“I love you very much, Jim.” She began to rinse his body with the hand sprayer.
Jim became excited and rose to the occasion. He was ready for any eventuality. They exited the shower and dried each other with the blue monogrammed white towels, which had been a perfect wedding gift. Reanna lit a few candles while Jim was off to the kitchen. Jim returned to the bedroom with two glasses of wine which sparkled in the candlelight while their favorite Hawaiian love songs softly played the music of their wedding.
Reanna took her glass and raised it. “To us, Jim,” she said and their glasses met in the middle with a “clink.” They each took a sip and Reanna said, “Just like our first night together in Hawaii, huh?”
Jim didn’t respond but placed both glasses on the night stand. “Come on, Reanna, let’s relive that wonderful first night together.” They lowered themselves onto their silk duvet. Jim held Reanna and kissed her neck as he always had, which produced a slight tingle in her body. Then he continued his exploration. Jim’s slow yet methodical movements continued until they were in a full rhythmic embrace. They both enjoyed the ultimate pleasure as only two passionate people deeply in love can.
What a beautiful
morning, thought Reanna as she walked to her car, inhaling the soft air and sweet vapors of the earth. Bright orange and pink filled the eastern sky as oaks, elms and maples proudly displayed their new growth and the green leaves stretched for the sky. Every day represented a new journey, and she hoped this beauty was an omen for Jim to start on a new and successful mission.
As soon as she got into the driver’s seat, Jim opened the passenger door and climbed in.
“Thanks for driving me to the airport this morning,” said Jim.
After a short pause, Reanna said, “Just be careful,” and started the car, pulling away from the curb.
When they arrived at the airline terminal, they both exited the car and embraced.
“Thanks for a good send-off last night,” said Jim, grinning.
“Hey, that’s a two-way street. We’ll have a rerun when we get home.” Then it was Reanna’s turn to grin.
“Be careful, honey,” said Reanna. “I’ll see you in a couple days.”
Jim grabbed his suitcase. “We’ll still have time together in Korea. I love you,” then he disappeared into the terminal.
* * *
Reanna’s eyes were red and a few tears rolled down her face. She should be used to this but she always worried about his safety. She dug in her purse for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. She swallowed hard then she pulled away from the curb and headed for home, fingering her necklace. She was consumed with Jim and thought of the many scenarios he might be involved in when she heard, “eeeoooeeeooo, eeeoooeeeooo.” Reanna eyeballed the red lights flashing on top of a police car in her rear view mirror and she pulled over to the curb, stopped and rolled down her window. She slowly shook her head as she slumped down in her seat. This couldn’t be happening at a worse time. Two days before she had to travel. She’d talk herself out of a ticket. She’d done that before.
The police officer in his blue uniform approached Reanna’s window.
“Do you know how fast you were going back there?” the office asked belligerently, pointing behind him with his thumb.
“No.”
“You were doing seventy-five in a thirty-five mile-an-hour zone.” The officer took a deep breath then said, “May I see your driver’s license, registration and proof of insurance please?”
Oh no, she’d changed purses too soon. She couldn’t believe she did that
.
Reanna’s heart began to race and her face flushed as she fidgeted in her purse and pulled out her driver’s license and registration. She held them in one hand while she continued to search her purse with the other hand as if hoping she could find something that wasn’t there. “Damn,” she mumbled to herself and placed the documents in the officer’s hand.
He flipped through the documents, scowled and asked, “What’s your name?” while he alternately continued to scrutinize the documents and Reanna.
“Um…Yana Dolinsky.”
“You’re traveling on an international driver’s license. Please hand me your Visa?”
“Um…I don’t have one, but I can—”
“Please give me the keys for the trunk.” Reanna pulled the key out of the ignition and handed them to the officer. She observed him in the rearview mirror and felt the car shake as he opened the trunk. After a few moments, he returned to the driver’s door and said, “Get out of the car. Keep your hands where I can see them.” Reanna pushed open the door and stood on the pavement. The officer quickly grabbed her wrist and spun her around, slapping handcuffs on both wrists behind her back.
