Monday - September 3, 1973
Jack invited one of his friends from the CIA over—Arvin Sloane and his wife, Emily for a Labor Day barbeque. Arvin is not the handsomest man, but his wife is beautiful. He
is shorter than either Jack or I and Emily is about five two. They make a nice looking couple and I enjoyed their company very much.
We talked about a great many things and I was pleased that both Emily and Arvin were not boring. Our conversation covered many subjects including politics, world news and entertainment. We did talk about something neither Jack nor I knew anything about—a scientist named Milo Rambaldi. He was a 16th century genius, according to Arvin, who was so far ahead of his time that he made Da Vinci seem like a student.
“The trouble was,” said Arvin, “his inventions worked and were unlike anything anyone had ever thought of that he was deemed a heretic and burned at the stake!”
He went on to describe one of the inventions. He even said he was on the trail of one of his artifacts and might soon come into possession of it. I was enthralled, because it might be something they would want to know more about.
*****
Saturday - November 24, 1973
It was our anniversary today. Jack took me out to dinner in D.C. It was cold and rainy, but the restaurant was great. I had Beef Wellington. I’d never eaten something so good. It came to me on a plank with mashed potatoes rimming the steak along with sautéed carrots and zucchini. Jack had an 8 ounce filet that he said he could cut with his fork. For dessert he ordered a Baked Alaska. As we finished, he pulled a box from his inside coat pocket and handed it to me.
“For the most wonderful woman in the world,” he said. “Happy Anniversary, happy anniversary, darling.”
“Jack! I thought we weren’t going to spend a lot.”
“I lied. Open it.”
I did and was surprised to see earrings—diamond earrings. “They’re beautiful,” I gasped.
He grinned. “They will only enhance your beauty.”
“Your present is home and it’s not glamorous...or expensive.” I almost felt guilty when I thought about it.
“Then if you’re finished, we’ll go.” He helped me up and we left.
It was raining and it was cold, but I don’t think either one of us noticed. The valet came with our car.
When we entered our apartment, I ran to the closet to get the box. He grabbed me around the neck and kissed me. Then he opened it.
“Hey sweetheart, it’s a new briefcase!” He picked it up, looking it over from stem to stern. “This is a wonderful gift. Mine looks like its a hundred years old. Thank you. I’ll transfer my stuff in the morning. However, the night isn’t over, is it?”
Laughing, I ran to the bedroom dropping my coat and kicking off my shoes. He was right behind me. In seconds he’d removed my dress, bra and panties, leaving me standing there with only stockings and a garter belt.
“Hold on,” he gasped, “don’t move.” He dropped his pants, tie, shirt, boxers…kicked off his shoes. “Bend over,” he ordered.
The sex was great. We slept in each other’s arms that night. I woke up finding he’d mounted me and was covering my breasts with kisses that caused my nipples to stand up straight. I pulled his head to me and kissed him hard. He began thrusting slowly; then a little faster as my vagina became filled with cum and he could go deeper.
“Jack,” I cried, lifting my legs and locking them behind his thighs. My head was swimming with thunder. “Hurry…I’m com…ing, coming…” We rocked as my senses heightened.
We came together. I held him close and shuddered two or three times as his penis was forced to stay inside. When I was done, I sighed and let him go. He rolled over next to me and both of us were covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Neither of us, however, wanted to move any further. We lay there panting, catching our breath and deliriously satisfied.
Finally Jack got up and went to take a shower. It was Sunday and we had been invited to one of his friend’s home for a small dinner party. I stayed where I was, thinking about the briefcase. It was a special one that had been provided by V.
I will have no trouble accessing it in the future. It has several features that Jack doesn’t even know about and won’t.
***
Tuesday – December 4, 1973
Jack called me this afternoon. He’s going out of town for a week or so, but he couldn’t be specific. He didn’t tell me where either. I have called V and forwarded the information. Hopefully I’ll be able to stay at home. I think I’m almost finished with my dissertation and can schedule my orals for later on.
Later: V called and needed to see me. I went and was given another assignment—in London on Saturday. I’m booked into a small hotel in Soho. I told him as soon as I’m done I want to fly back. If all goes well, I shouldn’t be gone more than 24 hours.
Saturday – December 8, 1973
I flew into Heathrow this morning at 10 a.m. I went directly to the hotel and picked up my assignment. I was surprised that the target was staying at a hotel a couple blocks away. My instructions were explicit. I had to do the job tonight. He was expected back from an Embassy dinner by eleven. I called the airline and re-scheduled my return flight for 2:30 a.m. I expect no problems and should be on time if not early.
In the closet was a bag with clothes, boots, ski mask of course, and weapon. This was to be a close-up job. There was a key enclosed also. It obviously was for his hotel door. I sat at the small desk and read the dossier. This was my third assignment.
I did not want to go out on the street. Too many variables could happen that might cause a problem in the completion of the mission. Being careful was also being prudent. At this stage in my career, I wanted to be perfect. I wanted no problems that would appear on my record. After all, I knew I would be going home sometime in the near future.
