time for me to retire. I’ve accepted a responsibility to keep America safe to the best of my ability, and I’m going to do that, even if it means stretching the legalities now obstructing the war on terrorism in America. I need you to help me. Are you interested?”

“Yes, I’m interested, but what is it you want me to do?”

“Okay. A good place to start. The reason I need you is the very real probability that a CIA officer doing what he feels is right may end up fighting a personal criminal charge brought against him or her for political reasons by the left wing of the Democratic Party. Even the top managers at CIA are fearful and timid. Many good intelligence opportunities are lost in real or imagined legal issues. It is very useful to me to have a capability that is not on any record, including financial ones. Your activities will not be subject to so-called oversight or the constant second guessing of many of our political managers. I am not even going to tell our new director about you. They come and go with the political wind, and not all of them have a sense of need-to-know restraint.”

“Are you telling me the CIA is not able to capture and kill terrorists because the liberal element of our government and your boss aren’t fighting an aggressive war against terrorism?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. These good people worship a law and order process consistent with our Constitution and judicial system. This is a self-imposed suicide pact. One does not give the protection of the Constitution to foreign groups trying to kill us, and who have had success in doing so. The Marine barracks in Beirut, military quarters in Saudi Arabia, the USS Cole, the Twin Towers and many other less dramatic events cannot be prevented as long as certain rules tie our hands. Terrorists and those who give them aid do not have the right to the rules of evidence and other judicial procedures reserved for U.S. citizens. In war saboteurs and spies are executed.

“I want you to sponsor and lead a small team totally independent of the government. A team not required to answer to anyone. Today I will give you the names and dossiers of a few people I believe will be ideal for this mission. If you accept them, they will be separated from the CIA as soon as you call me. I will also provide you with information and some equipment not available on the open market. I suggest you set up a cover company not easily traced to you. Use this commercial company to pay your people and expenses, and to rent or buy vehicles you will need. I will give you a key to a storage unit containing several types of small arms, small stable explosives and communications equipment. None of it can be traced back to CIA. You should move this material to your own place as soon as possible.

“Now a few words about this man, Yuri, your father is tracking. I believe he is running a network of terrorists for profit. This is your first assignment. Find out if he is who your father thinks he is. If he is, stop him and his network. This man is very dangerous and is wanted under several names by a number of nations including the Russians. Be careful. Use whatever force you need. I am not interested in a court trial, nor is your father. Send any information needing action to the FBI in some way, and then call me and tell me about it. Don’t give the FBI an opening to backtrack the information.”

“What can you tell me about the people you’re recommending?”

“I’ll give you a shortened resume on each of them. They are two of the best I have. Both are female. I’ll stack them up against anyone, male or female. They are excellent case officers. Both have recruited and run spies in several countries. They have had experience with a number of weapons and are crack shots. And, while not up to your martial arts skills, they are very good at hand-to-hand.

“I have also found women are often better at undercover work than men. These two are good. I hate to lose them and, to tell the truth, if they don’t want to work with you, they will probably leave me anyway. One needs more money to care for her mother, and the other badly needs a change from the bureaucracy. I’ve included a way for you to contact them and make a decision. I will tell them to expect a call from Nick.

“I need you to fill in some of these gaps until the rest of the country wakes up. I want you to use your own judgment. Don’t over analyze and don’t ask permission. Just do it.”

“One last question. Tell me how you see this Yuri problem. What can the government do to take his network down?”

“Right now, nothing. We have no evidence to justify a wiretap and 24/7 surveillance on Yuri. If the FBI could be interested, their initial investigation would alert Yuri and he would be gone. So I can really do nothing.

No one except me would believe your father’s story. If your father went to the authorities with his story, the most likely outcome would be an investigation of him. In short, the Counter Terrorism Center or CTC cannot meet the burden of evidence required in our judicial system to put terrorists out of business in some cases. So I need you to take care of Yuri and a few others like him. Don’t risk trying to capture him. If you captured him, I don’t know what we would do with him. When you have convincing court worthy information or evidence, get it to the FBI. Do not give it directly to me. I could not explain where I got it and could not officially act on it. But I do want to know when you do it and generally what it is all about.”

Jack looked at Frank and said, “Suppose someone gets hurt or killed during our attack on Yuri and his people?”

