Chapter 13: Back to a Normal Existence, Sort of

We all unpacked the next morning and took our dirty laundry to the laundry room. We had slept in that morning and decided to have brunch instead of a regular breakfast. Karen’s grandmother was her usual self, busy in the kitchen, fixing us a breakfast feast. I think she loved staying with us. She had people who loved her, and had free rein in an upscale kitchen. Grandma Jorgenson was happy, and I was glad to have her around. I did enjoy her labors of love. Karen was good in the kitchen, but her Grandma was great, and great always trumps good.

I kissed both my girls goodbye after eating and went out the door. I intended to go to the office to get ready for classes which started in a few days. My office door was open when one of my colleagues strolled by. He poked his head in and gave me an ‘Attaboy’. I was confused as I had no idea what he would be praising me for so I had to ask what the compliment was about, since I had no idea what he was referring to.

He mentioned that my picture was featured on the front page of the Chicago newspaper. It was captioned with my name and place of employment. I asked to see it.

The White House photographer evidently was standing nearby and took the opportunity to photograph me shaking hands with the President in the Oval Office. The photo was distributed, and several local newspapers picked up on it and posted it in this morning’s editions. The accompanying article praised me for assisting the White House in preparing for upcoming treaty talks with the Soviet Union. I was sure besides the Chicago papers, the story would be front page back in my home town. It dawned on me that I had better call my parents before they had a chance to call me and complain about how they found out.

I remember the last interaction I had with my parents. Karen and I had traveled three hours one way to visit them over a weekend about five months ago. The whole weekend had been a disaster. My parents were polite to Karen and not rude. We sat there staring at each other, not saying anything the entire time we were there. It was a weekend, and we were glad when it came time to head home.

I called Karen at home as soon as the professor left my office. I asked her to go to the convenience store a couple of blocks from our house and buy copies of this morning’s Chicago newspaper. I wanted it to be a surprise for her, but she already knew as several friends of ours had seen it and called, wanting to know what I was doing at the White House. She was as surprised as I was about the photo.

My phone began ringing right after I hung it up. It was Lawrence.

“Boy, you go big when you go on a vacation, don’t you?” he laughed.

“Hey, that was totally unexpected,” I said. “All I had been told was that it was a private tour of the Capitol Building and the White House arranged by my Congressional friend. It turns out that it was all a political dog-and-pony show. That huckster congressman is using me as a vehicle to further his political career.”

Lawrence answered, “I figured it was something like that. I just wanted to call and warn you. You may get all sorts of calls and letters from the crazies and those who have an agenda. So be alert and call me right away if something comes across as being out of the norm. Word had come down from on high that you are special and this office is your guardian angel.”

“Ah, do you mean special as in an asset or special as in short bus special?” I teased.

“Special, as in, it came from the very top down. The residents of that place you visited the other day have taken an interest in you. They want to make sure you are kept safe,” he responded.

“Gotcha,” I said, both shocked and humbled. “I will talk to you later.”

I must have made a big impression on the people who mattered.

I called my parents next to at least try to keep a civil connection between my mother and myself. My father, who would avoid a confrontation at all costs, would never raise a ruckus and would let my mother run things. I dialed the number and waited, not expecting to get an answer. I heard the phone being answered.

“Hello,” said a familiar female voice. A voice I had heard most of my young life.

“Hello, Mom. How are you doing?” I responded. “Did you happen to see this morning’s paper?”

“You mean the one where my son is shaking hands and schmoozing with one of the most powerful men in the free world?” she said in a sarcastic tone. “Yes, I saw it. Too bad that you could not have called me to prepare me for it. Everyone in town now knows about it at the same time as I do.”

I could see she has not changed any, and she still blames me for the Ginny B affair.

“I just found out about the photo ten minutes ago, Mom,” I said.

“Before you ask, I was asked to do a consult for the government and they arranged for the President to personally thank me,” I said, not even convincing myself with that whopper.

“So any chance for grandkids soon?” she asked.

I laughed at that. You could tell where her priorities rested—grandkids, gossip, and her status in town—in that order.

“Well, Mom, I must get back to work. I have classes to teach in a few days and I need to prepare for them. Give Dad my love. Bye, Mom,” I said in as few words as I could and hung up.