The day passed slowly. I watched the television which was not particularly good. I spent a part of the morning cleaning the Beretta they supplied. Then I checked the rear entrance of the hotel. It was satisfactory, but I needed my key to get in as the door would be locked at ten p.m. There was a sign to that effect on the door in my room.
I dressed to go out about ten after putting my hair into a French braid. Looking out my window I could see it was snowing lightly. I wore heavy boots with sheepskin lining. I tucked my pants inside. Because of the weather I decided not to wear my usual leathers. Pulling on my thermal shirt, I tucked it into my pants then buckled the leather belt tight to hold it. Over that shirt, I pulled on a thick black flannel shirt.
The jacket had an inside pocket holster that was especially designed for a small gun. I tucked the Beretta inside and looked in the mirror. Perfect. Black leather gloves finished the ensemble. I tucked the black ski mask in the right hand pocket. I checked the room to be sure everything was ready for my departure. I would do the job and then drive to the airport, taking the flight home. I should have plenty of time to make the connection.
Leaving by the rear door I met no one. They were either in for the night or out. It was a Saturday night after all. There was a car waiting in the alley. I entered the rear seat and the driver drove off. It took only a very few minutes for us to reach my target’s hotel. My driver stopped in the alley and handed me a key.
“To get in and out of the room and hotel when you finished the job.”
I nodded, saying nothing. It was understood he would wait for me. As I entered the hotel’s rear entrance, he switched off his lights.
I made it into his room by ten thirty and I supposedly had to wait until his return which had been figured at eleven. I sat down in one of the chairs. My heart was pounding. It had on the previous two missions. It was the anticipation of the kill, I think. I had no second thoughts. It was a job.
It was almost a quarter past eleven, when I heard voices. I went immediately into the bathroom and waited, listening for the key in the door.
“Come on in, Jack.”
JACK?!! My heart leaped into my throat and I blinked. Jack? My Jack? felgercarb! I felt sweat break out on my forehead. I pressed close to the door in order to hear what was being said. My heart was beating so hard I thought they would hear it.
“No…it’s late. How about breakfast before the meeting?”
It was Jack, my husband! I pulled out the mask and put it on, tucking my braid up inside. My hands were shaking a bit. I took a slow deep breath. There was nothing I could do if he stayed. I would have to kill him too! I blinked, keeping tears from falling. Hell of condition to be in when they expected me to do the job I was assigned.
“Okay! How about 7:30?”
“I’ll be in the dining room. Goodnight.” The door closed.
I gave another sigh of relief. I pulled the silencer out of my pocket and screwed it onto the Beretta. There was movement in the room. I thought maybe he was going to bed, but then heard light footfalls coming toward the door. I plastered myself against the wall, hoping he wouldn’t slam the door open against me. He didn’t. He opened just enough to step inside.
I stepped around the door, pointed the gun at his ear, and fired. He dropped to the floor without a sound. He never knew I was there. I opened the door and left the room. The mask was stuck in my pocket and the gun holstered. Walking to the end of the hall, I saw there was a fire escape. Three minutes later I was in the back seat of the car.
“You can leave. Target was acquired.”
The driver nodded. “Your hotel?”
I nodded. I thought about the near miss I had. I realized Jack could have stayed for—whatever and problems would have developed. I was relieved he’d left.
“You’re here.”
I left the car and didn’t even look at the driver as he drove off. I re-entered the hotel with my key, running quickly up to my room. I undressed, leaving my clothes with the gun. The KGB cleaning crew would be here shortly to remove all traces of my being in London. I would leave Heathrow looking entirely different, flying back to Washington before the target was even discovered.
Thursday, December 13, 1973
I received the phone call from the airport. Jack was back in the states, but in D.C. He told me that he had to go to Langley first and perhaps would be home in time for dinner. I was feeling excited and was so wound up that I needed Jack for my usual release. I showered, dressed appropriately, and went to the kitchen to prepare dinner.
However he didn’t come home until nearly midnight. I was so tense one could bounce a tennis ball off me. I wondered what had happened to make him so late.
He dropped his coat and hat on the sofa and swept me into his arms. “I’m sorry, darling, but they needed to debrief me. They didn’t want to wait until tomorrow.”
“What happened?”
“Philip Krasner was killed. He’s an agent working on a particular matter.”
“But why you?” I asked.
”I was with him the night he was killed. They wanted to be sure I hadn’t seen or heard something that would give the director of operations some idea of why he was murdered.”
“Did you?” I asked.
He shook his head, “No, I just walked him to his room and we made a date to have breakfast the next morning. As near as I can tell, he was murdered shortly after. The killer might have been there all along. That’s the reason I wasn’t home on Monday. I was assisting Scotland Yard and waiting for forensics to finish their cursory examination of his room. He was killed there—in the bathroom.”
“Do you want some dinner? I could heat it up.”
“No, darling, I’m so tired, I will probably sleep like a dead man.” He said.
He did. I would have to wait until tomorrow night.