“If Yuri or some of his people get hurt or killed, don’t get caught. Don’t leave any evidence they can use to identify you. As far as yourselves, you are on your own. Don’t act like the government and wait too long while you stew over incomplete information. Use your best judgment and act.”

“How do we get in touch with you other than the phone number my father uses?”

“You can’t. My telephone is safe for use. A disposable cell phone is best for you. Call me on the number I gave your father. I will not call you, and no record of any kind will be kept on our business.

“I have to go now. For me this has been a good meeting. I want a long-term relationship with you. I will miss my old and dear friend a lot. He has been a source of strength and wisdom for the past two decades. I am saddened beyond grief over his condition. I’ll walk over and say goodbye to your father and thank him for bringing his son to me. I’ll do my best to make sure you are protected from government probing.”

Frank shook hands and walked slowly away. His work day was only half over. He hoped the son would be half as effective as his father had been. Frank hoped he hadn’t ruined the lives of his new team. He was taking a big gamble. Not for him. His career was already coming to an end. He didn’t know how much longer he could tolerate the leftist progressive regime now in power. They had been after the CIA since before the “Church” Committee and now had destroyed the motivation of his counter-terror agents working on the front lines. These people weren’t dumb. They saw what could happen to agents taking risks to protect their country. He would never understand the thinking of people who devoutly believed it was criminal to drip water up the nose of people who had killed over three thousand Americans and were actively trying to kill more. If their own children were taken by a terrorist, they would be screaming for the government to do something. For certain their generation will never be judged by future historians as one of our greatest generations. The best thing he could do for the son of his old friend was to give him some very good people, watch his back and separate Nick and his group from any links to the CIA.

The next step for Jack was to go see his dad’s friend and lawyer. Peter had insisted Jack go see Lee Jensen in his McLean law office before they got into any more detailed talks about money. His father had few friends and, with the exception of Frank Batcher at the CIA, no one knew his secret story. For the last twenty years Peter Brandon had counted on Lee Jensen to keep his affairs legal and his finances in order. Peter Brandon trusted Lee Jensen but did not want to burden the relationship with the details of his secret and sometimes violent life.

Jack called Lee Jensen’s office early the next morning. Jensen was expecting his call and told him to come in about 9:00 a.m. In honor of his father’s lawyer and wanting to project a businesslike demeanor, Jack wore one of his three suits with a button-down shirt, red-striped tie and black loafers. He needed a haircut but felt he could pass for at least another week.

Jensen’s office was in a quiet grouping of commercial townhouses. Jack told the attractive receptionist he had a 9:00 meeting with Mr. Jensen. Even though he was at least ten minutes early, the receptionist showed him immediately into Mr. Jensen’s office. Like the foyer and reception area, Jensen’s office was tastefully furnished.

Oriental carpets scattered over dark polished wooden floors set the backdrop for the late 18th century English antiques furnishing the office. Lee Jensen looked as if he belonged in the setting and was merely waiting for his cue to begin speaking with an upper class British accent of the same period. Jack’s eyes were drawn to the white jagged scar that ran down the lawyer’s left cheek. The scar seemed out of place with the well-tailored, three-piece, dark blue pinstriped suit and the gleaming black Italian shoes. Jensen crossed the room in two quick strides and seized Jack’s hand with both of his in a firm and warm handshake. His first words broke the spell. No British accent, just a trace of a Southern one.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you but under happier circumstances. Your father is one of my closest friends and my best client.”

“My father and I have a very close relationship, but I know next to nothing of his business affairs. Dad told me you will be able explain the extent of his investments and business interests. But first can you tell me something about yourself as one of my father’s most trusted friends? Your Southern accent and scar on your cheek tell me something, but please fill in some of the details.

“Jack, if I may call you that?”

“Of course.”

“In turn please call me Lee. The title “Mr. Jensen” from people your age makes me feel older than I am, and certainly I’m glad to give you some personal background. My home state is South Carolina. I graduated from the University of South Carolina and Duke Law School. Between USC and law school I joined the Army. I ended up as a Lieutenant in the 101st Airborne Division and saw some action in Vietnam. One night I led a platoon-sized unit on a night patrol outside Fire Base Bastogne. We took a lot of RPG fire, and I ended up with this scar. In South Carolina scars from a war are a badge of honor.”

Lee asked Jack to take a seat at the small round table in his office while he extracted several manila folders from a safe. Every piece of furniture in the office gleamed, belying at least two hundred years of use. Seating himself across the table from Jack, Lee slid a folder across the table.