I called Karen back and told her what Lawrence said. I suggested she put her pistol in her purse and be watchful of her surroundings. I ended the call with my usual, “Goodbye, my Viking Princess.”

This caused her to giggle like a teenager. After the emotional evening we had the other night, I wanted to make sure she felt secure in our relationship.

I spent the next two hours preparing for my classes and dealing with fellow faculty wanting to know about the Oval Office and the White House. It got so bad that I had to shut my door and ignore when people knocked. I had enough after two hours and decided to head home. I took a few things with me so I could work on them at home. I opened the sea bag before I left for home, and checked on things. Everything seemed to be in order. I did get my Walther PPK out as well; it was inside the waist holster. If I were to play like James Bond, I may as well accessorize like him. On went the PPK and its holster.

I decided to ride through Washington Park and stop at my favorite spot on the way home. It is hard to believe that it is not as difficult to find locations as the one I discovered a few years ago in a city of nearly three million. There was little evidence there were lots of people around while looking at the lake sitting under the tree. Other than the traffic, you would believe we were out in the country.

I had been there long enough thirty minutes later, and made the fifteen-minute ride home. I had just put the motorcycle in the covered parking area when Grandma Jorgenson came rushing out. She looked worried and kept looking back at the house. I went on alert and went to her and asked what had upset her. It seems a reporter kept calling the house wanting a comment about a news story that his paper was about to break. He would hang up when told I was not there and call again 10-15 minutes later, wanting a statement from me. It scared Grandma because he had said that he would camp on my doorstep until I did if I did not comment over the phone. That was out-and-out harassment in my opinion, and I would call my FBI friends to deal with him as soon as I got in the house.

I heard Karen almost in tears talking on the phone when I came into the house. I walked up to her and had her hand me the phone, which I promptly hung up.

“Oh, James, he is threatening to make our address public unless you give into his demands that you make a statement,” she said, crying.

“He wants a statement about what?” I asked, perplexed. I had no idea what she meant.

“He knows about your mission to Russia. He claims an unidentified source in Washington tipped his paper off about your trip, and he is threatening to expose your true identity unless you give him what he wants,” Karen said with fear in her voice.

Trying to soothe her fears and calm her down, I said, “Don’t worry, I’ll take his call when he calls again.”

That seemed to have settled her down. I suggested she go be with Grandma and calm her down as well.

I dialed Lawrence to tell him what was happening before this reporter attempted to call again. I wanted to put this to bed before some nut case spreads my address and decides on his 5 minutes of fame or, worse, get a midnight visit from some Spetsnaz squad seeking revenge. I told Lawrence when he picked up that a twit was calling my house and threatening my wife and her grandmother. That was the first time I ever heard Lawrence swear and lose his cool. He never lost his temper, even when dealing with Ginny B, but he did this time.

Lawrence said to get his particulars and then suggest meeting somewhere semi-public, and then I was to call him. He would be there with some other agents to make the arrest. They would fit me with a wire so the conversation between me and the reporter could be recorded. Lawrence said that they could charge the reporter with extortion, espionage, and whatever else he could think of with the evidence that would be recorded. The reporter would never bother us again with the threat of a long prison term hanging over his head.

I had no sooner hung up when the reporter called again. I picked up this time, and the smug little bastard proceeded to threaten me with exposing everything about me and my immediate family. I responded that it would not be in his best interests to threaten me. He then said that he was sure that the university would love to know what some of its faculty do during their down time.

I had heard enough and told him that I did not feel it was safe to make a statement over the phone. I suggested a public location where we could talk privately. He was more than agreeable to that and wanted to meet as soon as possible. I had to admit that yellow journalist was an eager beaver, he saw a Pulitzer in his future.

I asked him if he knew his way around Chicago. I found out that the news publication had its offices on the south side. It was a radical leftist-sponsored publication. I asked him if he knew where Washington Park was. He said he knew the park quite well. I suggested a meeting at my favorite place in 60 minutes. He said he would be able to find the place I wanted to meet up with the directions I gave him.

