SARAH
By The Star
(c) 1997, 2001 Extar International, Ltd. All rights reserved. Single
copies for personal, non-commercial use may be downloaded or printed. Any
other uses, including reposting, or posting on an archive site, must have
prior permission from Extar International. Comments always welcome.
<extar@hotmail.com>
Isn't it odd, how terror can strike in the middle of a wonderful, sunny
day?
We were coming home from church, that Sunday in June. Heading for our
home in the foothills of the Rockies, outside Golden, Colorado. As I
recall, Sandy was commenting, in her wry way, about the soprano solo
inflicted on us by the worst singer (but biggest ego) in our church choir.
Rounding a sharp curve, on the cliff-side road, we were suddenly forced
through the guardrail by a large van--a Ryder or U-haul, I can't remember
which.
One moment serenely chatting--the next, rolling end-over-end, down a
steep bank towards the tiny stream below.
There was darkness and pain. I tried to move and could not. I tried to
cry out--but the best I could manage was a small moan.
My mouth was so dry, it was painful. Everywhere was pain. As I tried
again to move, the pain rolled over me . . . carrying me with it . . .
somewhere.
Later, a blurred image of movement and voices. And a bright light
shining in each eye.
Fighting awake from the nightmare that gripped me, I groaned and tried
to move. A smooth, cool hand stroked my forehead and a familiar, loved
voice said, "Don't move, Daddy. It's OK. I'm here."
Sarah?
_Where am I? What is going on? Why can't I move? *Why do I hurt!?*_
_*WHERE IS SANDY?*_
When I woke next, the pain was manageable. Slowly opening my eyes in a
dim room, I recognized the sterile 'warmth' of a hospital room. My eyes
slowly tracked around the ceiling. Since that wasn't very informative, I
tried to see what else I could discover. When my head moved, it felt like
a drill had just tried to penetrate my skull from the rear. An involuntary
moan escaped my lips. Through the pain, I heard a rustle of movement in
the room, then felt a hand grasp mine as another hand reached the call
button by my pillow.
"Sandy?" I tried to ask. Just a croak came out.
"Relax, daddy," came Sarah's voice. "You're in the hospital. You've
been really bad, but you're going to be OK. The doctors told me
you'll be 100 percent when they're done with you. Right now, you just need
to rest. Don't worry. I'm here. I love you, daddy...." As her voice
faded with my consciousness, I thought I felt a tear strike my cheek....
*HUNGRY!* Steak and eggs, with hash browns and a large jug of coffee...!
This time when I woke, my eyes opened normally and the pain was background
noise. Looking around the room, I saw that it was kept dim by the opaque
shades at the windows, but that the day outside was probably pretty sunny.
Sarah was asleep on the other bed in the room.
When I tried to move my hands, I found that they were lightly bound to
the railings of the bed. The reason was obvious--there were tubes in both
arms. Licking my lips, I tried to speak. At first, a croak was all I
could manage. I swallowed, licked my lips and tried again. "Sarah?" I
whispered. Again. "Sarah!" With all the force I could muster behind it,
it came out a quiet, raspy whisper. But she heard.
Rolling toward me, she got to her feet and pressed the call button at
once. "What does a have to do to get some breakfast around here?" I
husked at her.
For some reason, the question upset her. "Oh, daddy!" she said. Crying
uncontrollably, she leaned over me and put her face into my neck, hugging
me as tightly as she could--considering I was still immobilized and had all
those tubes to contend with.
In seconds a nurse appeared, saw that I was awake and asked how 'we'
felt. Before I could reply, she'd popped a thermometer in my mouth and was
taking a pulse. (I really wouldn't be surprised if this one woke me to
give me a sleeping pill!) By the time she'd finished making her notes on my
chart, Sarah had settled down a bit and was sitting on the side of the bed,
holding my hand. Seeing that I really was awake, the nurse informed us
that the doctor would be in shortly to talk with me and left.
Sarah was looking at me through tear-filled eyes. In fact, I'd not seen
her looking that 'bad' in years--since she was about 12 and discovered she
was a girl. She had no makeup, her eyes were and not just from her
present tears. She was gaunt, like she hadn't eaten or slept properly for
some time. Her lips were chapped. Her hair was, for her, a fright wig,
with ends and tendrils going everywhere. Generally a mess.
Something was more important than appearance, so it must have been
important, indeed. Still, she was incredibly beautiful and I loved her so
much it hurt. The only woman in my life, besides Sandy.
"Looks like you've been here a while, honey," I remarked.
"Most of three weeks, daddy," she said, quietly.
"Where's Sandy?" I asked.
This started a fresh flood of tears.
"She's gone, daddy," Sarah sobbed.
With mounting anxiety I asked, "What do you mean, 'gone'?"
"Momma died in the wreck, daddy. She's gone."
I lurched against my restraints and wailed inconsolably. _*Sandy*! My
love. My life. My partner. My helper and other--truly 'better'--half.
How could she be *gone*? Why wasn't *I* dead, instead? *Oh, SANDY! Why
wasn't it ME*?_
As I was starting to calm down, the doctor appeared. He wanted to give
me a sedative, but I refused it. He was going to do it anyway, until I got
angry and reminded him that it was MY body, not his, damnit! and as long
as I was capable of deciding, the decisions about what would happen to it
were mine!
"Wouldn't you be upset if you learned your was dead?" I asked him.
"I _need_ to grieve and deal with it. I don't need to be drugged out of my
head." With that settled, the doctor proceeded to explain my condition and
what I could expect. I'd suffered a severe concussion. I'd been in a
semi-coma for almost three weeks. And I was bruised all over--internally
too, it seemed, as well as several fractures in my legs and ribs. However,
the prognosis was for complete recovery when the last cast came off, in
about two weeks.
Sandy, apparently, had suffered a broken neck when the car rolled. The
airbags deployed, but that hadn't protected her on the third roll. They
thought she'd died then. She hadn't lain there, in the car, in pain and
fear anyway.
When the doctor finished his explanation, untied me and answered all my
questions, including that I could leave in a couple of days, Sarah and I
just looked at each other, then fell into each other's arms and wept.
It happened so fast, I still didn't remember much about the
accident--except the rental truck that appeared out of nowhere and ran me
right through the guardrail. Sarah said the police had some ideas but
hadn't made any progress towards finding out who was responsible.
Three days later, whole but with my lower left leg in a 'walking cast',
Sarah took me home.
I couldn't stand it. After the first night, I insisted that Sarah check
us into a motel. Everywhere I looked, all I could see was Sandy. _I just
couldn't handle it._ It's really disgusting for a grown to burst into
tears every time he enters his bedroom, or kitchen.
Sarah and I discussed it, she very gingerly--afraid of causing a
'relapse' or something, I guess. We decided that we'd sell the house--I
offered it to Sarah, but she didn't want it. After a lot of thought, I
decided to move to the coast. I wanted to get clear out of the area and
start over.
To my surprise, Sarah insisted she'd come along. When I expressed the
thought that maybe it was stupid for her to abandon her job; she said she'd
done that as soon as she heard I was hurt. The only 'family' either of us
has anyway, is the other--we love each other very much. So, why not? She
said she'd be miserable if I left her and moved so far away.
While I arranged with a realtor to sell the house, Sarah arranged with a
moving company to pack and ship everything.
As soon as the cast was off, we hit the road.
After the Rockies, we decided we wanted water. We wanted a view and we
wanted to be able to have a boat nearby. We started looking in the Seattle
area, but couldn't find what we wanted. The ocean shore in Oregon and
Washington is spectacular, but VERY wet! So we thought we'd try Portland,
since Puget Sound seemed too wet and too crowded, too.
A bit north of Portland, we found our home in a lovely community
called Columbia City. We were able to find a fairly new house on a bluff,
overlooking the Columbia River, with views of Mt. Hood and Mt. St.
Helens. Several marinas nearby offered moorage at reasonable prices. We'd
found a haven--a home.
My work involves consulting on international trade. So I can work
anywhere I have a phone line my modem can plug into. Sarah had been just
getting established in a marketing firm as a sales manager for a product
line. She was learning that she had a knack for forming, staffing and
motivating a sales team. She would take longer to get established, but
neither of us doubted she'd be successful. She was certainly talented.
As soon as I could, I started to get myself back into the flow of the
projects I'd contracted to do before the accident. (My clients were very
supportive--most sent heartfelt condolences when they heard about Sandy.)
Meanwhile, Sarah was making a _home_ for us. As soon as the moving van
arrived and was unpacked, she set off to get new furniture, draperies and
everything else a home needs, to fill in the blank spots. Money wasn't a
problem, as the house in Golden had sold-home prices there are generally
higher than in Oregon-and we had Sandy's life insurance money, too.
Besides, I do well enough and am able to charge really outrageous rates for
my time.
In a remarkably short time, Sarah had our house warm, cozy and feeling
like home!
~~ * * * * ~~
Maybe this would be a good time to tell you a bit about us. I'm Mike.
Sandy and I had been high school sweethearts. I could never see why she
chose me, though I've always been thankful. Somehow, she seemed to know we
were 'a couple' long before I did. We'd 'hit it off' and were soon
inseparable. As icing on the cake, my adored her and her folks
seemed to like me a lot, too.
Besides being an honor roll student, Sandy could have been head
cheerleader on looks alone if she hadn't been an athlete herself. Tall,
willowy, but with abundant curves, aggressive as well as bright, Sandy had
several scholarship offers, both for basketball--she was an 'all state'
forward--and academics. Me, I'm just six feet tall and kind of 'nerdy'.
Though I enjoyed athletics and was on the football and track teams, I was
never very good and participated solely for enjoyment of the sports and the
competition.
When I got a merit scholarship, Sandy followed me to Stanford on a
basketball scholarship. We were after our sophomore year, though
we'd been lovers for several years. Sarah followed almost immediately, to
our joy. But Sandy then suffered an aborted pregnancy that resulted in her
tubes and one ovary being completely ruined... Sarah would be our only
child.
Having a and baby, though a distraction, proved a stabilizing force
during the remainder of my experience. My 'social life' was
limited, though my love life couldn't have been better. I had time and
plenty of motivation to hit the books hard.
I didn't graduate _cum laude_, like Sandy, but my grades were plenty
good enough when I went back for an MBA after my three years in the
Marines. (We all did that, then. Remember the draft?)
Sarah was an easy child to raise. She has a sweet spirit, tries to
please, but quietly goes her own way. Basically, she raised herself--and
probably did a better job of it than I could have.
In appearance, she's almost a photograph of Sandy. In fact, pictures of
the two of them as children are often hard to tell apart, unless there's a
date on them, or other people can be recognized to place date and time.
Grown up, the main difference is Sarah's a honey blonde, rather than
Sandy's platinum. For sports, Sarah is more into individual events like
golf and tennis, than team activities.
Although she dated, Sarah has never had a real 'boyfriend'. She's had
several who would like to have been and she's always kept them coming back
for more, but somehow she never met one who could turn her away from her
own goals and directions. After college, she moved back home.
When we moved to Oregon, there was no one left behind for either of us.
~~ * * * * ~~
We spent a little time on the weekends hanging around the marinas near
our home. By the 4th of July, we'd pretty much decided we wanted our own
boat. (The insurance company had just paid off the car, which was totaled
in the wreck.) And we didn't want just any boat, we wanted something we
could cruise on, even live aboard for a few days at a time, yet would be
'trailerable'--barely.
That long weekend, we spent our time looking at boats and yachts. We
finally found just what we wanted. It's a hard-top cruiser, 30 feet long
and 9 1/2 feet in the beam, with twin diesels. The cockpit isn't very big,
but has plenty of room for two to fish. The main salon is spacious, with a
nice galley and room to entertain in comfort. There is a wonderful
stateroom, with a comfortable double berth in the bow. And the fly-bridge
is very nice, since it takes up the whole roof of the salon--with not only
seats for the helm and a passenger, but a lounge for other passengers.
A trailer came with it. Perfect! (Of course, I'd need a heavy pickup
or van to tow this rig, but being able to move it to Puget Sound without
running in the ocean was worth it.)
~~ * * * * ~~
Meanwhile, my life settled down. I was back to work, conferring with
clients by phone, FAX and modem; occasionally visiting them.
Sarah was very domestic. She puttered about the house, trying to get
everything just the way she thought I wanted it. (She didn't understand
that I didn't care, as long as she was happy.) She prepared our meals and
did the cleaning and shopping.
And, though she was scrupulous about staying out of my sight and hearing
when I was working, she was always there when I wasn't.
I won't say I didn't enjoy the attention--but I became concerned. It
didn't seem that she was doing anything about getting a job, or finding
friends of her own. When I asked her about it, she just laughed, threw her
arms around my neck and gave me a big kiss. "Daddy, I just love you for
thinking of me! But I'm perfectly happy, just as things are. I'm OK.
Don't worry about me!"
This was all fine, but she needed some friends her own age. I finally
persuaded her to start dating; but when she did, she'd come home 'down.'
After the fourth or fifth time she came home early, with a long face, I
resolved to have a 'long talk' with her. The opportunity came soon, on
Labor Day weekend.
We'd agreed to take the boat, which we'd unanimously decided to christen
_Sandy_, up the river at least to Wishram and farther, if we had time. We
made Stevenson just at dusk and anchored off the park there.
After a simple dinner-she cooked, I washed up--I poured white wine for
both of us and asked her to join me on the bridge lounge. It was a
wonderful late summer evening; very warm, with just enough breeze to keep
the mosquitoes home. I was in shorts and Sarah in shorts and halter.
Sitting on the lounge, Sarah snuggled against me, placing my arm around
her, hand on her flat, athlete's tummy, as was our custom.
For a time, we sipped our wine slowly and soaked in the tranquillity of
the river and the beauty of the upper Columbia Gorge. Music from a radio
in the park carried out to us faintly. Finally I asked, "Honey, why have
your dates been such 'downers'? Are you having problems with the you
date?"
Her big, luminous gray eyes looked at me for a long minute. I could see
her deciding how she wanted to answer that. Very much her own woman, this
one. Decided, she said, "The problem isn't with the guys. The problem is
with me." I waited. She didn't elaborate.
When I caught on that she'd answered my question to her satisfaction, I
asked, "So... Are you going to tell me about it?"
"What's to tell?"
"Don't you think I care? If you have a problem, I want to help. At
least let's talk. I worry about you. You don't seem to have a life of
your own any more."
"Why do I need 'a life of my own'? I'm happy. I'm doing what I want to
do. I don't need more."
"_Honey_," I said. My tone told her I didn't believe that for a minute.
"Don't 'BS' a 'BS-er'. You know better."
Turning in my arm, looking intently at me in the soft glow of the shore
lights, she quietly said, "Aren't you happy? Aren't we doing OK? I'm OK.
Shall we leave it at that?"
"You're not telling me everything, honey. There's more. What is it?"
"Do you REALLY want to know, dad? Are you *SURE*?" she asked.
"Yeah, I do. I am. If it concerns you, I need to know." There was no
question in my mind about this.
"OK. But remember, you asked for it. . . .
"The reason," she said, very deliberately, "I don't have fun with those
guys is that I won't do anything with them. I can't even kiss them good
night. They don't take it very well when I want to come right home after
the dinner or movie."
"And what's the problem, dear? You used to have fun on your dates and
left everybody happy, as I recall."
"The problem, darling daddy, is that they aren't _you_," she said,
watching me intently.
When my brain caught up with what my ears had heard, my hand
involuntarily clutched her tummy, causing her to gasp and giggle. My
eyebrow went up, in question. She caught it and answered, "Yes. I've
chosen my man. I went out with those because you asked me to. But my
affection-my love-is already given."
Stunned, I just said what came to me. "Aw, honey. That's no good. You
need somebody your own age, to have kids with and party with. I'm an old,
wore-out guy, just about enough to start enjoying my grandkids."
With a sly little smile, Sarah said, "You can have grandkids. They
could be your kids, too."
I hadn't had _that_ much wine, but it really took a minute for that to
sink in. "Come _ON_, honey! You're not suggesting . . ."
"That you children on me? _You bet your butt I am!_"
Wow!! I'd expected to have a nice father-daughter chat and help her
over a rough spot. It seems I'd grossly underestimated my daughter's
maturity and stubbornness--and her love and dedication. I needed to think!
Sensing her advantage, Sarah switched roles on me. "Don't you love me?"
she asked. Assured that I did, more than anyone or anything, she
continued, "Is there anything wrong with me? (Not that I knew about.)