“In the folder is a letter your father wants you to sign before we go into the details of his will. I believe your father told you, you could sign or not sign and your choice would affect the manner in which his estate is distributed or liquidated. Is that not the case?”

“Yes. Your understanding is the same as mine.”

“Good. Please signify you have read and understand the implications of your signature. In the meantime I’ll bring us some coffee. I understand you, like your father, drink it black.”

“Yes, I’d kill for a cup of coffee. Thank you.”

Jack opened the folder and read the short letter. After yesterday’s long talk with his father, Jack understood the reason for this letter. The letter simply recorded Jack understood and accepted the commitment to devote full time to running his father’s business. By the time he had signed the letter and returned it to the folder, Lee returned with a coffee tray. Glancing at the signed letter, he seated himself across the table.

“Jack, my first piece of business is to state you are the sole beneficiary of your father’s estate. To avoid paying an inordinate amount of federal and state income tax on the estate, a large portion of the assets are in various trusts. It may look and sound confusing, but all the trusts will be under your control. I’ll help you with any changes you may want to make. But for now we concentrate on the bigger picture. Is that okay?”

Jack nodded and Lee Jensen said, “Here is a listing of the securities in your father’s estate. I’ve used last Friday’s closing value to derive the dollar value of the stocks and bonds. You must remember the numbers will have to be run again after your father’s death. I’m sorry to discuss the situation so coldly, but I must.”

The listing was four pages in length. As Jack scanned the pages, he was astounded at the number of shares of blue chip companies. The last page provided a total dollar value of $750,289,157. Jack put the listing down and reached for his coffee cup. After taking a sip of the strong French roast and composing himself, Jack looked up at Lee as the lawyer said, “That is not all. Let me finish with the rest of the estate. Your father also owns several pieces of real estate. I have made another listing of properties and estimated the respective values by using recent sales of comparables. Please look over this listing before we go on.”

Jack said, “Fine” and reached for the folder. Nothing he learned yesterday prepared him for the staggering amounts of money involved. He had thought maybe the estate would be worth three or four million dollars in addition to the real estate. Jack smiled slightly as he thought, once again, his father’s love of surprising him was still active. Prepared now, Jack extracted the listing of property assets from the folder and slowly ran his eyes down the list. In addition to the home in McLean, the list contained sizeable tracts of land in northern Minnesota, coastal South Carolina and the Allegheny Mountain area of Pennsylvania. A small residence was located on each of the large tracts of land. The estate also owned a condo in San Francisco and a rather large house on Amelia Island, Florida. Lee laughed and said, “You’ve had the fire hose treatment. Is this all new to you?”

“Very. I’m astounded at the amount of the estate. I had no idea my father owned so much property.”

“I can’t help you there. Your father and I trust each other and seldom did things by signed contracts. A handshake was enough. But he is very skillful in avoiding questions. All he would say is he had good reason for all his acquisitions.

“Your father asked me to have a private dinner with you at his house to go over any questions or issues that may come up after you leave here. If it is convenient, I’ll drop by tonight with dinner, and we can have a quiet meal and see where to go from here.”

Jack thought for a moment and said, “That sounds good. About 7:30 then?”

“One more thing, your father gave me a sealed letter for you to take with you.”

Jack took the sealed letter, shook hands with Lee, smiled at the receptionist and walked out to his car. Jack glanced at his stainless steel Rolex and was surprised he had spent two and half hours with Lee Jensen. His stomach told him the cup of coffee and the toasted bagel he had for breakfast needed reinforcement before he had to deal with any more surprises.

There were several parking spaces outside the “Deli” his father often frequented on Old Chain Bridge road across from the Safeway. Taking a corner booth, Jack ordered scrambled eggs, toast and black coffee. In the quiet and privacy of his corner booth, he read his father’s letter. The basic information in the letter concerned his father’s accounts in offshore banks and how to use them. Combined with what Lee Jensen had shown him, the offshore accounts in Geneva and the Caymans added up to just over a billion dollars. If he did nothing but very conservative investments, his fortune should increase by several million dollars each year. His father’s letter said no one, including Lee Jensen, knew about the offshore accounts. No taxes had ever been paid on these accounts, but they had been used to finance his work for the CIA. He finished his scrambled eggs and thought about taking care of the man who had killed his mother and baby sister. It shouldn’t be too hard.