I called Lawrence back after he hung up, and gave him the details. He did laugh when I told him how smug the SOB sounded over the phone. I can guarantee that he would change his attitude when the FBI swooped in. Lawrence said he felt the publisher was in for all sorts of grief once they arrested the reporter with the evidence collected from the wire they would have me wear. Charges of extortion, espionage, and whatever else Lawrence could come up with were on the table for both the reporter and the publisher.

I got to Washington Park and at my favorite spot, where I agreed to meet the weasel reporter, early. Lawrence and several other FBI agents were there, waiting. I was fitted with a wire while we waited. Lawrence and some the other agents went over some instructions for me to follow. I was to sit patiently, allow the reporter to approach me and start the conversation. I was not to be cooperative and be hesitant in answering whatever the reporter asked or requested. The agents said this would make him angry and cause him to threaten me more. Lawrence told me that I had nothing to worry about because they would be nearby to make the arrest, and he was sure I would be able to protect myself with the training I had received.

Lawrence and the other agents went to hide fifteen minutes before the meeting so they could observe both of us when he showed up. This weaselly, smelly individual came over to where I was sitting right on time, and asked if I was Dr. Mercer.

He started in with his questions when I confirmed that I was. Whoever his unnamed source was, their information was accurate.

“What are the names of your team members and who do they work for, Dr. Mercer?” asked the confident little bastard.

“Where did you go for your mission’s training?”

“Was one of your team members a woman, and what was your relationship with this woman?”

I remained quiet and refused to answer during all this.

“Are you personally responsible for the deaths of two Russian military personnel?”

“Was the President aware of your mission?”

“Why did you kill your former lover? Did she know about your other life as a government agent?”

“Look, I will follow through on my threat of exposing you and your wife if you don’t start answering my questions. I am sure you wouldn’t want anything to happen to your ‘Viking Princess’,” the angry reporter shouted at me,

The reporter’s questions shocked me at how personal the information he knew was. It would ruin people’s lives, their careers, and the lives of those close to me if any of this information were made public. Plus, that last statement suggested that someone took the time to look into my background.

I stalled as long as I could before the reporter got impatient and threatened me with exposure again. He said he had enough background to ruin me.

I’d had enough and gave the signal by gesturing with my hand, and a baker’s dozen of agents swooped in to make the arrest.

Lawrence, in front of the pack, was on the reporter before he knew what was happening. They gang tackled him to the ground, with him at the bottom of the pile, instead of cuffing him standing. They stood him up, none too gently After the cuffs were on.

Lawrence told him he was under arrest for a litany of charges, most dealing with the security of the United States, extortion, and lastly, threatening a federal agent. That last charge surprised both the reporter and me. I never considered myself one, but I guess I could be. The biggest tidbit was that any combination for which the penalty was life with no chance of parole. The once-smug reporter did not look so smug then. In fact, he looked downright sick.

The agents pulled him along to the standard-issue government sedan parked along the street and tossed him into the back seat. A couple of agents got in and pulled away, leaving the rest of the arrest team standing around talking.

“What happens next?” I asked Lawrence.

“Another FBI team, along with a few US Marshals, are at his publication’s headquarters, arresting the publisher and the editors about now. Lawrence said they are also searching through the newspaper’s files for anything related to this case and holding it as evidence. It didn’t take long to get the warrant to search and confiscate anything we felt was a threat to national security. They will face the same charges as your little friend there if anything is found. In any event, the threat to you has ended, but we will work on finding out who their unnamed source is.”

“Everything on this end may have ended, but the unnamed source that started this mess is still out there. He still is a threat and it’s personal. I intend to take him down. It is probably best that you don’t know anything about what I am planning, Lawrence,” I said.

Lawrence just looked at me and must have agreed it was best that he didn’t know. He nodded his head while leaving. He left with the other agents, leaving me in my special place.

I spent the next hour sitting there, thinking about this whole mess. I immediately knew who the unnamed source was. That source was none other than Senator Stuart; I was sure of that. I could not believe he would let a personal grudge jeopardize our nation’s security just so he could get his revenge because I made him look like a fool.

I knew one thing; he was slimy enough to worm his way out of it if I were to report my suspicions. He had enough influence and friends in Congress and the DC bureaucracy to bury any accusations I might bring up. I would handle this without going through official layers of the Washington, DC, environment. That good-ole boy network had survived in that pit of vipers we called the nation’s capital for generations. I would put an end to it, and I knew how to do it. It’s time to make some more phone calls.