Don't I look OK? (She emphatically did!) Don't I keep house well? (Yes,
she did.) Wouldn't I be a good mother? (No reason to doubt it.) I know you
always wanted more children. I've always wanted to give them to you."
And I thought I knew this girl--pardon: This _woman_. She's wanted to
bear my children for some time?! My classic, intellectual response was,
"Whaa . . . ?"
With her enchanting little giggle, Sarah laid it out for me. "I've
wanted to have your babies ever since I learned where babies came from.
There's no one else I've ever loved. No one else I've ever even been close
to. Sure I dated in high school and college. You had and you both
encouraged me to make friends-especially to learn to get along with boys."
Yes, we had. And she surely kept the happy. They all came back
for more, even though she never had a 'steady' that I could recall. I
remember Sandy and I talking about it and hoping she was diligent in using
birth control. She _had_ to have been screwing them to keep so many so
happy.
"So I dated and was 'popular' and learned how to please a man. But
always, there was only one who was _important_ in my life--*You*."
As my spinning head tried to assimilate all this, she grabbed me by the
ears and, for the first time, kissed me as a woman kisses a man; eyes open,
lips slightly parted, softly pressed against mine. Then more demanding,
lips parting, tongue questing, tasting.
Even in my great confusion, my body responded instinctively. My tongue
dueling, my lips nibbling hers. My hands reached around, to pull her to
me, while her arms encircled me.
In a moment, we broke and backed away slightly.
My mind a turmoil of thoughts and emotions, I didn't know what to make
of this. Somehow, in all the years, I'd never realized she felt _that_ way
about me. Of course, both of us loved Sandy and would never have done the
smallest thing to her. But I knew I'd occasionally harbored lustful
thoughts about Sarah, when I saw her dressed provocatively, or revealingly
as she was now. I'd schooled myself to enjoy the spectacle for its beauty
while ignoring the 'dirty man' thoughts.
Cutting into my confusion, Sarah said, "I think it's time I start
calling you 'Mike', don't you?"
For some reason, that broke through, for me. And it broke me up, too. I
started chuckling. Then laughing. That turned into a guffaw and
belly-laugh. This went on for some time. I saw that I was ending my
grieving and Sandy and I were parting happy, with this.
Catching the humor of her remark, Sarah chuckled, too, but she was
starting to look at me with alarm when I finally began to calm down.
"It's OK, honey." I said. "Sure, call me 'Mike,' if you're more
comfortable with that.... I really _like_ the way you call me 'daddy',
though." I ended on a wistful note.
"But I can't call you 'daddy' if I'm your wife, can I?" she asked, in a
practical though playful tone.
Sandbagged again. "Huh?" I responded, alertly.
Scooting over, so she was sitting in my lap, an arm around my neck,
Sarah looked me in the eye and asked, "Is there some other woman you'd
rather have?" What had started with the laugh completed itself in my heart.
"Put that way . . . no, honey. There is no other woman I'd rather have."
With a sigh, she relaxed against me, in my arms. Just like she had many
times before. Except this was not my little girl. Now, she was my
_woman._
Caught up in the wonder of it all, I held her near, then kissed her
tenderly. When her kiss turned from tender love to beginning passion, she
broke it off, rose and pulled me to my feet. "Bed time, I think," she
said, leading me to the ladder.
As soon as she was inside the salon, her halter disappeared, shorts
following. Her were kicked off beside the big bed in the cabin.
The reading lamps were the only light, but they were enough.
She was indeed spectacular. Her body was familiar--being much like her
mother's-yet new. Sarah was always her own person. Not as athletic as her
mother, she was a bit less muscular, narrower in the waist, but more
endowed in and hip. Her were deeper; large, firm, succulent
cones without sag. A remarkably beautiful woman, my eyes misted when I
thought that she was offering all this to me.
As I said, she's her own person. I'd had enough time admiring. She was
ready for some action! Grabbing my shorts, she jerked them down my legs
where I kicked them off. Almost in the same motion, she my cock
into her warm mouth. When she'd run the 'O' of her lips up and down its
length a couple of times and tasted it well with her tongue, she stopped,
grinned and said, "I've been wanting to do this for years! Thanks." And
gobbled me again.
No longer a <sigh>, I've subscribed to the slogan, 'I'm as
good a as I ever was, *once*!' With that in mind, I raised Sarah from
her delightful ministration, looked her in the eye and asked, "Are you sure
you want this?"
And without hesitation, she answered, "Yes. For my whole life!"
With that, she dropped to the bed, me down with her.
I've always tried my best to be sure my partner was satisfied first, in
my lovemaking. It seemed if I concentrated on giving pleasure, my own
pleasure was multiplied. I can't speak from experience with many
partners--Sandy and I took each other's virginity one ecstatic night and
neither of us ever needed to look elsewhere or lacked sexual fulfillment
after that.
Knowing that any woman can fuck most any two into the ground if they
want, and that I was _not_ a youngster any more, I determined to get Sarah
off once or twice before we 'did the deed'. Starting with gentle kisses
and nibbles around her face, ears and neck, I slowly worked my way lower,
adding licks to the repertory. A little lick in the ear, followed by a
quick puff of breath produced a nice reaction and a charming giggle.
Working lower, I found that her wonderful didn't flatten over
her chest when she lay on her back, like so many women's do. My fingertips
did their ballet on those remarkable cones, dancing and caressing, until
the peak was reached. Sarah's attention was definitely engaged. This was
followed by the lick, kiss and nibble routine. What a delight! By the
time my tongue got to the edge of an aureole, her breathing was heavy and
her hips were starting to twitch. My nose detected the unmistakable odor
of aroused woman.
With those signals to encourage me, I lapped a nipple, while gently
caressing the other with my palm. Yep. She liked it. I knew because her
hips started gently rocking.
Moving to the other breast--it was starting to feel neglected, I
followed the licks with a bit of suction, then strong suction and a small
nibble.
Wow! Did _that_ ever light her fuse! She started writhing
uncontrollably and came right then! I tried to lift my head, to give her a
moment to recover, but she held my mouth right where it was, demanding
more. Well, she liked it. I liked it. Why not?
Finally, the grip in my hair relaxed and I moved downward, kissing,
nibbling and licking. A French kiss in her lovely navel brought me another
of those delightful squirms and giggles. But when I first kissed her inner
thighs, the result was a gasp.
Moving down between her legs, I touched her knees to get her to raise
them. Right up they came and I was presented with her lovely vagina.
Since it looked good enough to eat ... I did. My first task was to clean
it up. She was very wet, so I started with a big slurping lick up the
crease from her puckered little anus to the top of her slit.
My did that cause a commotion! She shrieked! Her head tossed and her
stomach and thighs went into orgasmic contractions again. I was pleased-no
I was ecstatic-to be bringing her such pleasure. Holding her hips, so she
wouldn't throw me off, I stuck my tongue into her tight slit and wiggled it
as far up her as I could. This just seemed to intensify her ongoing
orgasm, so I decided quickly to experiment and moved my mouth up to her
clitoris, which had peeked out from its covering. Licking, then on
it drove her completely wild and I was thrown off, in spite of my hold.
Moving back up, I held her in my arms and kissed her when she grabbed me
and tried to crush my newly healed ribs.
She was still quivering and shaking and I saw that she was crying.
Concerned, I asked what was wrong.
Smiling through her tears, she said, "Oh daddy, my darling daddy! I had
*no idea* it could be like that! I've _never_ felt like that. I thought
I'd gone to heaven. And to think that the I've always loved took me
there! I feel soooo _good_, I _have_ to cry."
My heart soared. And, though I'd definitely call what we'd been doing
'making love', we still hadn't completed our joining.
After we'd cuddled and caressed and loved each other, Sarah started
intensifying the action. Her caresses became more demanding and her kisses
more passionate. Soon I was ready and so was she. "How do you want to do
this?" she asked.
"For the first time, why don't you get on top? That way, you can be in
control. It might be best for you."
"OK, what do I do?"
"Huh?" I was really brilliant that night.
"What do I do?"
"But I thought you...?" I said. "All those you dated, who came
back for more. You kept them happy. We thought surely you were...?"
That earned me a really big, happy grin, "Fucking them? Daddy, you know
there's lots of ways to keep a guy happy without fucking. Hands, mouth,
occasionally ass. My was saved for the I love. Any who didn't
like it, I told them I didn't want to get pregnant. If that didn't solve
things, I'd demand to be taken home. I can handle the 'situations'--and
never went out with anybody who might try to push me around..." A big grin.
"So, lover, what do I do?"
When I just stared, Sarah giggled and said, "Close your mouth, daddy
dear and tell me what you want me to do. _Please?_"
Steering her to a kneeling position astride my hips, I moved the head of
my cock up and down her slit, to make sure everything was lubricated. It
sure was. Then I suggested that she put the end into her opening and sit
on it--slowly. Feeling me penetrate her for the first time, her face was
again lit by that big grin. A tiny frown of concentration and bite on her
lower lip as her maidenhead was torn, then the grin was back when she
realized she was fully impaled on the cock she'd long dreamed of
possessing.
I just watched in wonder and awe. Her spectacular beauty and her joy in
that moment almost made _me_ cry for joy. For a few minutes, she just
enjoyed the feeling of being filled, shifting slightly, to experience all
the new sensations her body was sending her. Then she looked at my face,
recognized the joy there matching her own and leaned forward to kiss me
deeply--_possessively_.
Placing her hands by my shoulders, she began rocking, moving up and
down; sliding almost off me, then back down to maximum penetration. Soon
the tempo increased and I started to meet her thrusts. When she speeded up
even more, I grasped one of those marvelous and the nipple
into my mouth, nibbling as I did.
That was all it took. Sarah went into orgasmic convulsions again. This
time, I was determined to come with her, so I continued to pound my hips up
into hers, while I hard on her breast. Her orgasm _intensified!_ I
was in awe of this woman. But not for long, as my own climax took me into
orbit right alongside her. Feeling my shaking and climaxing too was the
last straw for her and, with a scream, she went rigid--then limp,
collapsing on my chest.
Once I was satisfied that her breathing was OK, I wasn't too concerned,
and just held her there on top of me, her tight little clamped down
on my rapidly softening cock. She was giving me enough little 'aftershock'
grabs with her to keep me half erect. And I wanted to still be in
her when she came around again.
Soon her hand started to gently caress my face and ear. Turning toward
her face, I gently kissed her. "Well, no one can say you're not a real
woman now, sweetheart." I told her.
With a big grin she said, "Uh *HUH!* ... You are pretty fantastic, you
know. I've come before, on some of my dates. But never anything like
this. How many was it? Four? Five? More? I hope you're figuring on
staying in good shape, 'cause I want lots more of that!"
"I do too, sweetheart. I do too!" I replied. I'd tell her about what
being in love with an means tomorrow. For tonight, I just wanted
to share her joy.
*Section Two*
In the morning I awoke feeling more rested, more at peace, than at any
time since the accident. Memories of the night before cascaded into my
waking awareness. I examined them and my feelings about them. Was I
unhappy or upset that I'd taken my only daughter's virginity? Not in the
least. Did I feel guilty about anything we'd done? I did not. Was I
having difficulty with Sarah's stated intention to be my wife-hmm? That
one needed some thought. My only reservation, when I thought it through,
was that I might be her out of the companionship of a her own
age. I had to face the fact that I had at most 20 more good years ahead of
me. In 20 years, Sarah would be in her prime.
I did _not_ have a problem with the idea of having babies. I'd always
wanted more children, but Sandy and I had been too much in love to adopt.
We wanted our children to be products of our love. Sarah certainly was
that. Any babies she and I had would be products of our love, too. And
there would be that important bit of Sandy in them. No, I'd _welcome_
babies.
Coming back from the head, where I'd relieved the morning bladder
pressure, I saw that Sarah was still sleeping. A small smile on her face,
the corners of her mouth twitching, she was surely having a pleasant dream.
Careful not to disturb her, I snuggled up behind her, spoon fashion.
Touching her marvelous body and thinking about making babies with her
caused the cock to wake up and crow. Feeling it against her rear
caused Sarah to part her legs a bit to give it room. Only a tiny push and
it was firmly lodged in the entrance to her tight slit. With a contented
sigh, she pushed back and it was in all the way. Her dream must have made
her horny, because she was plenty wet--her soft and slick. I found
that sort of clenching my buttocks pushed it in, relaxing let it slide out.
Almost effortless. That is, until her breathing deepened and she started
to push back.
Knowing she was awake, I draped my arm over her and gently fingered her
little clit. You'd think I'd stuck it into a live socket! Sarah went into
convulsions. I just hung on, so I could stay plugged in, without getting
it ripped off. After she slowed down just a bit, I started thrusting into
her again and once again touched her little button. Again she went off
like a rocket! But this time, she took me with her, the darling, and I
spasmed her greedy little belly full.
What a way to start the day!
~~ * * * * ~~
After a simple breakfast of toast and coffee, we decided we'd go upriver
another day, then come home. While Sarah stowed everything below and
cleaned up the galley, I started the diesels, checked the weather forecast
(clear and hot) and singled up the anchors. When Sarah appeared on the fly
bridge and hollered that we were ready to go, I picked up the anchor and
stowed it while she smoothly fed power to the props and we started
upstream.
Looking at the charts, we thought we could reach Wishram. If not, no
problem, there were plenty of places we could stop for the night. It was
no big deal to just get out of the channel and drop the hook, if it came to
it.
Before long, we'd put up the awning over the fly bridge. The day would
be hot! If I'd let her, Sarah would have taken off all her clothes and
worn only a big grin and a layer of sun-screen. I made her keep her bikini
on--at least when any other boats were in sight.
There was one of river though, where we were the only thing on
the water for miles and the Interstate was a good two miles away. Sarah
skinned off her suit and yanked mine down, too. Then she climbed on my lap
and plugged in. I thought she'd be sore, but she grinned and said she was
making up for lost time. Sitting on me that way, her nipples were just at
the right level for me to nibble them. They looked so tasty, I couldn't
resist... Not that I tried to. Those lovely seemed made for
licking and kissing. Naturally, when I started chewing on one, Sarah went
ballistic.
That was enough to set me off, too, with that wonderful, taut body
sliding against me and that marvelous tight milking every drop from
me. Twice in a _morning!_ New record for this man.
~~ * * * * ~~
After a bit, the sun got too hot, so we went to the main helm in the
salon, where it's air-conditioned. I ran the boat while Sarah took a
shower, then we switched. We were both too hot and sweaty and wanted to be
comfortable.
Cruising up the river, I talked to her about my concerns that I was
cheating her. She *laughed*._ "You're so serious about it, Mike. Don't
you think I've considered all of this? I've been thinking about nothing
else for years, remember? _I love you!_ That's all that matters. After
I've had four or six of your babies, maybe we'll start worrying about
wearing you out. Am I you, my darling? you of the
chance to find a woman with experience and talent equal to your own?
Someone you have more in common with?"
I assured her that she had more in common with me than anyone I could
hope to meet and that I felt privileged to be her lover.
"Well then," she said. "Where's the beef?"
~~ * * * * ~~
At lunch time, we tied up by a pretty, deserted beach, away from the
channel and had a nice, cooling swim--naked, of course. We played and
groped each other and I was able to give Sarah a quick little orgasm with
my hand and tongue.
Back in the boat, I suggested we stop at The Dalles, the next town of
real size we'd pass. "Why?" Sarah asked. "We have plenty of groceries and
the fuel and water tanks are good, too."
"I want to buy you a set of rings," I told her. "I don't think we can
safely get a marriage license and get married. But all our ID have the
same name. If we have rings and live and act like a couple, who's
to know the difference?"
Her arms went around me and her eyes misted up. "Thank you. I love you
so much. That was one thing I hadn't figured out and you solved it like it
was nothing. Thank you. . . . I wish we could get properly,
though."
We pulled in to the municipal landing, in The Dalles, tied up, locked up
and went ashore. Sarah attracted her share of lustful stares from the on the street. A tall, stacked will do that. After wandering
around for a half hour-neither of us had been there before-we wandered into
a jewelry store right on the main drag. I was fully prepared to wait until
we got back to Portland, with its large number of big, well-stocked stores.
But I thought if we could do this now, it would be romantic--and would
please Sarah. I _wanted_ to please Sarah.
As it happened, the store had a ring set that Sarah thought was
absolutely perfect. So I bought them and had them sized on the spot. Then
I put the engagement ring on her hand.