Jack noticed the deli was filling up rapidly and his privacy was just as rapidly diminishing. Jack folded up the letter and leaving a tip, paid his bill at the cashier station. Still recovering from his meeting with Jensen, Jack headed off to another meeting with his father and Frank Batcher, the Director of the Counter Terrorist Center at CIA.

Another man, Yuri, was working on a different plan. Last week Yuri had had a feeling he was being followed when he left the Four Seasons Hotel in Georgetown. After he pulled into his garage and closed the overhead door, he went quickly out the back door, cut through three deserted backyards to a place where he could clearly see the entire block. Sure enough, trusting his instincts had paid off. A car was parked 50 feet farther up the street with a man slouched behind the wheel. This was no coincidence. Using a small pocket telescope, Yuri recognized the renegade KGB officer he had once known as Ivan Kalin when they were both mid-level KGB Officers. This man was dangerous, capable of killing him without a second thought. He had to move fast, but he also needed some help. You didn’t take on Kalin without professional help. With hands shaking so much he could barely note the license number, he took one last look and, with a dry mouth and pounding heart, hurried back to his house. He had a phone call to make later that night. It would take two days to get his Charleston cell up to D.C., and some time to run them through an attack plan.

For the first time in a very long time, Yuri was frightened. He had long, repressed memories of killing Kalin’s wife and infant daughter years ago. Kalin would give him no mercy. Yuri had been waiting for Kalin to find him ever since. Just when he had thought he finally could stop worrying about Kalin, there he was parked just up the street. Tonight he would alert his most experienced team to come up from Charleston. He had Kalin’s license number, and tonight he would use his internet skills to tap into the DMV and find the name he was using and his address.

When the Berlin Wall came down and the Soviet Union fell apart, Yuri hi-jacked the KGB cells under his supervision which gave him a constant source of funds. The cell members spread throughout the United States thought Yuri was still following Moscow orders. In fact, all his cells were profit generators. Assassinations and terrorist acts for clients brought in most of the money. If all went according to plan, Yuri could retire next year.

 

Peter Brandon paused and several minutes of silence followed. Jack saw his father brushing tears from his eyes as he stared out across the snow-covered lawn.

Shadow broke the spell by pushing the door open and leaping off the porch in pursuit of one of life’s real villains, a gray squirrel. Jack’s father said, “You know, it’s grown cold out here. I’m going back inside. When you’re ready, come back inside and we’ll talk some more.”

With Shadow bouncing beside him as he walked down the snow-covered trail in the park behind his father’s house, Jack knew he had a lot to think over. To find out he has been using a false name his entire life and is not even a citizen of the country he served, shook him badly. Not to mention his father was a former KGB agent and probably still on the Russian Intelligence Service wanted list. Maybe the CIA could cope with these facts but the FBI would slap both him and his father in the lock-up at the first opportunity. No matter what he did, the facts remained the same. He still loved and admired his father and was proud to be an American. He wondered if he were any different from the millions of illegal aliens residing in the United States. After an hour watching Shadow splashing in a small partly frozen brook, Jack headed back to the house. He had convinced himself to go with his gut and pick up his father’s work.

A slow fire burned in the small Brandon library and threw a flickering light on the floor-to-ceiling book shelves. A small lamp on a writing table with an open bottle of port was the only other light. All else was in shadow. They clinked glasses and drank a silent toast. Peter Brandon set his glass down on the pine coffee table, looked at Jack and said, “Which is it? Do you think I’m nuts, scared you to death or both?”

“Dad, I know you aren’t nuts. You didn’t scare me, but I’m confused and more than a little troubled. I guess our illegal status bothers me. And I wonder if the Boulder cops blamed you for the death of my mother and sister.”

“I don’t think so. The only warrant they issued for me was as a material witness. I’ve learned to live with my illegal status, and I hope it will be easier for you. You have a long documented history in this country that can be checked. A certified copy of a John Alexander Brandon’s birth certificate is in a safety deposit box along with some other things. Remember when I said I wanted to open a safety deposit box in your name and had you sign the forms. Well, the key to the box is in the house safe. You used the original of your birth certificate when you became a Marine and when the Pittsburgh police did a background check. I don’t have any birth records for me. I claimed they were burned in a courthouse fire, a real fire and a real courthouse. Also, you have served in the Armed Forces of the United States and have a real history. I wouldn’t worry about your citizenship status.”