I found my ladies had calmed down when I got home, so I went into the bedroom where I would have some privacy to make my calls.

My first call was to my friend, the Congressman from Michigan. The staffer I talked to said the congressman was not in the office and would call me back soon. I told the staffer that this had to do with the Joint Committee on Intelligence and the briefing I had given. The staff member I talked to must have been perceptive enough to know what I was talking about. He said to expect a call back within an hour. I thanked him and hung up.

My next call, or should I say calls, were to Randy and Andi since this indirectly involved them as well. I did not want to tell them over the phone, so I would have them come to Chicago. There we would meet, talk, and plan. I additionally had classes starting in a few days, so I could not get away for anything clandestine. I was about to make the calls when the phone rang. I hollered that I would get it and picked up the phone.

True to his aide’s word, it was the Congressman, and he was not too cheery on the other end. I guess his staffer had gotten him out of a meeting on an important issue. I simply told him that an insider had leaked the mission secrecy and explicit details to a leftist liberal anti-government publication. The Congressman exploded and demanded to know all the details right then. I suggested a face-to-face meeting that would be convenient for both of us. I said the details of what I knew were not something we wanted to discuss over the phone. We agreed to give him two hours, and someone from his office would call me back with the meeting details. I told him the threat on my end had been dealt with and not to worry about it. That made him more agreeable when we ended the call.

I decided not to waste time and quickly called Andi and Randy at the contact numbers I had for them. Without going into details on the phone, I told them that we needed to get together here as something came up that was of serious interest to all of us. I suggested that we dip into our special fund to pay for the plane tickets and their stay here, and that was agreeable to both. I wished them both well and waited for the return call from the Congressman’s staffer.

The phone rang again as expected two hours later, and it was from a member of the Congressman’s staff. I was to be at Chicago Meigs Field by 7 PM. I was to come alone and expect to be back in Chicago early tomorrow morning. I acknowledged the information, and the staffer hung up.

I was going to drive the pickup this time as it was a more nondescript vehicle, and I would not stick out as if I had driven my yellow bug or the camper bus. I arrived fifteen minutes before I was supposed to and looked around. The jet was there, as promised. I checked the tail registration number given to me by the staffer to make sure I had the right plane and crew. I had my messenger bag with me, which contained canned soda and some of Grandma’s travel rations. The rations were her blueberry bars and a carrot cake cookie, which she claimed was filling and nutritious. I also brought my class notes with me. The idea was to outline my lecture notes during the flight. I could be writing even if only for ten minutes,.

I made a mental checklist to go over what I brought and what I intended to share with the Congressman as the time I was to show up got closer. The first was my personal safety. I did not trust these political rats, so I came prepared. I had my Walther and its holster inside my waistband and a spare magazine in my right front pocket. I had my class notes to work on during the flight in my messenger bag, where I also had my canned soda and the travel rations made with TLC by Grandma Jorgenson. Yep, I had everything. I started the pickup, drove closer to where the jet was, and parked and locked my truck. I got out, and made my way over to the jet. My head was on a swivel, making myself aware of my surroundings as it was drummed into me during training. Not seeing anything unusual, all I observed was the jet and the group congregated near it. I looked at the crowd, and I saw a redhead that was familiar. It was Molly. Why was she here? I was going to have to ask her where she worked. She comes across as ditsy one moment and as a competent staff member the next. I was beginning to wonder who the real Molly was.

Molly recognized me as I approached the jet and waved. The others turned at my approach and went about their jobs. One of the men who I took to be the pilot suggested that I go on into the jet, pick a seat, and prepare for takeoff. It would only be a few more minutes before they would be ready to leave. I agreed and headed toward the jet’s entrance door.

I looked around behind me to make sure the coast was clear. The only other person near me was Molly, and she was hollering back at one of the other people who appeared to be an airport employee. I entered the jet and chose a seat halfway back. I wanted to make sure that I had room to be clear for action and get to the Walther without any obstacles if I needed to protect myself. There was that training kicking in again. I was now so glad I paid attention.