As soon as we were out of the store, she asked, "Why not give me the
other one to put on, too?"
"Because I'm not quite ready yet," I answered with a smug 'I know
something you don't.' smile.
That earned me a--deserved--elbow in the ribs and earned her a yelp from
me as it connected with a rib that was just healing.
Hand in hand, we strolled around, looking in a couple of shops, stopping
for a few groceries that we didn't really need. Back at the moorage, we
decided to just stay the night. The commercial moorage next door had water
and power hookups and accepted overnighters. It would give us a chance to
dump the holding tank, too. I sent Sarah to make the arrangements, while I
got _Sandy_ ready to move. When I saw her wave, I cast off and slowly
moved the big boat back into the river, around a short weir and into the
entrance to the marina. Watching for Sarah, I finally spotted her near the
gangway to the shore, motioning me into a slip. The breeze was light and
the current in the marina negligible and I was able to run the boat right
in, coming to a dead stop just before the stern touched the planking. I
already had the fenders over, so all that was needed was to tie up and plug
into the shore power and water.
We had plenty of water, but I was glad to have regular power without
having to run the generator.
While Sarah started dinner, I told her I had a quick errand to run. Up
at the marina office, I found a phone and a very nice lady who was happy to
tell me anything I wanted to know about the town and its people. I
explained what I was looking for and she was happy to tell me who to call.
That went better than I had any right to expect and so I asked our hostess
to join us on the boat, in about three hours.
Back aboard _Sandy_, I told Sarah we'd be having company at 7:30 and
needed to dress nice for the occasion. She gave me a bit of a
face--expecting to be getting ready for bed about then--but went along with
me. Dressing after dinner, I put on slacks and a white shirt, so Sarah got
out the only dress she'd brought-a lovely summer frock with a floral print
which complemented her coloring wonderfully.
"Should I put out wine for your guests?" she asked.
"They're _our_ guests. Put the wine in to chill, but don't put it out
until later," I suggested.
Promptly at 7:30, we heard people boarding through the transom hatch. I
ushered them into the salon and introduced them to Sarah. "Love, this is
Pastor Fuller, from Grace Church, Mrs. Fuller and Mrs. Glenn, our hostess
here at the marina. Pastor Fuller has agreed to perform the wedding
ceremony for us, even though he understands we don't have a license. I
told him how much we love each other and are determined to be together.
And that we would be blessed if we could do it right, acknowledging our
commitment to each other in front of God and witnesses."
The look on her face made it all worth while. Sarah was stunned! She
was so surprised, shocked, joyful, thrilled that I'd do that for her,
impressed that I could find someone to perform the ceremony _sub rosa_--it
was almost too much. In a moment, she closed her mouth, jumped up and gave
me a _big_ hug, grabbed my hand and said, "Where do you want me to stand?"
I guess she wanted this.
Pastor Fuller read the wedding service from the Common Book of Prayer.
Sarah didn't even hesitate about the 'obey' part. When it was done, she
gave me a kiss full of promise, commitment and wonder. I was thrilled and
covered with goosebumps.
We offered our new friends a glass of wine, which they all took, but
then made their excuses. Mrs. Glenn, as she left, said, "You dears are
all paid up. And I am honored to be included in such a special occasion.
You don't need to check out. Just leave the hose and cord coiled on the
dock when you go. Good night." And she disappeared.
*Now* Sarah had the other ring on. She positively glowed. Hands behind
my neck, leaning back to gaze at me, she said, "Darling, you make me feel
so special. I've loved you so much, so long. Now I know I was right, all
along. I'd never dreamed about my wedding, because I couldn't imagine
marrying a I didn't love and I wouldn't come between you and mom.
"You've made it more exciting and unique than I could have imagined. I
don't need a church and big crowds. We don't have that many friends out
here, anyway. But you promised, in front of God and witnesses, to love me
and care for me and be my husband, for as long as you live. And I've
promised the same to you. And we did it right, with a minister and
everything-not just some Justice of the Peace! _I feel so special! So
loved and cherished!_ Thank you, darling. Thank you. . . ." her tears
started flowing and she couldn't continue. I tenderly kissed her eyes,
then her lips, and held her.
Finally, pulling away, she seated me on the sofa and handed me a fresh
glass of wine. With her own refill, she joined me. "We've plenty of time
for bed. I want to share some 'grown up' time with you--now that I'm
_really_ your wife," as her free hand gently caressed my jaw.
"We've never discussed the accident. The police never found out who ran
you off the road. But did you know they had some suspicions about who it
was?" Sarah said.
"No. I never knew any of the details. By the time I got out of the
hospital, it was news and out of the papers. Then we left right away.
I never even looked at the back issues of the papers for the time I was in
the coma."
"Well, in a nutshell, they think you were victims of an
assassination-and a case of mistaken identity."
"Huh?"
"Yeah. The cops told me they think you were mistaken for someone who
had messed up some deal a big drug guy was doing and they were taking
revenge. Except they figured the bad goofed, when I told them you
never had anything to do with anything like that."
"But Sarah . . . I did. . . ." I thought a moment. ". . . A year ago,
I was hired to check out a company for a client. He was thinking of making
a big investment in it. I found out that the company was mostly financed
by money from very questionable sources. Then 'straight' investment money
would come in and replace the questionable cash. They were using it to
'launder' criminal profits. I couldn't prove that, but I told my client he
shouldn't go near them with a full suit of armor.
"Soon after that, the IRS got wind of the scam and swooped down on them.
I didn't have anything to do with that, but my client might have. Anyway,
_somebody_ lost a lot of money because of it--I'd guess over half a billion
dollars."
"Billion?" she asked, incredulous. "As in, with a 'B'?"
"Yeah, I think about half that. Serious money, at any rate. . . .
Which police agency did you talk to?"
"Colorado State Police mostly, and a guy from the sheriff's office-and
some fed. I think I have his card, at home somewhere."
"We'll see when we get home. I think I need to talk to him," I mused,
out loud. "Did anyone else seem interested in us?"
"Oh yes! I was interviewed by a couple of the Denver news stations.
I'm a big star! A half minute on two different news broadcasts. And
later, a guy who said he was a writer for one of the national newsmagazines
called for an interview. I didn't have time, with you in the hospital and
mom's funeral arrangements and all, but he was very insistent. I hung up
on him once. He called again and I finally met him briefly at the
hospital. Really, I don't know anything and convinced everybody you don't,
either."
That was good news. And I told her she'd done well. Then I kissed her,
emphatically, to convince her. She had, too. It was wrenching to learn
that I had, by giving a client my honest best, indirectly caused Sandy's
death and almost my own. (Because I knew, instinctively, that the police
theory was correct. I had been a target for revenge. I needed to warn the
client!)
Sarah's next remark chilled me. "You remember that nice Mr. Chernikov?
He died just after your accident. In his airplane. 'Pilot error,' they
said."
Chernikov was the client.
I felt a chill pass over me.
"Honey," I asked, "does anybody know where we went when we left
Colorado?"
"I suppose the moving company. And the realtor-he had to know how to
reach us with offers on the house."
"Yeah. He did. So we're traceable. . . . I think I need to talk to
that fed as soon as you can find his card again. Do you remember what
agency he was with? FBI? DEA? ATF?"
"No, I really didn't pay that much attention. was dead and you were
barely hanging on. I had more important things to worry about."
"No argument, honey. I'm just wondering. We'll look into it when we
get back home." I soothed her.
~~ * * * * ~~
After all, this was our wedding night. She hadn't had a big, white
wedding in church, with hundreds of guests, a reception and all. I knew
she didn't feel cheated. But I wouldn't cheat her out of the rest of it.
"Sarah, I love you. I still can't believe all that's happened to me--to
us--these past few days. I'm finding it hard to accept that you really
love me, although you've certainly done your best to prove it! You know
I've always loved you and even felt a little letch for you. So being able
to have a *BIG* letch for you is marvelous! . . . . I'm babbling on,
sweetheart, just trying to tell you that I really do love you, in the way
you want to be loved. And I'm working hard to sort it all out.
"But, no matter what, you don't need to worry that I'll change my mind,
or want to change our relationship again. As my daughter, I loved you more
than my own life. Now, my love for you has gone to a new level I didn't
think possible! I'm a very happy man, darling. I just hope you won't live
to regret your choice."
"Silly Mike. Silly daddy! I _told_ you: _I made my choice years ago._
I feel more fulfilled, now that my dreams have all come true, than I ever
have in my life. Don't _ever_ feel sorry for me, darling, for choosing
you! I've always wanted to be right where I am, right now!"
With that, my mouth was attacked by the hungry, sucking, licking,
demanding mouth of my beautiful wife.
Convinced, I let it drop. We sat in silence for a time. Enjoying the
comfort of the other. Enjoying the knowledge that our love was true and
deep. We could trust each other. With everything. With our lives.
After a time, Sarah asked, "Mike? Can we leave here? I think I'd
rather be anchored off some deserted beach tonight, even if we have to run
the generator."
"Sure, honey. Anything you want. Tonight especially!" I said. "Just
give me a minute to change into shorts."
"I'll warm up the engines while you do," she said and I heard the rumble
of the diesels starting, then settling into warm-up speed, as I hurried
below to change out of my wedding clothes.
Back on deck, I disconnected the power and water, then singled up the
lines, casting off until only one line held the stern to the dock. "Ready
to go?" I called softly up to the fly bridge.
"As soon as you give the word," she replied, turning on the running
lights.
"Go," I called, slipping the last line off the cleat and throwing it to
the dock. As soon as we were clear of the slip, I stowed the fenders, then
made my way up to the fly bridge, to let Sarah change out of her dress.
In the light of the instruments, I saw that she had already done that.
Since it was pitch dark, with moonrise an hour away, she'd taken the simple
expedient of removing every stitch of clothing and was standing naked at
the helm, calmly moving the boat out of the marina and into the downstream
channel.
I'd always loved her. I'd loved the little and the developing
teenager who had been my enchanting daughter. I loved the woman she'd
become, appreciating her humor, intelligence, integrity and the all-'round
fun person that was Sarah. Now I was coming to love her as a woman, with
passion and deep commitment.
Seeing her marvelous body, in the glow of the navigation instruments,
awakened a lust I hadn't felt for a long time--indeed, I'd thought I was
too to feel it ever again. There ought to be a law against a woman
being that shapely, that _sexy!_ 'My tongue got hard just looking at her,'
as the Marine would say. And knowing that all she wanted was my
middle-aged body between her legs was an incredible turn-on, too.
Coming up behind her, my arms circled her waist, then rose up, my hands
cupping her breasts. Leaning back against my bare chest, Sarah said,
"Thanks, daddy. I wanted to be alone with you, in the fresh air of the
river, where I could scream in ecstasy tonight...
"Do you mind if, when we're alone, I still call you 'daddy' in intimate
moments? It seems more..._intimate_, somehow. Do you mind?"
"Of course not, honey. You can call me anything you like. I love it.
And if I can make you scream tonight, you'll make my night!"
Within a half-hour, we found a place that was just what Sarah wanted: A
deserted beach on the riverbank, well off the channel and across the river
from the highway. I dropped both hooks and made sure they were both set
well. Done with the engines, we shut it down.
Since it was a warm evening, neither of us wanted to sleep below. I
dragged some bedding topside and we folded the fly bridge lounge into a
double bed. Our only light was the reflection from the anchor light at the
masthead and moonlight reflected from the river.
We first sat, cuddling, sipping wine and enjoying the night, the river
and the feel of the other's naked body. I'm sure we talked, between
kisses, but I can't remember a word of the conversation. Finally Sarah
took my half-full wine glass and set it on the console, beside hers.
"I heard something about screaming tonight," she said. "I think I'm
ready for some of that."
Before long, she did. Golly she was lovely in the moonlight!
~~ * * * * * ~~
Direct sunlight in my eyes woke me sooner than I'd have liked. The
dashboard clock said it was 6:05. Yech! I'd really have liked another
couple of hours' sleep.
Knowing I had no choice, I got up, carefully to not wake Sarah, and
dropped down the ladder. The morning bladder pressure would have prevented
more sleep, anyway. The river was just beyond the transom, so I opened the
hatch and jumped in. (I needed a bath, too and the river gave me a place
to take care of both needs at once.) The water was a little colder than I
expected and I sputtered more loudly than I meant to--the noise woke Sarah.
A lovely, tousled head peered at me over the edge of the cabin
roof.
"What was that screaming about?" she asked, conversationally--as if I
hadn't waked her.
"What screaming?" I replied, innocence personified.
"The screaming that followed the splash, when you jumped into the
water." I wasn't getting away with anything.
"Jump in and see for yourself, why don't you?" I tried. No good.
"Not me! I'm smart enough to marry a more experienced guy, who knows
how to take real good care of me. I'm way too smart to jump into a cold
river, first thing in the morning."
"Well, in that case, where's breakfast, wench?" I demanded. Both of us
laughed--more from pleasure than from my bad joke. In a couple of minutes,
when I pulled myself up through the transom hatch, she had a big towel
waiting for me, and a big smile, which was all she was wearing.
Sarah started breakfast. Since we'd had an energetic day and night, she
decided we needed more calories than our usual toast and coffee. This
morning, her first as my wife, I got OJ, coffee, then the full ranch
breakfast of bacon, eggs, hash browns and toast. We both got in a lot of
good-humored groping, too. I was offered pancakes, but passed.
"I'm overweight now, girl. Don't make me a blimp!" I protested.
"Just trying to keep your energy up," she replied, unrepentant.
After we'd cleaned up and stowed the bedding from topside, I started the
engines and we began our leisurely trip home. It was as nice a honeymoon
as any couple could wish. We were cruising the Columbia, through the
Gorge--one of the scenic wonders of the world--in our own luxurious yacht.
We had to run the boat ourselves and make our own meals, but that was no
hardship since we both enjoyed the tasks involved. For lunch, we had a
picnic on a grassy beach somewhere upstream from The Dalles. And that
night, we stayed in a marina at Hood River, because I wanted to treat my
love to a fancy dinner at the romantic Columbia Gorge Hotel.
Making love that night, Sarah tried to show her appreciation for the
special attention. I made her bite a pillow--didn't want someone calling
the police when she screamed. As it turned out, I was almost screaming,
myself. She's incandescent when she comes!
It was an easy run home, the next day. We secured the boat, put the
groceries and laundry in the car, then headed home.
When we left, I'd intended to help my straighten out some
problems. I came home with a who loved me as much as I loved her.
*Section Three*
As soon as we got home, Sarah started on the dirty laundry, while I put
the perishables in the refrigerator. Then, while I went to my office to
check the mail and phone messages, Sarah moved into the master bedroom.
She hadn't consulted me, but I had no complaint. It was--naturally and
necessarily--where she belonged.
When I emerged an hour later, she was done and had found the card from
the fed. He was a Special Agent Norm Johnson of the Drug Enforcement
Administration, Denver office. I tried to call him at once, but he was
out--half of the staff of his office was still out on the long weekend.
Because we only had the one car, which we'd driven from Colorado, Sarah
asked if maybe we should get a pickup for her to drive, which could also
tow the boat if we wanted to go to Puget Sound next summer. We really did
need another vehicle, so I looked at the ads and took her to a couple of
places. She ended up with a van instead, saying it was more practical in
Oregon's wet climate and would tow the boat with ease. (We'd made sure of
that!)
As soon as we had it safely in the garage, alongside my 3-year-old
Chrysler, we grinned at each other, pleased with ourselves. "Is there
anything _else_ you just can't live without, love?" I asked, facetiously.
"Well, as a matter of fact . . ."
Surprised, I asked, "Well? What?"
"I'd really like . . ."
"Come on! Spit it out."
"I really want to get pregnant and have babies as soon as you can
arrange it," she said, with a happy grin.
"Oh. That... Always after my body," I teased. "Just as quickly as we
can, honey. I can't think of anything I want more, either. Especially if
they are all mellow kids like you."
"No guarantees on that. Just that they'll all be part you and part me
and part mom, too," she said. A shadow passed across her face. Then, "Did
you know that and I talked about this--having babies--_your_
babies--just a few months ago?" My look of utter incomprehension made her
giggle. "Yeah. and I had several good 'girl talks' over the past
couple of years. She knew I was hot for you and determined to have your
babies. We'd have talked with you about it soon. But then there was the
accident."