“What’s going on, why am I being arrested?” pleaded Reanna. “I haven’t done anything wrong. All I need to do is make one phone call and everything will be cleared up.”
The officer fixated on Reanna and said, “You have an International driver’s license issued by Russia, your name doesn’t match the name on the car registration or insurance documents, and there’s a loaded Browning automatic pistol with an illegal silencer in your trunk. How do you explain all of that, Missy?”
Reanna winced. Her hands became clammy and she began to stare sightlessly.
While the officer patted her down he said, “I spent too much time in Europe during the war to put up with someone like you. We don’t need the likes of you around here.”
He held her arm and escorted her back to the patrol car. Reanna was shoved into the rear seat and the car door slammed shut.
What a mess, but after she called Mac, the whole matter would be cleared up.
The officer made some calls on his radio describing his passenger while Reanna sat in the back seat and fumed at her own stupidity.
Upon their arrival at the police station, the handcuffs were removed. Then she was placed into a cell with two dirty forty-five to fifty-year-old scruffy women with disheveled hair and tattered clothes.
Reanna stood next to the bars, her eyes flashing at two officers, “I just need to make one telephone call. It will clear this whole mess up.”
“Listen here, Commie. You’ll get a telephone call when we say you can have a telephone call. Got that? Now sit down and shut up.” The two officers turned and left the area. Reanna sauntered to a bench and plopped down. Two rough looking women of the street glared at her with squinting eyes and said, “Commie bitch.”
Once she contacted Mac, she’d be out of there in a flash.
That afternoon, a
black four-door sedan picked Jim up from the Washington National Airport, and drove him directly to E Street in D.C. Jim signed in at the desk and proceeded to Bob MacDonald’s office. He knocked on the open door frame. Mac looked up, smiled and said, “Come on in, Jim.” Mac got to his feet and shook Jim’s hand. “How was your flight?”
“Good Mac…uneventful—the best kind,” said Jim. Mac stretched his arm out and pointed to the chair in front of his desk and Jim sat down. Mac settled into his big black leather chair and eased back. He reached under his desk at knee height, pushed a button and the office door closed.
“What’s up? How is all of this going to work?” asked Jim crossing his arms and his legs in a figure four.
Mac studied Jim. He looked good for someone who was shot down over the Pacific, survived for nearly a year on a deserted island before being captured and tortured by the Japanese for another year. He may look timid, but he’s strong-willed and strong-minded. He wished he had ten more just like him.
Mac finally broke his silence. “Come on, the guys are waiting for us in the conference room. They were notified when you checked in downstairs. We’ll get details there.”
As they proceeded toward the conference room, Mac asked Jim about Reanna and Jim politely responded but he did not mention anything about the Russian shooter.
Mac and Jim entered the conference room and were motioned to sit down by one of three gentlemen sitting at the conference table. After a few generic pleasantries were exchanged, Bruce Hemphill, the assistant director and retired Navy admiral walked in and sat at the head of the table.
“Let’s begin our briefing,” said Mac as he opened a folder on the table in front of him. “First of all—”
“No…first of all,” Jim interrupted as he bolted upright in his chair. MacDonald’s face tightened and shot Jim a quick icy look. Three other gentlemen at the table exchanged glances and grinned. Jim continued, “I need to be introduced to the gentlemen at the table. I wasn’t introduced to them at our last meeting, and I want to know everyone’s name.”
Everyone fell silent and the three gentlemen turned and looked at Hemphill waiting for his reaction.
Mac glowered at Jim and said, “It’s not necessary—”
“It is necessary for this mission to get off the ground and succeed,” said Jim. “I need to know who is supporting me behind the scenes…period.”
The room fell silent. The three men across the table were suppressing slight grins and were apparently enjoying Jim’s dialogue in the presence of the assistant director.
Hemphill looked at Mac and waved dismissively then fixated on Jim and said with a smile, “It’s not customary to reveal the names of the researchers and analysts in cases like this. However, we’ll make an exception. Mac, handle the introductions.”
Mac looked at Hemphill, opened his mouth to criticize, then stopped short and with clenched jaw, turned to Jim with a forced smile. Mac swung his arm toward the first gentleman and said, “This is Darrell Richling, manager of research.”