“Dad, I’m ready for a career change and after my job in homicide, I’m ready for a new challenge. Do you think I can handle it?”

His father laughed and then coughed. Finally he said, “Son, it never was my style to throw you into something over your head. For at least a few months I will be there to help. After I’m gone you will control all the money and all the activities. Remember ninety-five per cent of all I did was well within the law. I believe it will take only a few months before you’re comfortable taking over.”

“Okay! I’ll do it.”

Shortly after their late lunch his father went to bed for a nap. Jack carried a cup of tea out on the back deck. The sun was out and, with the protection from the wind, he was quite comfortable. Shadow curled up next to his chair, at peace with the world. Jack’s world was far from being at peace. The respect Jack had for his father had grown with these revelations. He wondered how he could have been so naïve. He had never suspected his father had a secret life of such magnitude. Now Jack knew the details, he could see he had plenty of opportunities in the past to be suspicious. Now he had to make a plan to kill a man he had never seen, a man who had in cold blood murdered his mother and infant sister.

 

 

 

Jack poured them a fresh cup of coffee, muttered and settled back in his chair.

Peter sipped from cup and looked at Jack. Jack nodded and Peter picked up his story.

“All this time the KGB was frantically searching for us. As careful as I was, one day in Colorado when you were playing at a neighbor’s house, I left by the back door of our rented house and went shopping. KGB killers entered the house and killed your mother and infant sister, Sarah. The killing team was just leaving from the front, when I walked up through the alley to the back of the house. I recognized one of the killers. Someday I swore I would find him and kill him.” Pounding his fist on the chair arm, Peter said in a hoarse voice, “That time is now. I saw this killer in the Four Seasons Hotel in Georgetown last week and followed him to his house.”

Peter whispered, “You have no idea how much I have missed your mother.”

Jack hugged his father and asked if he wanted to rest awhile, but Peter said, “No, not yet. But go find Le Dinh and see if he’ll produce something a little stronger than coffee.”

When Jack returned with two bloody marys, Peter said, “I just want to live long enough to see justice done and, yes, vengeance as well. There is no evidence we can turn over to the police or FBI. It is almost as if some higher power has delivered Yuri to me in my last days. I’m sure he won’t be leaving the area soon. We’ll take him within the next few weeks.”

Jack looked over at his father and said, “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll see to him! Now tell me some more of what happened after my mother and sister were killed.”

Sipping his coffee and clearing his throat, Peter picked up his tale with a weakened voice. “Now there were just the two of us. We ran fast. Before everything was computerized, it was relatively easy to change identities. I chose a very American name and slowly added documentation to support the name of Brandon. Although I was born in Russia, my grandmother told me I had a lot of Celtic ancestors. Since your mother was no longer with us, I didn’t have to worry about explaining her slight accent. My American English was native and so was yours. So with our changed identities, we bought a used car for cash and headed east, looking for a place where we could start a stable, if not a normal life.

“We needed schools and a place where no one was interested in our backgrounds. We had plenty of money. In fact, taking care of the money was almost a full-time job for me. We had to pay some taxes, so the money had to come from someplace. Some of my early high risk investments paid off many times over. I paid taxes on our investment income and stashed the rest in a number of safety deposit boxes.

“Fairfax County in Virginia was exploding with new development and an influx of people pouring in from all over the country. Land was cheap and I bought a lot of it. We settled on a house in a Fairfax County development called Kings Park. You may remember some of this. No one cared where you came from. Everyone was from someplace else. Schools were good. And the chaos of rapid growth provided a good place for us to hide and continue to improve our identities.

“Early on I decided to find a contact in the CIA. For the next year I spent all my free time trying to identify the right place to start the destruction of the KGB network assigned to me. The FBI and other organizations with judicial cultures that are focused on making cases for prosecution in the courts just don’t have the liberty or even the desire to look at solutions beyond the law. At the end of a year of investigation and research, I had a few prospects. I needed an ambitious officer who had served a number of foreign tours. From my KGB training I knew the organization and function of the different components of the CIA.

“Before the KGB could warn my entire network of illegal agents, I contacted each of them and gave them new locations and identities. A few years later the CIA, with my assistance, captured all but one of these illegal agents.