Sarah gave me a minute to digest this, then went on. "We both loved you
more than anyone and we both wanted you to have more children, knowing how
much you've always wanted them. didn't have any problem with me having
them for you--for all of us."
I'd noticed a special gleam in Sandy's eye during her last couple of
weeks. I'd forgotten all about it, figuring I'd never know what it was
about. Now I knew. I felt a sharp pang of love and loss for Sandy--such a
special wife, who'd put aside the exclusivity which had been so important
to both of us, in order to achieve something greater--the fulfillment of
all the members of her family, herself definitely included.
"Thank you, dear, for telling me that. It's like your was here,
blessing us, to hear that. She was really special--and so are you!
Thanks."
Both of us had happy tears in our eyes, as we hugged each other, than
kissed tenderly. In minutes, we were working hard to provide her with the
baby we wanted so much. In a few minutes more, Sarah was screaming her
completion and I was moaning in ecstasy, as I pumped into her hungry womb.
The DEA agent, Norm Johnson, returned my call from Denver, the next
morning. After hearing a short summary of my information, he asked if he
could come to see me. I told him to come ahead.
That was dumb.
~~ * * * * * ~~
Sarah wanted us to get involved in the community. After all, we owned a
home and were going to raise children here. For starters, she made a list
of the churches in the area, but crossed off those from denominations she
felt wouldn't fit our needs and beliefs. Then she located the rest on her
map and drove by each one. If the church looked like the people who
attended it didn't care about it much, she crossed it off, too. If she
liked the outside appearance, she tried the door and looked around inside,
if it was open. For all those that passed that test, she wrote down the
times of the services. We'd visit the most interesting and choose one to
attend.
Next, she found out where the country club was and visited there, to
check it out. There was also a private golf club, which had tennis courts
and a nice clubhouse--but membership was by invitation only. She got
membership information about both, with dues and fees. She started asking
around town about both places and about a couple of the churches that
particularly impressed her. She made a point of getting references to
professional people, too. "Who is the best doctor around? Why do
you like him? Who is your lawyer? How often have you used him? Why?" And
so on. Sarah is very good at that kind of thing. She interviewed a couple
of doctors and three lawyers, including one who turned out to live two
houses down from us. While she was at it, she asked them about churches
and country clubs.
The Sunday after Labor Day we attended the church that was on the top of
her list. I confess I wasn't impressed. The building was lovely, but the
congregation was small, the sermon was 'social gospel' and I was the
youngest there. Since we were going to have children, we needed a
church with a program for children. Some people Sarah's age wouldn't hurt,
either. We crossed that one off our list.
The following Friday evening, we had an invitation to join some
neighbors for dinner at the golf club. Sarah was anxious, since we'd never
been the 'country club type'--usually having just quiet evenings on
the weekends. Occasionally we'd go to a friend's for dinner, or have
someone over. Sarah was nervous that she wouldn't dress right, or behave
properly.
I grinned at her, told her to put on any nice summer dress--the one
she'd been in would be fine--and just act naturally. "Really,
honey, you do much better with people than I do. Why don't you just
pretend they're part of your research project and be 'Sarah'?"
She tried. When she appeared in the living room, dressed for the
evening, I was stunned. This is one outrageously gorgeous woman! I guess
my thoughts showed. Reassured, especially when I complemented her
profusely on her appearance, Sarah decided she _could_ do this.
Arriving at the club, we found that our party consisted of three other
couples. One pair was Sarah's age, the other two older, but not as as
I. Age wasn't a factor, as we saw it. This was a new community for us and
we wanted to meet people who would be _our_ friends. We knew that our
first impression on people would be that Sarah was a 'trophy wife.' After
spending some time with us, most folks, especially those who became
friends, would know different. For the rest, we didn't care.
These three couples all became good friends. The invitation came from
our neighbors, Bill and Gloria Knight. Bill was a lawyer and Gloria had
taught school, but quit after the birth of their second child--when Bill's
practice was able to support them. Gloria called Sarah with the dinner
invitation after Bill told her about his interview by their new neighbor.
John and Marcia Magruder were a couple of 'live wires'. They did the
'John! Marsha!' thing to perfection. We found it was a running gag with
them and their friends. John owned a couple of businesses in the area.
The main one being a large supply operation, serving four counties in
two states; a tough, competitive business, at which he did very well. His
'sideline' was to own the marina where we kept _Sandy_, because he loved
boats.
The youngest couple was Mark and Melodie McGuire, a very nice, very
serious couple just getting established. Mark was a dentist and
Melodie was another teacher. They met the others through Gloria, who
taught at the same school.
All three couples were attractive, nice people. They weren't
'swingers'. And none of them was a drunk--although we found that Melodie
got a little tipsy after about two drinks and could be very funny in that
state.
Of course, they wanted to know all about us, so we told them what became
our 'official' story. My first had died in an accident and Sarah, a
long-time neighbor, helped me with 'arrangements' and so on. One thing led
to another--she had a crush on me since she was a little girl, it
seems--and we found I loved her, too.
"When I found out Mike was going to move away, I wouldn't let him leave
me behind," Sarah interjected.
recently, we moved out here because I felt my business could do
better on the coast. California or Seattle would have been a bit better
for business, but we wanted to live in Oregon. So here we were.
It was a good story. Mostly true. It would be hard to trip us up on
it. Of course, they wanted to know what I did and I was happy to tell them
all about the world of high level consultants. 'Hired gun', I call myself.
Sarah, the excellent salesperson, didn't have any trouble selling
herself as a friend and good person--and as a woman totally in love with
her husband. She talked about the job she had cheerfully abandoned when I
was and how she might get into something like that here, but we
weren't in any hurry for her to get to work. We were doing OK and we
really wanted children right away.
While we were at it, we--well, mostly Sarah, 'cause she's so much better
at it--pumped our hosts about themselves and others in the community.
Doctor recommendations, churches--where did they go?--and so on. (That
girl gets going on a research project, she just don't stop! But she's so
interested, people fall all over themselves, giving her whatever she asks
for.) We found that one doctor was consistently recommended for practice and another for OB/GYN stuff. Sarah even started gathering
information on pediatricians.
We found out that Bill's practice was mainly in business and real estate
law and that his partner was excellent, in Bill's opinion, in torts and
criminal work: The courtroom guy.
All our hosts had good things to say about the local schools, which
pleased us. And there was an excellent pre-school in town.
All three couples attended one of the churches high on Sarah's list and
they were happy to tell us about it. To hear them tell it, the church hada
lot going for it. It served the whole range of ages, from newborns, to
nursing home seniors. A fair number of professional and self-employed
business people went there. And the programs were well organized and
served the needs of the congregation and the community. We asked about the
preaching and the beliefs of the church and were pleased with the answers
we got.
As our meal reached the dessert stage, a small band started playing
dance music. It was mostly 'slow dancing' music, with just enough swing
and soft rock to keep it interesting. Nice, but not so loud it prevented
conversations at the tables. John suggested we dance a little (He and
Marcia love to dance) and continue our discussion after.
It doesn't take much convincing to get me to put my arms around Sarah,
so we joined them. Suddenly it dawned on me that I hadn't danced with
Sarah since her cousin Anna's wedding, when she was in high school. I also
discovered I'd want to do a lot more of this. Sarah is a dream, dancing.
She fit so perfectly against me. In heels, she's only an inch shorter than
my six feet, so her cheek went against mine; and her hand around my neck,
playing with my ear was a real treat. Of course, I enjoy being pressed up
against those curves. She's a good dancer.
We danced a couple of tunes with each other, then switched off and
danced with the others in our party. I was with Melodie, when the band
started playing some swing tunes. She was really fun. She'd only done
swing once before, so I had to help her get the hang of it. But once she
got into it, she really got going. What a gas!
Back at the table, the others announced that Bill and Gloria would pick
us up and bring us to church Sunday, then we'd all go out for brunch--the
club had a great buffet on Sundays. Sarah immediately agreed for both of
us. It pleased me, that she was confident enough to take charge where she
knew I wouldn't have any objection. She knows Sandy made most of the
social decisions--unless it was business--and just expected that she would,
too. Besides, I trust her social instincts better than my own.
Sarah wanted their opinion about the other country club she'd looked at.
They were unanimous that it was a fine place, too. They just liked this
one a little better. Bill liked the layout of the golf course better,
Marcia liked the food and the service better. (Turns out, a lot of folks
belong to both, if they can afford it. I don't play much golf and am
mediocre at best at tennis. But Sarah excels at both. This club offered a
good golf course and very good tennis courts--even two indoor courts. The
price was OK, so in a couple of weeks, Sarah arranged with Gloria for us to
be invited to join.)
Our evening continued with more dancing and conversation. We were
profuse in our thanks when we finally broke it up. Sarah was as favorably
impressed as I and was very pleased with herself for getting us invited. I
told her I was proud to have been with her and slyly reminded her of her
'butterflies' before we left home.
That earned me a whack on the arm--deserved.
In bed, Sarah was incredible. When I'd come once and she twice, she
wanted to go again. I didn't think I could and it was late, after all.
Using a 'little girl' voice, she said, "But daddy! You promised you
wouldn't stop until you got me pregnant. I want my daddy's baby growing in
my little tummy just like my friend Janie. You don't want my friends to
think my daddy doesn't love me, do you?" Even though this fantasy contained
a lot of our reality, her words got me hard as a rock for one more try at
getting her knocked up.
That time, she climbed on top, plugged me in, and curled up to my chest,
her marvelous cushioned against me. Then she proceeded to _milk_
me, without any other movement! It didn't take long before I was panting
and my hips started jerking, involuntarily. Soon I was shuddering and
gasping, "Sorry honey. I can't hold out long enough to get you off."
Into her fantasy, she replied, panting too, "It's OK daddy. Come in me.
Make a baby in your baby girl, daddy. Come. Come. Come in me, daddy!"
And she convulsed in climax just as I finished pumping my load into her.
When we'd caught our breath and cleaned each other up, we cuddled like
two puppies. "Whew, honey! You sure do know how to get what you want from
a guy. Twice in an hour is pretty spectacular for an coot like me."
" 'Old Coot', indeed! You're pretty awesome as a lover, you know?
Tonight has been such a special evening, meeting new friends, then making
babies with my handsome daddy--what wouldn't try for seconds if she
thought there was a chance?
"It's funny, Mike... I was reading where most women only achieve orgasm
every third time or so. Do you know, we've never made love where I didn't
come at least two or three times? That's not because I'm so hot, like you
try to flatter me. It's because you're an extraordinary lover, lover."
"Well, the only thing I can say to that is that I have excellent
inspiration," I told her. "All I know about it is what your taught
me. Did you know that we--she and I--never had any other lovers?"
"Yeah, she told me that was why your marriage was so solid and why you
were still so much in love. You both worked hard to take good care of the
other, so neither of you ever had any motive to stray. I'm mom's
beneficiary in so many ways. Most of all, you. I love you, you know."
After a big, sloppy kiss for punctuation, I mirrored her thought, "Love
you, too, honey..."
~~ * * * * * ~~
My next thought was, _'I hope I'll be able to get it up again in the
morning?',_ when I noticed the smell of fresh coffee and it _was_ morning.
I probably could get it up, but Sarah had let me sleep in and we needed to
get moving--we were going with another couple on the boat.
We'd rented a covered moorage, so _Sandy_ was protected from direct
sunlight and rain. But she still needed maintenance and regular cleaning.
After our long, wonderful weekend aboard, we'd made time one afternoon to
give her a thorough going-over. She looked good as new, inside and out!
Bill and Gloria had introduced us to Mike and Tammi, with the comment
that we had a lot in common. Mike--having two 'Mikes' around was sure to
create a bit of confusion--is a CPA, about my age. Fortunately he was not
the type of accountant who is a 'belt _and_ suspenders' guy. Tammi is just
a bit than Sarah. I suppose that's what prompted Bill to get us
together with them. Anyway, after chatting a while, Sarah and Tammi seemed
to like each other and I suggested the day trip on the boat, after Tammi
told us they didn't have one and sort of wished they did.
The deal the made was that we'd provide drinks, they'd bring the
food. So we laid in soft drinks, as well as a little beer and wine.
Coffee is always on board. We don't believe being on the water is an
excuse to get drunk.--Sarah and I like alcohol for social situations, or at
the end of the day, but neither of us has ever seen the other drunk. (My
last occasion, I think, was when I was still in the Marines.)
I had just started the engines, to warm them up, when our guests
arrived, carrying two big coolers. Hurrying down from the fly bridge, I
took one from Tammi and asked, "Have we invited the entire First Marine
Division to help eat all this?"
Tammi laughed, delighted and Mike chuckled. "Tammi has a thing about
not letting anyone be hungry--ever. If I didn't have this really weird
metabolism, I'd be a walrus by now." With a wink, "Tammi pushes food, but
somehow eats little of it herself, which is how she manages to stay so
slim."
"OK. We'll just put these on the table and let the stow it all.
Can I help you pack your towels, suits and all that aboard?"
"No, thanks. One trip and I'll have it all."
While Mike got the rest of their things, I stowed the fenders and spring
lines, leaving only the stern tied to the dock. As soon as he stepped
through the transom hatch, Sarah uncleated us and we were free on the
river. The twin diesels took us smoothly up to the mouth of the Willamette,
which we entered, having in mind a picnic in the middle of the city.
Once we were underway, the changed into swimsuits. I already knew
Sarah was spectacular in her bikini, but Tammi turned out to be a delight
to the eyes, too. I was wearing my normal cut-offs and a sweatshirt. (It
can get breezy on the fly bridge while we're underway, and the morning was
still cool.) Mike wore a windbreaker. After giving us a short skin show,
the covered up, too, so they could join us on the fly bridge and
still be comfortable. Sitting up there, watching the shoreline go by as we
slowly cruised up the river towards downtown Portland, we found that Bill
was right. We had a lot in common.
Like me, Mike had been before. His had left him because he
wasn't 'exciting' enough for her. Seems her 'needs'--or whatever--leaned
towards swinging and kinky sex--with lots of partners of both sexes.
Purely out of love for her, Mike tried, but just couldn't get into that
scene. And she felt he was 'holding her back in her growth' by not
participating and not approving of her increasingly offbeat desires.
Neither of them was willing to change, so he divorced her, giving her a car
and some money and requesting that she find a home in another state. Last
he heard, she was in California, not doing well...
They never had any children--Mike's didn't want the bother. So, to
fill a bit of that void in his life, Mike had volunteered to coach a little
league team. As it happened, there were plenty of coaches for baseball,
but they desperately needed help in the girls' softball program. Thinking,
'Why not?' he got into it. And he found that he really enjoyed working
with teenage girls. The way they approached the game and their outlook
generally was a constant delight. He became good friends with a number of
the and was trusted by and alike.
Tammi had been a catcher on his first team. She told some really funny
stories about mistakes he'd made as a first-year softball coach. But he'd
worked at it, learning both the fine points of softball--it is not
baseball, after all--and coaching. Tammi had been on his teams for five
years, altogether, and had finally obtained a partial scholarship
as a result of her ability. Mike said her personality was such that, as
catcher, she really believed she was in charge between the foul lines. The
coach gave the signs and set the lineups, but on the field, it was her
team!
When she came home from college, on vacations and breaks, she always
made a point of dropping over to see Mike. She recognized that his help
and inspiration were a large part of the scholarship she'd won and the
self-confidence she had.
Mike divorced his while Tammi was a senior. She hadn't known,
since he didn't talk about his problems, that he was even having marital
trouble. When she went to see him during Easter break, she found him home
alone, in a house that, obviously, no longer had a woman caring for it. So
she asked and kept asking, until she had the whole from him.
When she went back to school, somehow Mike haunted her thoughts. She'd
always had tremendous respect and admiration for him. Now she found that,
since he was 'available', she lusted after him. Too sensible to let her
emotions carry her into something impossible, she wrote Mike and asked him,
fairly urgently, to visit her. She needed help with something and really
hoped he would come. Since tax season had ended, Mike took the time to
drive to her campus (most of a day to drive there), rented a motel room and
called her. They met at the student union and had a long conversation,
which continued in a restaurant that night. Mike took her back to her
sorority house before midnight and agreed to meet at breakfast. The whole
thing was surreal, in today's permissive climate. Except for handclasps
and hugs as friends, they hadn't even kissed. There was none of the
'lover' body language between them. Yet their discussion, by this point,
was, "Can we make it as and wife?"