A man with close cropped curly hair grinned and nodded his head. Mac pointed to the next man and continued, “This is Leonard Bergeron, head analyst.”
Bergeron, a younger man with a blond crew cut, responded with a simple “Hi,” and a short wave.
Mac continued, “This is Louis Cormier, manager of operations and planning,” then turned to Jim, “He was highly involved in your last mission.”
Cormier, a short man with black hair produced a broad smile, got up and walked around the large table with quick, short steps and stopped when he reached Jim. He extended his hand and said, “Glad to officially meet you, Jim.”
Jim smiled, “Thanks. What do I call you?”
“My friends call me Frenchy.”
“Glad to meet you, Frenchy,” and pumped Frenchy’s hand a few more times.
While the squat man moseyed around the table to his chair, Jim felt more satisfied. Now at least he knew their names. One of the five at this table may be the mole. They had complete control and yet one could also be his executioner.
Bruce Hemphill glanced at Jim and said, “Your contact at the Seoul Embassy will be a Richard Palmer. I understand you two know each other.”
“Yes, we went to school together a few years back.”
MacDonald looked surprised, and then added, “He’ll be able to furnish you with anything that you need.”
Hemphill slid a folder across the table to Jim, “Here’s some data you’ll need. Please memorize its contents. The file will remain here as usual.”
The short silence was broken when Hemphill continued, “Frank Henderson, the under secretary of state will be attending a secret meeting in Seoul in five days. We have been informed there is a plot to assassinate him by a Russian assassin.”
“Who is he?” asked Jim as he leaned forward and began twisting his wedding ring.
“We don’t know.”
Jim tilted his head and frowned. “What do you expect me to do?”
Hemphill pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes tight, then shot Jim a look, leaning forward with clenched fists. “Jim, your assignment is to find the assassin and eliminate the threat. It’s that simple.”
Hemphill then rose to his feet, grinned at Jim and said, “After this meeting, you’ll have plenty of time to familiarize yourself with the data in that folder until you leave for Seoul this afternoon. “Good luck.” He then turned to Mac and said, “Take care of the details. Mac, it’s in your hands,” Hemphill exited the room, closing the door behind him. Everyone in the room looked at each other without uttering a word.
Mac leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table forming his hands into a steeple. He focused on Jim with strong eye contact. “Besides the military, Bill Nickerson will be there to help protect the secretary. He’s DS.”
“DS?” asked Jim with furrowed brow.
“That’s Diplomatic Security. They’re actually responsible for his safety and security.”
“Then why am I going?”
“Look, Frank Henderson thinks he’s untouchable. Secondly, Bill Nickerson is headstrong and thinks he’s superman. It’s imperative we protect Henderson at all costs. We cannot involve ourselves in another war.”
Jim wrinkled his face. “Okay, you have DS, Embassy guards and security. Then why do you need me?” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.
“Everyone else is reactive where you’re proactive. You can get things done. Just go to Seoul, snoop around and eliminate the threat period…easy.”
“Yeah, easy-peasy alright,” Jim said as he felt his stomach flutter.
“There’s not much I can tell you,” said Mac. “It’s pretty much a learn-as-you go plan.”
“I need something concrete,” said Jim.
“Concrete doesn’t exist.”
The telephone on the table rang. Darrell Richling picked up the receiver and said, “Hello?” No one stirred. “It’s for you, Mac,” and he slid the telephone over in front of MacDonald.
Mac picked up the handset and held it to his ear, “Mac here.” After a short pause, his eyebrows drew together while he stared at the rotary dial. He softly drummed his fingers on the table then said, “when…where…who?” The faces of the others all seemed to represent fear of the unknown. After another brief pause he said, “I’ll be right there,” replaced the receiver on the telephone and rose to his feet. He looked at Cormier and said, “I have an urgent matter that demands my immediate attention. Please finish up with Jim. Don’t keep him too long, He needs to study the data before he leaves in a few hours.” He didn’t wait for a reply but turned and exited the room.
The men stared at the door with a dazed look, Cormier said, “The embassy is expecting you, Jim. That’s it. You know what your mission is--do us proud.”