“My first attempt to establish contact worked. I picked Frank Batcher, an officer who had just returned from a posting in Vienna. I found his address and one morning, followed him to work. The rest was easy. I made up a package giving complete details of one of the most dangerous agents in my old network. To improve my credibility I included the small clandestine radio given to me by the KGB. In my note I told Batcher if this worked out, I would give him more leads, but he must make no effort to find or identify me, and there must be no leaks to the media. I put my package in his mailbox at night and then called him from a pay phone. When he asked me how he could contact me, I said he couldn’t. I’d call him occasionally, and he could give me information over the phone. From the beginning, we have completed twenty-five years of working together.

“During those years my contact, moving from one assignment to the next, became quite senior in the Intelligence Community. He trusted me and began giving me things to work on. I’m sure, from time to time, the CIA tried to identify me. I don’t know how hard they tried because my information was always accurate and dependable. I believe they made the decision it was better to have my cooperation, instead of identifying the source and taking a chance of losing the information.

“In intelligence terms I was a very good source who asked for nothing in return. You see if all a source wants to do is provide information, he or she can control all contact. If you are doing this for payment or some other tangible form of reward, you will eventually lose control of the contact arrangements. All I had to do was to conceal my packages of information, and then call my contact and tell him where to pick them up. I assure you after the first package of information, there was no hesitation about picking up my packages. Then, too, since there was no money or the usual paperwork involved, there was no Congressional oversight.

“Three years ago my CIA friend moved into a very senior position as the head of the Counter Terrorism Center (CTC). From his position he could provide some protection for his sources. One time when I called him on the number he had given me, he convinced me to meet with him in person. I was concerned but he agreed to my stringent meeting arrangements. There was no need for my paranoia. We talked for several hours and agreed to regular monthly meetings. His proposal was very attractive. He had been impressed by the information I had provided in the past. He said it was some of the best he had ever received but now we needed to make some changes. He said my knowledge of the workings of Russian Intelligence was dated. He wanted to continue our relationship but in another direction.

“Frank told me his work was being handicapped by the increasing liberalism of government officials, elected and appointed, who failed to realize terrorism is not a law and order problem. It is, instead, a war. And different rules had to be applied. The war cannot be won by trial lawyers and words. The FBI and the lawyers in Justice and on the intelligence staffs on the Hill were culturally wedded to the case method, where evidence collection, an indictment, an arrest are followed by a trial. A long process with a high standard for rules of evidence that is not suited to a battlefield. According to Frank, they act as if their own government is the enemy. When people who are trying to kill us are given the protection of the Constitution and our system of Justice, it is a recipe for national suicide. He feels strongly that the law and order process will never win the battle with terrorism.

“Frank wanted a source of assistance and financial support that would never be exposed to anyone with an oversight role or those looking for political spin. The government is full of people who try to impose their solutions in an area they do not understand. Most of them have never heard a gun fired in anger. But they are full of tactical advice and are willing to apply the protections of our Constitution to people trying their best to destroy our way of life. Partisan politics and intelligence operations just do not mix well. The motive of ninety-odd per cent of all representatives and senators is to get reelected and to increase their power positions. The needs of the nation come in a distant second, and truth is what benefits the office holder.

“Frank gave me his speech, a long one for him, nearly two years ago. Frank is the only name he gave me, but he of course knows that I know his full name and address. His full name is Frank Alan Batcher. He knows me as Paul. In return for my help, he was willing to give me the guarantee neither I nor my family would ever be prosecuted for entering this country illegally or for any of the work done in his behalf. Frank knows I am dying and wants to meet with you to discuss a new direction for our work together.

“He also knows I’m trying to track down the man known to me as Yuri. This is the same man who was part of the KGB team that killed your mother and sister. To help protect our arrangement he wants us to send our information to the FBI but to tell him when we have done so. When we finish up here, I’ll make arrangements for the three of us to meet. No one else knows our story.”

Peter Brandon went on to say, “I was born as Ivan Kalin in the Soviet Union in what was then Leningrad. I was a young KGB Officer, selected early in what you would call the sixth grade and trained in a mostly English environment by American and Canadian born staff in a special school not far from Moscow. Languages were easy for me. I learned Polish and French. Many of the skills I learned were passed on to you as you were growing up, sometimes in the form of games and other times in the context of sports and physical fitness.

“It was in the period of Détente, the counter-intelligence vigilance of the cold war era was fading into memory and the KGB leaders decided to take advantage of the soft U.S. borders. My superiors began to infiltrate KGB Officers into the United States through Canada and Mexico.