Listening to them tell this, Sarah and I were both thinking: _"Unreal!"_
Even though we knew we were hearing the literal, exact truth.
Tammi wasn't a virgin, though she didn't sleep around. After baring
their hearts and souls to each other, they decided, that, yes, they could
make it. That day, Mike bought an engagement ring. He was sitting next to
her when she graduated two months later. A week after that, they
were in church, with white gown, bridesmaids and the whole bit.
And, though Tammi was proud of how she looked and liked to show it off a
bit, they were as straight as a couple could be. They had a two-year-old
boy (who was spending the day with his grandma) and were hoping for another
pretty soon.
Yes, this couple did have a lot in common with us!
Sarah gave them the 'official' version of our story. And told them that
we had named _Sandy_ after my 'by acclamation', since she had loved
her almost as much as I had.
It was a delightful morning, cruising slowly up the river, through the
heart of the city, yet in our own space. Tammi kept putting snacks in
front of us--all of them wonderful. By 11:00, we'd arrived at a river park
upstream from the downtown area. Dropping the hook, we decided to swim and
play before lunch. There were a couple of smaller boats there, but the
place wasn't crowded. The water was refreshingly cool and we had a great
time, with a lot of laughter. We _like_ these people!
When we were pleasantly tired from swimming, we climbed back aboard
Sandy and enjoyed lunch. Sarah and I only nibbled, because of all the
snacks we'd consumed. Tammi had really laid on a spread, though. Had we
known... [We soon worked out an agreement with Tammi that she wouldn't
contribute to the expansion of our waistlines and we'd eat what she gave
us. Thus, at least around us, she stopped being a 'pusher' of food. Boy,
can that cook!] We decided to return home via the Willamette channel,
allowing us to circumnavigate Sauvie's Island. This was a really pretty
way to get home, but a narrow channel, requiring my constant attention.
Sarah stayed by me on the fly bridge most of the way, ready to take over if
I needed to make a 'head call'. And of course, Mike and Tammi were up
there too, to enjoy the view and the company.
The talk was of children and values, of families and friends. Sarah and
I expressed our appreciation and gratitude for the way the community had
accepted us and taken us in. After all, we had only each other--no other
family or close friends. Tammi smiled warmly and said that we were easy
folks to warm up to. And we could tell she was thrilled to have another
inter-generational couple, with values so closely in tune with theirs, that
they could become friends with.
When we approached the marina, there was a flurry of putting out the
fenders, getting the food back into the coolers and so on. By the time we
arrived at our slip, all I had to do was back it in and tie it up. No
problem. I could do that. With warm hugs all around, Mike and Tammi toted
everything back to their car and left. Then Sarah told me we were going to
their house for dinner.
Groaning that I only needed a light snack just before bed, after eating
Tammi's food all day, I tried to get out of it. Sarah was unmoved.
"Tough. I like these people and I think we need to get to know them. And I
think, really, they need us, even more. So we're going. And you'd better
be alert and enthusiastic, if you know what's good for you."
Knowing when I'm licked, I closed up the boat and got us home without
any further argument. We showered together--always fun--and dressed
casually. The evening was a continuation of the day. Good food, great
company and conversation. We met Mike and Tammi's son, Kevin, and Tammi's
mother, Susan. And we got a clear impression that this delightful couple,
somehow, had real difficulty finding friends. They seemed almost desperate
to have us like them.
Later, Tammi confided to Sarah that a lot of couples in the community
didn't get along well with them. Either they were too and considered
Tammi superfluous; or the got the idea that Tammi wasn't getting
enough sexual attention from Mike and they'd try to make up the difference.
They didn't have Sarah's ability to get to the root of things, or sell an
image. It was a real and serious problem for them. They were overjoyed to
have us as friends. And, truth to tell, we liked them a lot and were happy
to have them around, too. Mike and I never became as close as our wives,
but we are good friends and trust each other--which says a lot.
~~ * * * * * ~~
Sunday, we went to church with Bill and Gloria. We were pleased to see
many of our new friends in attendance, too.
The service was interesting--more liturgical than I was used to--but
there was nothing to make me uncomfortable. And the sermon was fantastic:
Really practical advice about how to solve real-life problems. I felt at
home there and Sarah confirmed it. We'd found our church.
At lunch afterwards, Bill and Gloria were gracious hosts and went out of
their way to find out what else we might need, in order to fit into the
community smoothly. If we'd allowed them, they'd have filled up our social
calendar for the next month. We thanked them sincerely and asked that they
feel free to drop in--and allow us the same privilege. After all, with
their help, we'd found doctors, dentist, CPA and a church, in a remarkably
short time. And they and people they'd made a point of introducing to us,
were becoming friends. What a marvelous, neighborly, thing to do! How
nice of them to make such an effort to integrate a new couple into the
community.
When Bill said it was nothing, we pointed out that we had barely met the
couples in the two houses that separated our homes. It wasn't 'nothing.'
And we appreciated it!
~~ * * * * * ~~
Monday morning, Norm Johnson of DEA called. He was in Portland and
wondered if he could come see us?
Sure. I gave him directions.
Could he bring a guy from the FBI with him and a guy from his Portland
office? Sure. We'd see them all.
When they arrived, we seated everyone in the den and Sarah bustled
around making sure they all had coffee and the right amounts of cream and
sugar and so on...
Norm started right in. "When you were in a coma, I talked with Sarah
and came away convinced your 'accident' was a case of mistaken identity.
Then when you called, I had to re-think the program. It sure seems that
you were, in fact, the target...
"When you told me you'd done a job for Chernikov, I was convinced."
The FBI guy chimed in, "We've worked on his crash with the NTSB and ATF
people. We think his plane had a small bomb on it, which caused it to go
out of control. We've never understood the _WHY_ of it. Now we know."
Watching Sarah, I could see that she was becoming quietly terrified. I
wasn't very happy, myself.
"A *BIG* concern I have," I started, "is that whoever was responsible
for all this may come after me again. All we want to do is live what's
left of our lives in peace. In fact, I can't put any names to any of this.
You can do that better than I. All I did was find some anomalies that
set off alarms in my head. I told the client, Chernikov, to stay away.
Did he make waves and bring all this on us?"
"Seems like," the Portland DEA guy said. "He took what you'd told him
to an acquaintance at IRS. That led to their raid. How that led back to
Chernikov, I don't know. . . ."
The FBI took it up, "I do. One of the IRS people involved in the
'office' part of the operation has a drug problem, we're pretty sure.
We've been watching her for months. I think we'll haul her in--we can
catch her in a 'buy' pretty easily. Of course, they knew your name, since
you'd made inquiries about their front company. Getting the link between
you and Chernikov would be pretty easy."
"So," I asked, "how much danger are we in?"
Glancing at the others, Norm answered, "No way to tell, really. It
could be a one-time thing. You did your thing. They did theirs. They've
drawn blood and might be satisfied. On the other hand, they might take a
notion that they aren't 'safe', or 'avenged', or some drug-driven thing,
until you're dead. We just don't know."
"One thing I know," I said, with emphasis, "is that, even with a tap on
my phones, they wouldn't find anything threatening here. But we all know
that, with the money and resources they have, they can find out anything
they want about what _you're_ doing. Your agencies are their natural
targets. I've told you what I know and what I found out for Chernikov.
That's all I know. You've been able to tie up some loose ends as a result.
Wonderful. But all I've said was reported in the papers earlier--except my
link to Chernikov--which the bad knew about, long ago.
"I don't want to be involved beyond this. And I absolutely don't want
us to be put in any more risk. I lost my wife. What have you lost? Don't
you _dare_ put us in any more danger!"
Norm said, "Calm down, Mike! We don't put anyone in danger."
"Not deliberately," I replied. "But can any of you give me an
iron-clad, blanket promise that there is no one in any of your agencies,
with access to data bases or correspondence, who is not also paid by drug
dealers? Of course you can't! So don't try to BS us, Norm! We've
cooperated. We've done our part as citizens. Now all we're asking is that
our government protectors take common-sense precautions to prevent doing us
harm as a result. Don't refer to us by name. The three of you know who we
are. We're not a threat to anyone. Whoever this is has had his
revenge--I've suffered a great and tragic loss. Now let us live in peace.
Please?!"
The three agents agreed that the continuing investigation would be on
Chernikov's tips on the drug-funded company and that we wouldn't be
mentioned.
Too bad they didn't keep their word.
*Section Four*
A week later, I took on a new project that required me to spend a couple
of weeks in Phoenix. It didn't take much arm-twisting to decide we'd both
go. Gloria agreed to keep an eye on our house and we were off.
Phoenix was fun, since neither of us had been there before and we could
learn about it together. The client was glad to see both of us, because he
needed serious marketing help and I would need to involve Sarah, anyway.
The client and his made a big effort to keep us happy and occupied
when we weren't actually working. I really wish more of my projects--and
clients--were as comfortable and fun to work.
The client had undertaken a major expansion, involving moving his
business in a couple of new directions. Once he started, he quickly
realized he didn't have the resources to handle the new commitments he'd
made.
After ten days of working side by side on it--a first for us and a
pleasant surprise to know that we could--we were able to tell the client
that we could handle the project for him; that it would take a large
percentage of our time for most of a year; and that he would end up with a
new factory and a trained shop, management and sales team. He gulped,
once--and his wife, twice--at the rate we quoted him to do the work. But
he also saw that it was the only way he could accomplish what he needed,
without defaulting on his obligations.
When his asked Sarah if we'd move to Phoenix, Sarah laughed,
delighted: "No way! We just got settled in my dream house in Oregon. I am
_NOT_ going to move to the desert!" We did make it part of the deal that we
be provided a car and a nice apartment near the plant for our exclusive
use, during the course of the contract. After all, they were paying
expenses as well as our hourly rate. They saved a bundle with that
apartment!
~~ * * * * * ~~
On our return home, Sarah did laundry and cleaned our immaculate home. I
spent a day catching up on my other projects and thought about another day
on the river. The autumn sun wouldn't last forever--this is Oregon, after
all! Friday afternoon, we packed up food, clothing and bedding and headed
for Sandy, for a weekend on the water.
When I stopped at the office to pay the quarterly moorage fee, Marie,
the marina manager, said someone had been asking for me, a weeks or so
before. She didn't know who the guy was, and we shrugged and went on our
way.
Before I start the engines, I always engage the blowers for several
minutes first, to blow fumes out of the bilges and engine compartment.
This time, the blowers didn't turn on.
Muttering under my breath, I went down to the cockpit and raised the
hatch over the engine compartment. When I saw what was there, I gave
thanks for divine protection! Whoever had wired the explosives to the
engines had managed to short out the blower fans in the process--probably
somebody more used to cars than boats.
In the salon, my face white, I ordered Sarah up to the marina office.
She's not used to me taking that tone with her--at least not since she was
little. About to make an issue of it, she saw my face and moved out. I
hit the emergency power disconnect and followed her off the dock.
From a pay phone there at the marina, I called Norm Johnson, person to
person. Furious, I drove my way through underlings who wanted to 'screen'
the call. I refused to give my name, just stating that it was an emergency
and demanding, when someone wanted to shift me to someone else, "Are you
refusing to put me through to him? What is *your* name?" Finally Norm came
on the line.
"Don't say my name! Do you recognize my voice? Do you know who this
is?" He did. Then I suggested, very strongly, that he get one of his
agents and a bomb specialist, out to _Sandy_ post-haste. I ended by
saying, very nastily, "Now I know how much promises from you people about
protecting our identity are worth!" and slammed the phone in his ear.
I asked Marie to keep people away from the pier our slip was on, as much
as she could, saying our boat was real dangerous and we'd called for
appropriate help to deal with it. Should she call the fire department? I
asked her not to--I'd already called the authorities. Just let them handle
it.
Back home, I called Bill, asking him to drop everything and come see
us--bringing his partner. Yes, I was shaken. These people had tried
before, killing Sandy and just barely failing to get me too. I was
determined they wouldn't kill Sarah!
Bill and his partner, Tom, who is a bit than I am, arrived in 20
minutes. I told them everything about the attempts on my life and how I
felt my very life was in the hands of bureaucratic ignoramuses. I laid it
all out for them, except for the blood relationship between Sarah and me. I
asked Bill to draft new wills for us immediately--a chore I'd neglected.
And I asked for suggestions.
Tom suggested that we make depositions about everything that had
happened, including the names of the agents involved, the dates of our
meetings and our specific requests, and their agreement regarding our
anonymity. Bill concurred and Sarah and I agreed. There being no time to
waste, they called one of their secretaries, who was a notary, and she came
to the house to record, transcribe and notarize our depositions.
Bill also mentioned that he was acquainted with the junior senator from
Oregon. Though not a close friend, he felt the senator owed him a couple
of favors--BIG favors. The reason he brought it up was that the Senator
was at a resort on the coast, addressing a party conference that weekend
and Bill felt he could get an appointment with him. "Don't know how much
protection it would give you, Mike," he said, candidly. "But personal
senatorial interest can't hurt. At the least, it will get departmental
Internal Affairs, Inspectors General, whatever they call them, finding out
who spilled the beans and who to. Perhaps it will become more hassle than
it's worth to go after you."
By the time we were finished with the depositions, Bill had arranged an
appointment in his Portland office with the senator. And the DEA agent
from Portland arrived on our doorstep. Inviting him in, we seated him at
the kitchen table and introduced Bill and Tom. Tom took charge. "Well.
Did you people find anything beyond evidence of your monumentally criminal
stupidity?"
The agent agreed that it was not good, but denied any knowledge of how
the leak could have occurred. The bomb specialist from the FBI identified
the setup as one used by a small group of gangland assassins from the
midwest. Definitely a paid 'hit'.
Tom demanded to know what the agent and his organization were going to
do to keep us from harm. The agent denied that DEA was responsible in any
way and said that beyond--someday, 'pie in the sky'--catching the bad guy,
there was nothing they could do. Tom told him, speaking very slowly and
clearly, that as of that moment, he and his agency were on notice that we
held them responsible and would continue to hold them responsible, should
anything further happen to me or to Sarah.
When he had scuttled out, tail between his legs, Tom remarked that he
was morally sure that the leak had been from the DEA's Portland office.
Maybe even from the agent who had just left.
Meanwhile, Bill wasn't comfortable with us being alone. So he did a
wonderful thing. He called Mike and Tammi and asked if their son could
spend the night with his and him--and they stay overnight with us? He
ruined his Friday night plans, for the peace of mind of a couple he'd just
met. Pretty unusual for a lawyer, I'd say.
Sarah and I were trying to stay cool and collected. But seeing that
these people who we respected were taking the threat to us that seriously
shook us more than we realized. Going to the kitchen to start thinking
about dinner for four or more of us, Sarah found she couldn't cope. She
stood, holding the counter, shaking. Tammi arrived and swept into the food
preparation, as is her way.
We were seriously frightened.
~~ * * * * * ~~
The next day, although a Saturday, Bill and Tom both went with us to
meet the Senator. A real politician, he went through the 'getting to know
you' routine with practiced ease. But then he looked at Bill and asked why
this meeting was so urgent and important. Bill and Tom led him through it,
while Sarah and I nodded and held hands.
Finally the senator said, "Let me recap: Mike and Sarah came to Oregon
to get a new start, after an attempt on his life which killed his and
almost killed him. When Mike realized he had information the government
investigators needed, he came forward with it, requesting anonymity.
Immediately after that, a second serious attempt was made on their lives?
Do I have it right, so far?" Assured that he did, he asked what we wanted
him to do.
Bill answered. "Two, maybe three things. First, get the directors of
DEA, ATF and the FBI to conduct internal investigations to root out whoever
sold out. And find out who they sold out to and pursue it to convictions.
Second, work strongly and openly to eradicate the attitude we saw
yesterday: 'It's not my fault. I didn't do it. And if I did, you can't
prove it. Therefore it's not my responsibility.' That DEA agent shouldn't
be on the government payroll! Nor should any other 'civil servants' who
have the same attitude!"
The senator agreed with the first and the sentiment of the second
though, a politician always, he didn't commit himself. "You mentioned a
third thing?" "Yes," Bill continued. "We'd like your assurance that,
should anything sudden, violent, or unexpected happen to any of us, you
will not let it rest until justice has been done."
Near anger, the senator said, "Bill, that's a hell of a thing to ask!
'Specially from a politician. What if, to get passage of a bill that
brings millions to Oregon, I'm required to ease off my pressure on, say,
the FBI? My loyalty is to Oregon. I can't limit myself to the interests
of merely a few of my constituents."