***
Sunday – December 17, 1973
We went to Philip Krasner’s funeral today. Langley flew his body over on Friday after Scotland Yard released it. Jack asked me to help out Amanda Krasner at the gathering after the burial. That wasn’t easy considering. However I helped with the food: putting it on the table and cleaning the dishes when they were empty. I thought it was a nice gesture to leave her kitchen spotless.
Everyone was sad, because it happened just before Christmas. The Krasners have two children, a boy Philip Jr. and a girl, Betsy. The boy is 6 and the girl is 4. I don’t think they really knew what it was all about. They are almost too young to understand their father isn’t coming home again…ever.
Jack told me later that the office is going to pitch in to see that the children have a real Christmas. I offered to bake some cookies for them and maybe we could afford to buy a toy or two. Jack said the office was going to take care of all the gifts, but he was sure everyone would appreciate anything such as cookies. They are going to put this together on Christmas Eve. They want to be sure the children have a happy holiday. I don’t think Amanda is going to have one.
I can make Toll House cookies.
*****
SYDNEY AND VAUGHN
“I don’t know how she could do it.” Sydney said.
“What?” Vaughn was packing their clothes. They were leaving Rome for Florence.
“Go to that agent’s funeral. She killed him!” Sydney put the journal into the trunk, locking it; then she turned to Vaughn.
“Your mother,” he said carefully, “was a trained spy and assassin. Sydney, wake up! Irina Derevko was not a nice woman.”
“Yet suppose the shoe were on the other foot. What if, in doing my job, I had to do the same thing?”
Vaughn shook his head. “You wouldn’t do it! You couldn’t.” He pulled the trunk over to the door.
Sydney stiffened. “I would if I had too!”
He shook his head. “No, darling, you wouldn’t. You were not trained to be an assassin…to deliberately aim at and pull the trigger to kill another human being…someone you’d never met and knew nothing about. You could kill someone to save yourself, but never on the orders of the CIA.”
Sydney sat on the sofa. “Where’s Isabelle?” She suddenly looked around, not seeing their daughter.
“Darling, Katya took her so we could pack in peace.” He picked up the phone and dialed his Aunt-in-law. “Hi, it’s us. We’re finished. Bring Isabelle over.”
******
Thursday – March 14, 1974
We’re moving to Los Angeles!
Jack has been assigned to the Field office there. Sunny California! I told V, but have not heard back. Jack is making headway in his Project Christmas. He doesn’t know I know anything about it. I’ve not said anything.
One thing I do know—Arvin and Emily Sloane moved to Los Angeles a few months ago. I did miss them. I was really interested in this mad scientist guy and so were they! V said I was also being ordered to find out as much as I could about Rambaldi. It seems more people than I suspected are interested. So now, with us moving, maybe I’ll be able to stay. I was afraid that when Jack was posted to L.A. they would want me to come home. I guess not!
***
Wednesday – March 20, 1974
Professor Olson, my doctorate advisor, called me to his office. He was pleased, because the committee passed my dissertation. Now all I have left is my orals. He told me that I was the youngest person to have completed my doctorate. I am going to be 23 the day after tomorrow. What a wonderful birthday present.
I do have to set up a time for my orals, before we leave for L.A. Jack said it wouldn’t be until summer. He said that he would go on ahead in order to find an apartment, or maybe even a house.
“You can’t pick it out without me,” I said.
“I won’t sign anything, darling,” he said. “Besides we aren’t moving until June. This is just a preliminary visit.
“Promise?”
“Of course,” he said.
“When do you have to leave?”
“Next week.” He kissed me.
*****
IRINA IS 23
Thursday – March 21, 1974
I talked to Professor Olson. I told him I would be leaving at the end of the semester for Los Angeles and that my husband got a promotion. I said that I wanted to take my orals before then and was it possible.
He said that could be arranged. Then I asked if he would give me a recommendation so I could get a job. He said he could do better than that—he would arrange for me to see a friend who taught at UCLA (University of California at Los Angeles) and see if he could persuade him to find a place for me on the faculty, especially since I was a brilliant protégé of his and would be a great addition to the faculty. I blushed at that compliment. He really is a sweet old man.
The date for my orals is going to be Friday, May 11th in the morning. Thank goodness, it is early so I won’t have to wait hours to do this.
Jack took me to a dress shop here in Arlington. He told me to pick out a dress and shoes. But he also told me he had to approve. I must have tried on a half dozen dresses, before the saleslady brought the dress. It was a perfect fit too! It’s a party dress…red with spaghetti straps and comes to just above my knees. I found a pair of red stiletto pumps that I could put my size 10 feet into without discomfort. Jack blinked several times when he saw me in it. He wrote a check immediately. Then we went out to dinner and dancing although I thought we both could use some dance lessons. I made up my mind to sign up for a few when we get to L.A.
SYDNEY
Sydney stopped for a moment and laughed to herself. Her mother was a well-trained spy. Why hadn’t the KGB seen to it that she had been able to dance? Then she remembered her father didn’t seem to have two left feet. That her beautiful mother would have to take dance lessons seemed ridiculous considering her ‘job.’
TBC