“No one except my instructors knew of my KGB status, and they would never leave the Soviet Union. My handlers decided to send me into Canada and then into the United States. They never knew I despised the regimented life under the Party elite. The grayness of life, the constant worry that anything I said or thought might be seen to be anti-party, the arbitrary allocation of career opportunities, and the danger of trusting even your best friends made me yearn to escape. My grandmother was the only person I could talk to. She told me tales of how her friends and family members had been persecuted in the insane purges prior to World War II. Before she died she made me promise to take the first opportunity to escape. What better way than for the Party itself to make the arrangements?

“So for years I knew, if I ever got a chance to get out of the Soviet Union, I would never go back. I despised the cruelty and arrogance of the Communist Party. I was certain one day the Russian people would rise up against the regimes who had, one after the other, brought them hardship without hope. The threat of the camps and the omnipotence of the KGB sapped the courage of even the bravest. I could not be part of the historical repression that had wrung the light and gaiety out of people wherever the Hammer and Sickle flew on its field of red.

“A young man traveling alone presents a higher level of risk so I was provided with a wife. The KGB was a resourceful organization, and within three months they found a suitable wife. She was a beautiful young Polish woman from a good family who spoke excellent English. Her name was Anna. I’m not going to tell you her full name or give you any dates. Nor am I including the places and details of our break from the KGB. Backtracking my story would be dangerous for you. Her parents were ranking party members and highly trusted. I loved your mother from the first day I saw her.

“Armed with KGB-provided papers, we now had a Polish identity with all the necessary documentation including university student identity cards from Warsaw University, drivers’ licenses, a military status card, medical records and a collection of pocket litter to add authenticity to our cover stories, we made our way across Poland and Czechoslovakia into Austria, where we joined with other refugees in the endless processing. Eventually we got our Canadian immigrant visas and arrived in Canada. The journey was not hard. The trip from Austria to Canada was the easiest part of the trip.

“The Catholic Church in Canada helped us to get settled in a small town near Ottawa. Much to my surprise Anna was fascinated with the Christian church, and keeping with our cover, she attended church several times a week. Once in a while I went with her but was never able to match her interest and commitment to religion. I found work as a carpenter’s helper and with the help of the church and Canadian social services, we made ends meet. Two years later you were born. I was told my mission was to make my way into the United States and to settle within thirty miles of Washington, D.C. Once there I would take control of a spy network.

“My Control in Canada handed me a list of important American military and civilian office holders to assassinate prior to the start of a military attack on the United States. The intent was to confuse the American political and military chain of command. I had a secondary mission of creating chaos in the civilian sector by the spread of bacteriological agents, placing bombs in pre-selected key areas and sabotaging other targets.

“I was relieved when I learned Anna, though frightened, shared my feelings and was willing to take the risks we would face breaking away from KGB control in the United States.”

Talking rapidly now as if he were trying to get through a difficult time of his life, Peter plunged on, telling his son he knew they had to get out of Canada and make their break soon. “There were not enough places to hide or cities large enough in Canada to hide a family on the run from the KGB. Fortuitously, the KGB contact in Canada told me to get ready to move to the United States the next month. He said the counter-intelligence forces in the U.S. were improving rapidly and personal contacts between KGB controllers assigned to the Soviet Embassy and Consulates and undercover officers were becoming more and more dangerous. Officers with my training had to move in and take over key espionage networks. I was assured all the necessary funds and equipment to perform my mission would be in place, so I could improve the access of my network, recruit and pay agents, and acquire necessary real estate for the mission. Once in the United States, I systematically withdrew nearly all the funds from each safety deposit box and bank account under my control.”

“Wait a minute! Are you telling me our whole life is financed with funds stolen from the KGB?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Over the years I have grown this money into a sizeable fortune and used a lot of this money to help protect our country.”

“Why didn’t you just walk into the nearest FBI office and tell them your story?”

“Good question. But once you walk in as a defector to any counter-intelligence organization, you cannot walk out. For the rest of your life, you will be in their hands. They will never fully trust you nor allow you to develop your life by following your own path. Also, I didn’t trust the Americans to keep us safe from a vengeful KGB. One of the essential things I have learned from my life is that while some people will keep their word, all governments break their word as soon as it is expedient to do so. I swore once our family was safe, I would help the American government to protect this wonderful country.

“Now, please bear with me, and let me get through my story.”