Tom answered, sadly, but with growing conviction, "Senator, you had a
reputation for integrity. If the federal government, by laziness,
sloppiness, greed, fear, corruption, or whatever, is putting your
constituents in danger, or allowing them to be put in danger, you must act!
Isn't the primary purpose of government to keep the peace? Here we have
government activities actually leading directly to violence against
peaceful citizens, _solely because they did their duty as citizens!_ Can
you allow that to happen in your state? When it is in your power to do
something about it? Before this meeting, you were ignorant of the
situation. Now you're not. Here are Mike and Sarah's sworn depositions
about all that has happened to them. You'll do whatever you will about
this. But you can't say you don't know anything about it."
Bill and Tom rose from their seats, Sarah and I following, getting ready
to leave. The senator said, in a tired voice, "Just a minute, Bill...
Tom. OK. You're right. I sometimes get so tied up in 'politics', I forget
the human aspects. I'll do as you ask. I'll even do better. I'll get the
names of agents who are trusted at the highest levels and have them come to
see you. You'll get their names by FAX within the week. Work with them
and we'll try to get the threat neutralized if not removed." With a wry
smile, he added, "And in return, I expect solid support from everyone in
this room, as long as I maintain that integrity you spoke of."
Shaking his hand, I said, "It's a deal, senator." Sarah followed. Bill
and Tom, beaming, pounded his back--I guess they were better friends than I
had thought. I added, "Once the boat's safe, if you and your ever
want a day or weekend on the Columbia, we'd be happy to have you as our
guests!"
Grinning, he said, "I'll take you up on that!" and ushered us out of the
office.
On the way home, Bill and Tom agreed: "As good as it gets!"
When we arrived at our house, after dropping Tom off downtown, we were
surprised to see Gloria and her kids there. "Oh, it's no big deal," she
said. "We didn't want to leave your house empty while you were gone. And
the kids just love your big screen TV. They've been watching Nickelodeon
for the past four hours." Sarah hugged her and cried. That new friends
would take such good care of us blew her away.
~~ * * * * * ~~
Sunday, we did leave the house empty while we went to church.
Afterward, we invited some of our new friends to lunch. Mike and Tammi
came, with Bill, Gloria and their kids. (I became a new 'uncle' to the
kids. They are really fun and great kids. And I need the practice, after
all!) After lunch, the watched football, drank beer and nibbled on
Tammi's snacks. The sat around and talked about kids and men--us.
Sarah really envies Gloria, because she wants children of her own and soon.
Gloria is happy to be a homemaker and mother, but envies Sarah her freedom,
without kids to care for.
After the game, Bill and Gloria walked home. Mike and Tammi stayed for
dinner--Sarah insisted they stay, then Tammi ended up doing most of the
cooking. But Sarah says she's learning a lot from Tammi and Sarah was
already a good cook. We were all sitting in the living room, chatting over
glasses of wine, when Tammi looked at her Mike, then at Sarah; "Sarah,
you're Mike's daughter, aren't you?"
Sarah turned bright and didn't say a word--completely tongue-tied by
Tammi's question. Tammi continued, "I didn't mean to embarrass you, or put
you on the spot. Just some of the little things add up that way. I'm not
against you. I think it's cool. It's obvious you love each other. So?"
I looked at Mike. He looked at me. We both shrugged. "Tammi," I said.
"Don't ask for an answer to that. If neither of us answers that, you can't
say you know anything for sure, OK? Be satisfied that we love each other:
Very deeply and in every way, including wanting to make babies
together--several and as soon as we can. We like you and Mike a lot and
don't really care what your backgrounds are, as long as you're faithful and
true friends to us. We'll be the same to you, but ask that you don't pry
into things that happened before we came here. OK?"
Tammi's mobile face changed expression several times while she digested
that. Finally, it cleared and she said brightly, "OK. If that's what you
want. But I want the truth sometime when we're all and gray!" Mike and
I laughed long at that. She meant it seriously, but we were both already
grayer than we'd like to be. "Oh, knock it off, you farts!" she said.
But with a small smile to show she understood.
"I guess," Tammi said, "I asked because I used to think of Mike as
another dad. And when he got divorced after I became an adult, it let me
fulfill a childhood fantasy. The poor didn't have a chance. I'd have
fucked him on the courthouse lawn if that had been what it took. I just
got some vibes that you were in a similar state with your Mike, Sarah."
Before Sarah could answer, Mike said, "Leave it, Tammi," in a
no-nonsense tone.
~~ * * * * * ~~
Monday morning Norm Johnson called, saying he was reliably told we could
safely use the boat. And that he would be out to see us the next day. I
told him to come on Wednesday.
Then I hollered at Sarah, "Hey, babe! Want to take a boat ride?" The
response was immediate and enthusiastic. In half an hour we were stowing
provisions and bedding on _Sandy_--I checked everywhere I could for
explosives or anything else that didn't belong on her.
We decided to stay on the water at least until Tuesday night. And if we
didn't get back until Wednesday morning, oh, well! While I was navigating
out to the channel, Sarah called Gloria on our new cell phone, asking that
she keep an eye on the house for us.
We had no destination. Our objective was escape, on the water, from the
fear of the attack on us. Downstream a ways were several small islands
where we could tie up out of the channel and walk, picnic, swim, or just be
safely away from it all. We were coming to really love our boat and the
freedom it gave us.
After we'd been underway a while, Sarah went below, returning with
sandwiches and beer for us both. It was a bright fall day and, though the
air was brisk, we both preferred to be on the bridge, rather than at the
helm in the salon. An hour later, we came to the island we wanted. Easing
up the side away from the channel, Sarah spotted a cove. With the depth
finder running full blast, I eased _Sandy_ into it, then turned around.
Though small, only about three boat-lengths across, the cove was deeper
than I'd expected. I was able to back right up to a rock ledge, and we ran
our lines to trees ashore. We were completely from the river when
we were done tying up. I complained that we wouldn't get to see the river
traffic and lights from other boats. Sarah slyly claimed she intended to
keep me far too busy to even think about scenery.
Going ashore on our island, I soon discovered that by climbing the
little hump directly behind us, I could see all of the river, across the
channel to the Washington side and up and down for miles. Upstream a
couple of miles I spotted a runabout that I'd seen before...when we were on
the Willamette last week! What was it doing way down here? It was much
too small for overnighters like us. As the light started to fail, it
turned, picked up speed and headed back up-river towards Longview.
When I couldn't see it any more, I walked back down to _Sandy_. "Would
you be frightened if I started carrying weapons?" I asked Sarah.
"Thought you'd never ask," she said, catching me by surprise. "Your
pistol is in the chart box by the main helm. Your carbine is under the
lounge on the fly bridge. My pistol is in the breadbox. And the shotgun
is under the cockpit seat." Then she gave me a big grin. "What did you
expect? You taught me to shoot when I was 10 and to handle heavy rifles
when I was 12. Somebody is after us. I'm not going to let anything happen
to the of my babies!"
Grinning back, I gave her a big hug. "That's my girl!" I said.
We'd arrived at our anchorage well before dark. And since we were so
secluded, we saw no need to advertise our location with an anchor light.
We were tied up to the shore, anyway. I did listen to the radio while
Sarah put our dinner together. There was nothing on the marine radio, but
the CB yielded a couple of cryptic conversations that might have been about
us. _Somebody_ was looking for _something_, that was certain.
For the first time, I locked _Sandy_ up, with us on board.
In spite of our tension, Sarah and I made wonderful love that night. I
was still doing my best, every time, to make sure she got off and to
impregnate her if I could. She claimed, later, that it was that night that
did it. I don't know how she could tell. I know I was doing some pretty
heavy panting and pushing when I felt her contract around me and try to
milk me dry. I sure did all I could to cooperate!
We both slept well and woke refreshed and ready to go again, which we
did in the cockpit on a couple of blankets we'd brought out there, so we
could drink our coffee outdoors, wrapped up against the chill. When I
started playing with her nipples, Sarah just climbed on my lap and plugged
me in. She was screaming her passion before the coffee had a chance to get
cold.
I *really* enjoy turning that on!
~~ * * * * * ~~
After a light breakfast, we decided to drop over to Rainier, just to
stretch our legs a bit. It's a neat little town, though declining due
to the ban on fishing and drop in logging in the area. We wandered the
streets for a pleasant couple of hours. But when we returned to the city
moorage, we found a deputy sheriff by _Sandy_, obviously waiting for us.
"Problem, deputy?" I asked.
"No problem. May I see your ID, please?" was his standard reply.
"Sure," I said, reaching for my wallet. "But why?"
"Just routine," he said.
"Now, deputy. I may be a civilian, but that doesn't make me stupid.
You don't hang around a boat and ask for ID for 'routine'. What gives?"
"We were asked to keep an eye out for a boat like yours, with _Sandy_ on
the transom. If we spotted it, we were told to call it in. That's all.
Routine."
"Bull shit! Who wants to know, deputy? Who asked you to find us?" I
demanded.
"Department policy; I can't give you that information." This guy was
being a real jerk.
"OK. Tell you what I'm going to do. You are going to give me your name
and badge number and the name of your supervisor. Then I'm going to make a
call--_before_ you talk to anyone about us. I will tell you now, not for
dissemination, that we are part of a federal criminal investigation and we
are in real danger. We are not interested in letting our location be known
by anyone, for any reason.
"Now. Your full name and badge number, please?"
Grudgingly, he gave it, watching as Sarah wrote it all down. Then the
name and phone number of his supervisor. Then we walked to a pay phone on
the shore. I called Tom at his office, getting through immediately when I
told the secretary it was really urgent. When Tom came on, I explained the
problem, including the boat last night. He asked to speak to the deputy,
then asked the deputy to hold the phone so I could hear too. Basically, he
identified himself as an attorney, giving the address of his office and his
phone number. He confirmed what I had told the officer, that we were in
real danger and broadcasting our location, even by telephone, would
increase our risk unnecessarily. Then he asked the deputy who asked the
sheriff to find us. When the deputy fell back on the 'department policy'
dodge, Tom read him the riot act, citing chapter and verse. Asked again,
the deputy still wouldn't tell him, so he let it go.
Tom said, "If I give you my assurance as an officer of the court that I
will call your supervisor immediately, will you forgo calling him about
this until you get off shift and can tell him about it in person?"
The deputy wasn't willing to do that, so Tom asked him to drive to his
station and report in person. The deputy said he'd have to leave his
patrol area, to do that. Tom finally said, "Well, deputy, I can see that
you don't put much effort into being a protector of the people, do you?
You have a choice, deputy. You can get in your patrol car and drive to
your station and report in person to the sergeant whose name you gave me.
Or, you can make your call about Mike's location. If you do that, I will
personally see you arrested on a federal warrant for impeding an
investigation before the day is over. And I'll sign charges against you,
myself, with your sheriff, who happens to be a I've known for years and
who trusts me. Now, how is it going to be?"
Mumbling, the deputy decided he'd make his report in person, right away.
Sarah and I high-tailed it for _Sandy_ and headed downstream--until we saw
the sheriff's car pull away. When it was out of sight, we turned back
towards Portland. In a couple of hours, our marina came in sight. But it
looked like there were too many cars in the parking lot, so we kept on up
the river to St. Helens. Tying up at the public dock, we found a phone
booth and called Tom again. Our call was forwarded and we finally were
connected to his cell phone. "Where are you two?" he bellowed. "I've been
waiting at the marina for you to show up for over an hour!"
I chuckled. "We passed the marina, because it looked too popular for a
Tuesday, if you know what I mean? And I didn't want to use a cell phone,
so I've had mine turned off all day."
"Yeah, I know it was off, because I've been trying to reach you on it
for hours. Your thinking is sound, though. Stay where you are. I'll be
there in a few minutes. Just lock up Sandy. I'll get John to take care of
her. He'll stash her somewhere, where she won't be in danger. See you
shortly."
Tom was really knocking himself out for us. Of course, trial lawyers
tend to be a bit aggressive. Some of them are even worse than surgeons.
(To my shock, after everything was over and I asked him what I owed him, he
just said, "Do what you do best for somebody who really needs it sometime.
That's my fee." And he wouldn't discuss it further. He'd decided we were
strangers in town and we were in trouble and deserved help. He decided
he'd be the one to give that help as much as he could. Bill told me later
that the way we befriended Mike and Tammy really impressed Tom.)
Within five minutes, Tom's car came skidding into the moorage parking
lot. He popped open a door and hollered, "Hop in!" As soon as we were
inside the car, he gunned it. Leaving us to sort out seat belts and so on
as we traveled.
*Section Five*
"What's happening, Tom?" I demanded.
"Are you armed?" Tom asked, a _non sequiter_, I thought.
"Yeah, both of us. Why?"
"You need to be. Things have heated up. In a nutshell, the drug money
operation you helped bust up--even though you didn't know you were doing
it, I understand--was real important to a big cocaine distributor out of
San Francisco.
"Our senator had a pointed conversation with the Attorney General when
he got back to Washington. Two of the agencies involved come under the
Justice Department umbrella. When the internal investigators--who I
believe really are squeaky clean, by the way--started digging into it, they
found, in addition to the clerk in IRS who we already knew about, three
people in the DEA and one in the FBI who were passing information to the
druggies. One of them is the DEA agency chief here in Portland.
"The request to locate you came from him. I can only assume he is
trying to find you on orders of the drug people, since Norm won't get into
town until tomorrow morning and doesn't care where you are until tomorrow
afternoon, when he wants to see you."
"Wow!" Sarah said. "What have we done to them? Haven't they had enough
revenge? How much blood is enough?"
Tom answered, "Sarah, you can't understand people like this. They often
act, literally, as if they were God. Coming after you is _really_ stupid,
on their part. You don't know who they are and weren't doing anything to
harm them. Providing the link between your accident and your client's
death was no big deal. Somebody would have made the connection sooner or
later. It's just that, apparently in a fit of rage, this guy had ordered
Mike taken out. He wasn't. He's unhappy, so some people in his
organization are frightened. Now they've messed it up more, because too
many people know the score. What were those four people inside the
government worth to them? A helluva lot more than you two. But they
burned them, playing their silly, egotistic, god game!"
Tom defends a number of criminal cases. But we found he really hates
drugs and those who deal in them.
"Tom, where are we going?" Sarah asked, noticing for the first time that
we were going away from our town.
"Portland. Where did you think?" he said.
"Why, I expected to go home."
"Now, don't you be stupid, girl," Tom replied, tartly. "There's no
indication they'll disturb your house, as long as you're not in it. But no
sense in you being someplace expected, until we can get a few things
straight."
"What do you mean by that, Tom?" I asked.
"Well, tomorrow morning, the four of us (Bill, too) are going to have a
little chat with the U.S. Attorney. We're going to have a representative
from the Secret Service there too--a guy who used to head up the
Presidential detail; now he's in charge here in Portland. We're going to
make the government make it right with you two, for this latest SNAFU. And
we're not going to accept any bureaucratic bullshit, either. After lunch,
we'll invite this Norm Johnson to the party, to find out what his agency is
doing about the guy in San Francisco."
"All we want to hear, Tom, is that these people are off our backs.
Losing Sandy was awful enough. Now being told we have to live in constant
fear of people we've never heard of is just too much!"
"I couldn't agree more, Mike. That's what we're trying to accomplish.
Tonight, you will be guests of the Secret Service, as a favor to me from
the guy I told you about. I can't do any better than that. Tomorrow we'll
have the meetings I told you about. Then we'll see. We will solve this,
Mike. Be sure of it."
By then we were in Portland and Tom took us to a lovely house in the
hills, where we were met by a gracious lady about my age. "Come in, dears.
You too, Tom. You can stop for a drink, I'm sure. Come on in. Frank will
be with us in a minute. I'm Mary. You must be Mike and Sarah. Tom's told
Frank all about you. I've been so anxious to meet you. To hear Tom,
you're the most fascinating couple he's ever met. You've simply captivated
him. . . . ." and on and on; Mary didn't stop talking until we were in a
comfortable sitting room with drinks in our hands and her husband, Frank,
appeared.
I rose and shook his hand. "You're Frank, I gather. I'm Mike. This is
Sarah. Thank you so much for looking after us, though we think we'd have
been OK at home."
Frank gave me a small tight smile, then took Sarah's hand, with a more
genuine smile of appreciation. Turning back to me he said, "Don't kid
yourself. You're in serious danger until we get this thing resolved. And
I don't know how fast our agencies are working on that--or with what
level of security. No later than day after tomorrow--maybe sooner--the
story will break in the news. This will make national news broadcasts:
It's as big a scandal as catching a Russian spy. At least four trusted
people in three major federal agencies have been selling information to
drug interests. Yep. That will make headlines.
"And you two are the ones who got the ball rolling. If you'd been
killed in that 'accident', like you were _supposed_ to be Mike, none of
this would have happened. So they 'blame' you. We all know you didn't
really do anything. And in fact, just want to get on with your life. But
that's the way it is.
"Now. I just happen to know a little bit about personal security..." he
said with a straight face. This guy was one of the world's leading experts
on protecting people from assassins. "And I have some ideas for you two.
Tonight you'll stay here. I'll be with you all day tomorrow and I've asked
a couple of my people to help out. Normally out here we chase
counterfeiters and such, but some of us like to keep in practice, so to
speak.
"Mike, could I have your keys? We'll pick up your car--it's at the
marina in ST. Helens?--and check it and your house out, thoroughly. With
your permission, there's a private security firm I'd like to bring in to
wire the place and take care of things until you can go back home. I'm not
allowed to recommend people..." He stopped and grinned. "So in this case
I'll just tell them what I want done and have them do it. For
'rent-a-cops' they're pretty good. OK?"
Sarah's eyes were like saucers. She just nodded. So did I, as I dug
out my keys from my pocket.
"Mary?" Frank asked, "how much time do we have before dinner?"
"About an hour, dear," she answered.
"Then I just have time to get you a few things. I've a couple of calls
to make. If you'll write down what you need and your sizes, I'll FAX it to
my office and one of our people will get everything and bring it here--you
know, underwear, toothbrush, whatever you need to be comfortable in the
meetings tomorrow. No need to be 'dressy'."
So while Frank went back into his den and his phone and Tom said 'good
night' and left, Sarah and I decided what we would wear tomorrow. We
wanted to look nice; respectable. She ordered slacks and a sweater, I
wanted a nice and slacks. And we needed underwear and toiletries.
We wrote it all down carefully, and took it in to Frank who shoved it into
a FAX machine without a break in the conversation he was having.
Wandering into the kitchen, Sarah at least could help Mary with dinner.
I was at loose ends, since Tom had left. I didn't want to watch and was
too nervous to read anything. I wandered around Frank's nice home until he
caught up with me and suggested we have a drink before dinner. I told him,
truthfully, that I could use one.
We ended up with a bottle of good whiskey, a small pitcher of water, and
two glasses in Frank's study. "Mike, the Presidential Detail is like the
Praetorian Guard. Nobody knows the intimacies of a President's life like
his guards. And we never talk. I can tell about funny things that
happened with this or that President which relate to security issues. But
I will never, even to my wife, talk about a man's or his personal
foibles or even immorality. "I say this because there are a couple of
things I need to say to you. And you need to know that I won't reveal
anything about you to anyone else.
"I know that your is your daughter. That kind of arrangement
wouldn't work for me, but I've seen how she looks at you. I wish Mary
still looked at _me_ that way! This DEA guy, Johnson, only knows Sarah as
your daughter. He doesn't know you've married. From all I can dig up, I
think Johnson is straight. I'd like to clue him in, so he doesn't make
more trouble for you than he already has?"
When I nodded, Frank continued, "It's possible that this thing could
drag on. If it does, do you want to consider the witness protection
program?"
That didn't take long: "Only as a _very_ last resort, Frank. We moved
once, running away from memories I couldn't handle. We don't want to run
again. And I don't want to be a shopkeeper. I'm damn good at what I do
and enjoy it. I need to keep my own name and be accessible in order to
continue to do it. Having said that, I'll do what I have to in order to
keep Sarah safe."
"About what I expected," Frank acknowledged. Tilting the bottle towards
my glass, I held up one finger, indicating only a short refill. When he'd
touched up his own drink, he continued. "Drugs aren't in our jurisdiction,
except we stomp them when we come across them. But I know about them,
because finding laundered drug money _is_ part of my job. What tipped you
off, about that company in Denver? Maybe I could pick up some pointers?"
"That's hard to pin down, Frank. It wasn't any one thing. You know how
you get a feel for a place when you walk in the door?" Frank nodded his
understanding. "Well, that place didn't feel right. There was a lot of
tension there. A feeling of fear, almost. They knew I was the personal
representative of a potential major investor and were very cordial. But
when I asked for specific items from their records, there was always a
delay in getting them to me. And I never got really good answers regarding
the source of some earlier, very large, investments, or the use to which my
client's money would be put. Based on its cash flow, the company didn't
need any additional investment. But I couldn't be really sure, because I
couldn't tell how much of the money coming in was 'new investment', or how
much was income from operations.
"I guess it was just that the whole thing was too nebulous. It was like
trying to dissect a marshmallow. One part is just like another. It was
shapeless. The tax returns were no help, either... And when I went out
into the operating area, the volume of activity--the amount of product
being shipped--didn't seem to match up with income... Is this what you
wanted?"
"Yeah, Mike. I think so. It gives me something to think about anyway.
Thanks. Now, what say we go 'supervise' dinner?"
Our timing was good, as the ladies were just starting to put dinner on
the table. We had a nice meal with good conversation. Mary told some cute
stories about the Washington D.C. area.
After dinner, our packages were delivered, checked out and we were shown
to the guest room. Since we were pretty tired, we showered and went to
bed. We thought about making love, but were so tired that we fell asleep as
I was a nipple. I did get an interesting pillow!
In the morning, we were awakened by Mary's knock on the door and her
voice asking us to get up, please, so we could have breakfast before we had
to go downtown to the federal courthouse. So it was up, shave and dress,
breakfast, and off to meet the U.S. Attorney. Frank drove us himself,
remarking he had to be with us all day, anyway.
On arrival, we learned that Bill and Tom were expected momentarily.
Then we were all ushered into a comfortable small conference room where
Sarah and I were introduced to the U.S. Attorney, a big hearty named
Gary. We were quickly informed that a part of Frank's function, besides
being a world class security expert, was to recognize and help steer us
through any government smoke screens which might be thrown at us. Frank
nodded, modestly, at this. Next, we were told that a large raid on the San
Francisco headquarters of the drug lord who was after us was to be mounted
that afternoon, along with the arrest of all of his known associates and
detailed searches of his businesses, homes and so on. They hoped to
capture and arrest him, too, but weren't sure if they could, given the
number of bolt holes he maintained in all his regular locations.
Almost surely, he would be tipped off and hard to catch, at best.
~~ * * * * * ~~
Sarah and I looked at each other. "Who is this guy?" I demanded. "He's
been doing his best to kill us and we've not been told who we're up
against!" The name we were given, Angelo Guiterrez, didn't mean a thing to
us.
"He's native U.S. citizen, fourth or fifth generation, of
Spanish/Mexican heritage. His great-great-grandparents used to own a nice
chunk of California, but lost most of it when Mexico lost the territory.
Clever and ruthless, he's put together the primary narcotics distribution
ring on the west coast. He's strictly a wholesaler, selling to customers
like the L.A. gangs. He buys a lot of Oregon marijuana, too, for
distribution."
I looked at Bill and Tom. "Do I have any legal weapons against this
guy? Can I sue him for assault on me and wrongful death for Sandy, for
example?"
Sadly, Bill shook his head. "This is one of those cases, Mike, where we
know who did it, but have absolutely no way of proving it. All we'd
accomplish, I'm afraid, is to stir up the hornet's nest even more."
"Well, then, how can we get at him? All we've seen from the government
is bungling. If they can't take care of him, what can we do that will?"
Sarah asked. She was plain mad, clear through. "We're not talking about
somebody who screwed us out of some money, or something. We're talking
about somebody we don't even know, who wants us _*dead*_--and has the
ability to make it happen! There must be _something_ we can do."
"For today," the U.S. Attorney said, "let's wait and see how it goes
down. Our senator quietly lit a pretty good-sized fire under a lot of
people. The A.G. himself told me I'll be given the same progress reports
he's getting and at the same time. Right here, we'll be able to keep a
close watch on what's happening in today's sweep. And the 'affiliates'
here in Portland will be picked up, too. You'll be able to see all the
reports as they are sent in and follow the action pretty well. By the end
of the day, we'll have a lot better idea of how badly we've Guiterrez.
That will tell us if he has time or energy to spend on you, or if he'll be
scrambling to save his own miserable hide."
For now, we had to be content with that.
The rest of the morning was taken up with all of us being briefed on the
details on what had been happening since we talked with the senator. After
his private, but pointed talk with the Attorney General, the A.G. had held
a long conversation with the Justice Department's Inspector General. A
dozen of the highest level of investigative ability and absolutely
unquestioned integrity were selected--including two members of the Secret
Service who had worked 'The Detail' under Frank. These started digging
out who had fingered us--starting with the current situation and working
back to the tragedy in Colorado. As we knew, they had uncovered four, so
far, who were selling out.
The problem was that the government could only pay its people so much.
The drug lords had no similar restrictions. With their resources,
they could buy almost anything they want--people, information, safety.
And, from a tactical and legal perspective, all of the drug-fighting
agencies would prefer to wait until their position regarding Angelo
Guiterrez was stronger. The senator's talk with the A.G. had changed
that. The A.G. had decided that when this all hit the news, as it would
within a couple of days, the message he wanted sent to the drug trafficers
was that if they went after innocent bystanders, they'd be hounded out of
existence!
This raised another issue Sarah and I had to confront: If we appeared on
national news as husband and wife, a lot of people who knew us in Colorado
would say different--also on national news, if not in the tabloids.
Suddenly we found ourselves faced with a problem we hadn't foreseen--and
almost as critical to our future as getting out of the line of fire from
Guiterrez and his people. We had to stay out of sight.
We huddled with Frank. "OK, Frank: How do we keep our names and faces
out of the news? We can't have that! You know why."
"Settle down, Sarah. Mike, you, too!" Frank said in an authoritative
tone. "It won't be easy, but I think I have a scheme to get this done.
Will you trust me on this?"
Sarah looked at me. I looked at Sarah. Communication passed. Slowly,
we both nodded. We'd trust Frank. Then the thought came to me, _'And why
not? You're already trusting your lives to him!'_
Frank then took the floor. "Mike and Sarah are determined that their
names and faces not appear anywhere in this," he announced. "They don't
want any publicity from this affair! They feel that, from just doing their
duty as citizens and reporting a simple fact that they knew to the
appropriate authorities, our government, through a sloppy, corrupt,
uncaring bureaucracy, has put them into mortal danger. They want it to
end. They _absolutely do not_ want the intrusions publicity would create in
their lives added to the burden our incompetent government agencies have
already heaped on them!
"Tom, I'm giving you your case, if you should ever--God forbid!--need
it. "This couple has been severely wronged by their own government, which
they, as citizens, should be able to turn to for safety! They demand that
no further wrong be done to them and that everyone's best efforts be made
to undo the existing damage.
"Sarah, is that right? Did I say what you feel?" Frank concluded.
"Very well, Frank. Thank you."
I added, "Me, too, Frank. You summarized just what I feel and haven't
been able to put into words. Thanks."
Then Frank surprised us. "I'm afraid that, even if we kick the snake in
its head in San Francisco this afternoon, the assassins he set loose up
here will continue to try to complete their contract. I'd like to set up a
couple of traps for them, yet today. Probably nothing will come of it, but
I'd like to see if we can't take care of this part of the puzzle quickly.
I'm sure Mike and Sarah want to get back to their own home, in safety,
soon."
Everyone agreed in principle with that. I expressed a reservation.
"You don't intend to set us up as targets, do you?"
With a small smile, Frank said, "No, but I'd like to use your boat in
part of it, if I may?"
Sarah, ever the practical female, asked, "Will the government be
responsible for any damage?"
Everybody, tense, needed the relief: We all laughed. Frank responded,
"I'll requisition it. Then if anything happens, we'll have to fix it."
Sarah was satisfied.
"You'll have to find out from John Magruder where she's stashed," I told
Frank.
Again he gave that tight smile. "I already know. I just wanted your
permission. We won't need keys. I have in mind putting a few of my people
on her and heading up river at speed. I think, done right, it will flush
out some of the people after you. Later this afternoon or evening, I'll
have another little trap to spring. I expect we can get a pretty good haul
today, if we're lucky."
Laughing, Sarah said, "OK, Frank. I'm impressed. There's a spare set
of keys on a nail inside the cupboard under the sink. If they use them,
your people won't have to mess up the wiring."
We all laughed again and Frank stepped outside to speak to his assistant
who was standing by in the waiting room and pass on his instructions.
~~ * * * * * ~~
Then, all we could do was wait. Busy both, Tom and Bill waited with
us. Our conversation was interesting, mostly about people and places one
or the other of us had known. But we were always alert for the phone.
Lunch was ordered in, from a deli across the street. I had a beer with my
pastrami--to calm me, more than for the food value. . . . So did Sarah.
Just as we were finishing, Norm Johnson called. He was in the DEA
office, in the same building. Could he come up? We said he'd better! And
bring the Portland guy with him. That posed a problem: the agent in charge
here had disappeared.
Norm briefed us on what the Portland office was doing in the big
roundup. He'd been detailed to run the operation, since he was a senior
agent and in Portland anyway.
OK, we knew the Portland DEA agent we'd met was bent. How did he find
out that the 'jig was up'? Obviously, there was more to be found in the
Portland office. Norm was startled. He didn't know about the crooked DEA
agents. And he didn't know we knew anything about what was going on,
except in the most general terms.
With a glance at the U.S. Attorney--after all, it was his office we
were camping in--I addressed Norm. "Perhaps--maybe even probably--it's not
your fault. But our troubles were over, until we contacted you. Then all
hell, literally, broke loose! The anonymity we demanded was shattered
immediately. We've been attacked and hounded from our home. Our lives and
our friends have been put at risk. And all because an agency of our own
government can't keep its own house clean. _Your_ agency!
"Now we find that the current effort to corral the ultimately
responsible and his people right here in Oregon, is compromised by another
leak in your agency! It's too much, Norm!"
"I can see how you'd be upset, Mike," Norm said. "We're doing the best
we can to solve this whole thing."
"That's just not good enough! Don't you see, Norm? Your attitude is,
'I'm doing my job. If this civilian gets killed... Oh well.' I can't
accept that! _And I won't!_" I said, angrily. In fact, I was coldly
furious.
Norm came back, "You could go to the police..."
"Yeah! Right! And what will _they_ do? They'll call DEA and the crook
in _your_ office will tell them it's all in our minds and they're taking
care of it and lay off. Right? Right!"
Frank interjected a note of reason, before Norm could respond in kind.
Quietly, he said, "He's right, you know, Norm. *YOU* are responsible.
*YOU* chose who would attend the meeting with these folks. *YOU* didn't
check closely enough into who knew what and where the information
went--even after you'd specifically promised that you would."
The U.S. Attorney interjected, "I know what Justice is doing. But what
are you going to do, to make this sorry mess come out right?"
Norm was boxed and he knew it. He couldn't just do his job and trust
that his agency would do its part. Gary was, in a very real sense, his
boss here in Portland. He wouldn't have a job if he continued on his
present course. He had to break out of the mold and act like the good cop
he really was. Norm's problem, he was just beginning to see, was that he
was thinking like a bureaucrat and not like a law enforcement
professional--a cop.
"OK!" he said. "I see three problems. First, I've got another mole in
the Portland office--if not more than one. So I can't trust anybody here.
I'll have to set 'canary traps', until we can clean up the Portland
operation. Second, in spite of the problems I've just talked about, I've
got to capture the people working for Guiterrez, using agents I can't
trust. Third, I've got to get the word into the drug network that Mike is
not a threat to them and any further attacks on him will just bring down
more heat than it's worth.
"I know how to do the first and the last. I'll need a bit of thought on
the second. But I'm confident that it has a solution."
With, "OK, Norm. Go do your thing. But keep me personally informed,"
the U.S. Attorney dismissed him.
Norm got out in a hurry. He had to re-organize a series of raids, while
keeping most of his staff in the dark.
~~ * * * * * ~~
We went back to waiting. Coffee and cookies were brought in. The first
local raid was conducted--results would be sent when received. Bob and Tom
asked Gary, "As attorneys of record for this couple, we want to know what
the government proposes to do for them. Obviously, just wringing hands,
like Norm, only leaves them a very short, terrified life with a violent
end."
"Frank offered Mike the witness protection program," Gary replied. "He
didn't like that option at all, but would take it as a last resort, if that
is the only choice. It may come to that. Of course, that is out if their
pictures and names hit the tabloids.
"Beyond that, I can reinforce what Norm said. We'll do everything
possible to find and eliminate everybody who has been bought by drug money.
I can and will order encoding of the files, so that names can only be
obtained from a few trusted people. That will protect against random
searches by some crooked clerk.
"Norm had a very good idea, too. I'll follow through on it through my
office and the other U.S. Attorneys around the country...."
"What's that?" Tom asked. He'd been remarkably quiet up to that point.
"We'll get the word out on the street and through the grapevine that,
while we'll nail any drug-related crime we can, we'll be the hounds of hell
if innocent bystanders are targeted, like these two were. And I can start
by making things so hot for Guiterrez, he'll leave the country, if we don't
catch and jail him first."
With that, he pressed a button on his desk. "Show you what I mean."
When his secretary came in, he said, "Got your pad? OK. I want an
immediate arrest warrant for Angelo Guiterrez, of San Francisco, for
conspiracy to murder Michael and Sandy Solderholm. When you type it up,
I'll sign it. Then get it up to Judge Browne, for his signature and FAX it
to San Francisco. Tell the judge I'll tell him all about it Monday."
Ten minutes later, when she brought the warrant in for signature, he
said, "Ask Cindy to step in, would you?"
A moment later, the door was opened by a lovely woman in her late
thirties, wearing a business suit. She was introduced as Cindy Nelson, a
senior trial deputy. The whole situation was explained to Cindy, including
the fact that we demanded zero publicity and that it was an important
demand--though not the reason for it. Cindy was told what steps had been
taken and what we anticipated. After today, the case was hers.
She was warned, strongly, that there were few she could trust outside
this room and that our names were not to appear in any notes, computer
records, or even in conversations. If she needed us, she could call Tom
and ask to meet his clients. If no name was specified, Tom would know she
meant us and would arrange it.
While Cindy was being briefed, Frank slipped back into the room. He was
introduced to Cindy and brought up to date on what we'd been doing. He
told us what he'd been doing to set up traps for the killers sent after us.
(I won't give them the dignity of being called assassins, again.) He hoped
they could capture one or more of them, but had made the traps pretty
lethal. His first order of business was that no one get away. Sarah
approved heartily and I agreed.
Our group had moved into Gary's office. A corner of the room held a
special FAX machine that used an encryption system developed by NSA. The
machine started whining and spitting out pages, which we read and passed
around as they were received. They were reports of the various raids in
San Francisco, Portland, Seattle, San Diego and elsewhere on Guiterrez'
holdings. Many of them netted substantial hauls of drugs, cash, weapons
and thugs--who were promptly jailed. So far, Guiterrez had not been seen.
The phone rang. The A.G. was on the line, personally. He was sending
us a FAX in a couple of minutes. Would we please burn it as soon as it had
been read? We would. He hung up and the FAX spit out another sheet.
A certain congressman from New Jersey was asked to contact a certain
businessman from his district. He was asked to explain to the businessman
that neither of them were in any way thought to be involved (Yeah. Sure.)
in criminal activity. But it was hoped that they could use their contacts
to pass a message. Guiterrez' unreasoning vendetta against Mike and Sandy
Soderholm, which had already cost Mrs. Soderholm her life, had brought
down government resources on his organization. This would not
cease until Guiterrez was crushed. The government wanted, badly, to smash
all criminal organizations. But that kind of uncivilized behavior against
quiet, law-abiding citizens would not be tolerated *at all* and would
result in much more heat than any organization could handle.
The A.G. felt that the message would get where it needed to go. And
that if the feds didn't get Guiterrez, he'd be found in an alley with a
bullet in his brain, with his people left to fend for themselves--and cut
off from their 'suppliers'.
As the afternoon faded into evening, the messages slowed. It had been a
good day for the DEA, in terms of publicity and amounts of drugs and cash
seized. They would create a temporary shortage in the coke and grass
supply in California, Arizona, Nevada--and even in Oregon. Guiterrez'
organization itself was badly, if not fatally. Guiterrez had not been
caught, though he was now a fugitive and his capture would be sooner rather
than later, if he was still in the country.
Finally, Frank suggested he needed to call home. We'd be spending
another night there. And maybe we should all go out to dinner? After all,
it was almost 9 P.M.
Everyone begged off, to go to their own homes. Frank had Mary meet us
at a nice, neighborhood restaurant, where we had an excellent, quiet meal
and unwound from the stresses of the day.
Exhausted from tension, we joined that night in a quick, violent
celebration of being alive and together, before we collapsed into sleep.
*Section Six*
Frank joined us at breakfast, looking sharp and alert as ever.
Disgusting! While we ate, he filled us in on events.
Norm had quietly gotten help from the phone company and put taps on all
the lines in the DEA office. He had his other pigeon cold. A middle-aged
secretary, recently divorced, had sold out. She was presently in solitary
confinement in the county jail, as a federal prisoner. Her initial
interrogation had been productive--completely broken, she was expected to
spill everything she knew. Most of the raids in the Portland area had gone
well, although only two yielded anything of significance. A lot of petty
crooks had been rounded up--most being held on outstanding warrants for
probation violation, etc. At any rate, they were all being held, for now.
Norm had a tip on the supervisor of the Portland DEA office and a team
arrested him. He wasn't talking, but Norm felt they had enough on him to
charge him for conspiracy to commit murder, along with a number of other
crimes. He'd be in the slammer for a while! (Former cops, especially
'narks', usually don't last very long in prison. Norm took some
satisfaction in this.)
The efforts in San Francisco and other parts of California had been very
successful, except that Guiterrez had not been caught. With the warrant
from Portland, he would be on 'Most Wanted' lists within a week. He
couldn't get far.
Having brought us up to speed on the 'peripheral' stuff, Frank grinned
and told us about the trap he'd set with _Sandy_.
Seems he had a couple of Portland police detectives, one a lady with
hair similar to Sarah's, on the fly bridge, pretending to be us. Inside
were two Coast Guardsmen and three Secret Service agents. One of the
'Coasties' actually ran the boat from the main helm in the salon.
Running upstream in the Columbia, they spotted the runabout I'd
described just as they passed Kelly Point, at the mouth of the Willamette.
They added power, but not enough that the runabout couldn't catch them.
When it did, one of the three in it called through a bullhorn for
_Sandy_ to stop. All three waved pistols. The Coastie cut the power
abruptly and the agents in the cabin boiled out into the cockpit and the
forward deck. Suddenly the runabout was alongside and a half-dozen machine
guns and shotguns were pointed at them. One of the druggies tried his luck
with his pistol. The lady in the fly bridge blew his brains out with a
carbine. Needless to say, the other two tough became instant
pussycats!
They were being held in solitary confinement in jails in Columbia and
Clark counties and were being closely interrogated by specialists. One
asked for a lawyer and wouldn't be questioned until he got one. But he
wouldn't get a lawyer for at least another day--let him stew!--and he'd
also be kept from much sleep and continually watched.
Frank wouldn't give us the details of his other trap, except to say that
it involved another police 'couple' masquerading as us, going into a
restaurant near our home. They picked up a guy trying to wire our car and
another staked out with a sniper rifle. Because they thought this was
local 'talent', they'd shipped them off to a federal jail in Seattle, to
keep them off balance and remove them from their home turf. All these
prisoners were being kept isolated. They would not be allowed any phone
calls. If they asked for a lawyer, one would be supplied. But their
communications would be restricted.
From preliminary interrogation reports, Frank felt he'd bagged them all
and that, for now, we were safe. Frank was pretty proud of himself. His
little traps had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. With a grin, he said
_Sandy_ had suffered a black streak on the starboard side, where the rail
of the runabout had rubbed her. But the coasties assured him they would
get it off with a little rubbing compound. And they asked that we be told
_Sandy_ needed a wax job soon. (Cocky wise guys... I loved them!) Their
point, of course, was that no harm had been done to our wonderful boat.
~~ * * * * * ~~
Our car was downtown at the Federal Building. Frank would have one of
his people drive us home in it, followed by another car. He wanted his
people to give our house a thorough check before we settled back in.
We were glad because they found that, in spite of the security system,
both of my phone lines had been tapped and there were listening devices in
several rooms--all of which were removed. There were no booby traps or
lethal devices. After thanking everybody profusely, we looked around, as
if seeing the place for the first time. I wandered into my study, to check
for urgent messages. When I came back out, Sarah was standing in the
window, staring at the river, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Coming behind her, I put my arms around her, holding her against me.
"What do you think, honey? Should we leave and find some new place, where
we can really start over again?"
She just leaned into me, affirming her need to be held. Then, turning
in my arms, she held me, too. She said, "No. Wherever we go, we take
ourselves with us. We take our problems with us. I love it here. I want
our children to be born here and to know the beauty of this place, the
freedom of the river, our wonderful friends, just as we've known it.
Tomorrow you could be run over by a truck. Or I could be stricken with
some disease. Love me today, darling Mike. What does the bible say,
'Sufficient unto the day the evil thereof...'? Let tomorrow's evil come
tomorrow. Just let's love each other today!"
I quietly held her, kissing away the tears, which fell slowly from her
eyes. "Honey, I've got to do a little work today, just to let everyone
know I'm still working on their projects. But... would you be interested
in a little trip up the river tomorrow?"
More tears, a strong hug and a sloppy, wet kiss were answer enough. If
she wasn't pregnant yet, we'd sure work on it tomorrow!
~~ * * * * * ~~
Right after lunch, Tom called and said he was FAXing over the list of
trustworthy people the senator had sent him. The reason was, one of them
would be stopping to see us shortly. We should be prudent, but could
probably trust this person.
In a half-hour, a car pulled up in front and a youngish lady got out.
When I answered the door, she identified herself as a Secret Service agent,
showing us her photo ID and saying that she understood we were friends of
Frank's. "Good acquaintances, maybe. And we owe him a lot. I don't know
that 'friend' would be appropriate," I answered.
"I know what you mean. Frank can be a crusty SOB at times," the agent
laughed. Clearly, she and Frank _were_ friends. "You know, the federal
government can't provide bodyguard service, except to Presidents and those
mandated by law. But you're a bit of a special case. So there will be
some extra security on you two. You still have to be very careful. It's
not like we can have you under observation all the time, or anything like
that. We will do all we can. And we'll check out your house, cars and
boat regularly for a while.
"Now, we're going to do some elementary police work. I want the two of
you to look at some mug shot books, to see if you recognize any of the
faces...."
_Really_ boring! Most were obvious police booking photos and didn't
show the subjects at their best, to be charitable. One looked like
a cousin I hadn't seen since I was a kid. And another looked a lot like my
dad, who died 30 years ago!
Sarah, however, struck gold. I guess her eye is sharper than mine.
Within five minutes, she exclaimed, "I've seen him!" Working hard to
remember where, she said, finally, "He was in a boat, that day we had the
picnic. Remember, Mike?" I couldn't place him, though I had placed the
boat, which led to Frank's trap. Ten minutes later, she turned another of
the boat's occupants. They were both suspected hired killers from the St.
Louis area. Her real coup, though, came an hour later, when she was
getting as bored as I was.
"Oh! I know him! He's that nice, but very persistent reporter from
_Newsweek!_" Well, he wasn't. He was Guiterrez' chief lieutenant, from San
Francisco. The first two she'd tumbled were already in custody. Now
they'd be held without bail. The other gave us the first direct link
between us and Guiterrez' organization. We felt the U.S. Attorney would
like to know about it.
Gary was interested and had us relay all the information to Cindy, who
he directed to issue a warrant for the lieutenant, just like the one for
Guiterrez.
~~ * * * * * ~~
We weren't aware of it at the time, but the noose was really tightening
around Guiterrez and his mob. Other very large drug organizations, both
within and outside the country were aware that he had really pissed off the
A.G. While in normal times, they might have been amused by that, in this
case, the results were so devastating to the organization, the message was
received loud and clear: "Don't mess with innocents. It's not polite...
And you'll lose your heads."
So contracts were let on Guiterrez and his top henchmen, on a 'dead
only' basis. For a few days, certain parts of San Francisco, Los Angeles,
Sacramento, San Diego and Los Vegas were extremely dangerous places. Every
hood with a gun was trolling to see if he could spot and 'off' one of the
guys on the list. With federal advice, local police turned to saturation
patrols of the affected areas, just to protect the citizens.
To no one's surprise, about a week later, Guiterrez was found floating
in San Diego harbor. Two of his top people had been found a day earlier in
a bloody cold-water apartment, apparently having shot each other. Forensic
experts said that wasn't possible. But they also said the crime scene was
such that they had no clues as to who might have actually killed them.
And the day after Guiterrez' body was found, the New Jersey congressman
found a discreet occasion to whisper into the A.G.'s ear that his message
had been delivered and was understood. And, to underscore the message,
though he said he had no idea what it meant, he was supposed to say, "The
guy from Colorado can sleep well." Or was that, "rest easy?"
~~ * * * * * ~~
The would-be assassins Frank's people had picked up eventually ended up
in various prisons, for other crimes. Once the FBI had good names, prints,
pictures and bullet samples from their weapons, there were several unsolved
murders they could be tried--_and convicted_--for, without getting us
involved.
Frank and Mary remain friends, though we don't see nearly as much of
them as we'd like to. Frank is a very quiet, personal man... and a very
busy one. I was once told by another consultant, who would know, that
Frank could make a million dollars a year as a private consultant, or
working for one of the big firms. But he lives modestly on his government
pay and loves what he does.
Our other new friends have remained true. We've enjoyed the fellowship
we have with them. And we're thankful to Bill for introducing us to such
compatible people, so early on in our new home.
*Epilogue*
On a warm Friday in late June, we launched _Sandy_ from Everett,
Washington. This would be our first extended boat trip with our daughter,
Michelle. She'd learned to swim and was a pretty mellow kid, who made an
effort to do anything she was told--as long as she understood why. An
unusual 2-year-old! (And a lot like her had been.) So we thought
she'd be reasonably safe, living on _Sandy_. We wanted to cruise the San
Juan Islands, since neither of us ever had and we'd seen pictures and heard
glowing reports about their beauty.
Perhaps it would have been warmer a month later, but Sarah was pregnant
again, to our great delight, and she wanted to take the trip early enough
that it wouldn't limit what she could do. (AND while she still looked
fantastic in her bikini!) She wanted to swim and walk and snorkle and play
with Michelle and all those things before she started to swell.
Over the winter, I'd had the engines in _Sandy_ overhauled. They didn't
really need it, but I wanted everything perfect. Then we'd had her
completely cleaned. New carpeting in the stateroom and salon. New
upholstery. New mattresses. New stove in the galley and a new
refrigerator, which would run on battery, generator, shore power or
propane. Last, I had a cabin heater installed, to keep us comfortable, even
if we took her out in snow or sleet.
The electronics were all upgraded, too, with radar and GPS added.
_Sandy's_ hull was solid and her top was in great shape. We liked her
and were comfortable aboard. We didn't want anything bigger, or newer,
when we could make her better than anything on the market with some
face-lifting and modernization.
Soon, we were free in the cool water of Puget Sound. This was a cruise
we'd wanted for a long time. Michelle was a constant delight. Although
she'd always been good on the boat, we'd debated bringing her along on this
trip, thinking she'd get bored and need to get rid of excess energy the
confinement of a boat can bring to a youngster. But she was enthralled by
every new vista, just as we were. And she ran and swam off the energy of
youth when we anchored in one of the hundreds of secluded coves at noon and
in the evenings.
Often, if no other boats were in sight and it was warm enough, we'd
shuck all our clothes. Michelle, too. On our third day out, I was running
my hand down Sarah's flank, when Michelle asked if we were going to climb
on each other. Sarah was shocked and I chuckled. Seems the intelligent,
inquisitive little imp was satisfying her curiosity by on our
lovemaking whenever she could. She knew all about my 'thing' going into
Sarah's 'thing' and wondered why we did it so much, when it so bad?
Gathering her onto my lap, so she could easily see where we were going,
I explained that what we were doing didn't hurt, but was really nice. It
was so nice, that sometimes we couldn't keep quiet about it and looked like
it hurt. But it didn't really. It was a way we had of showing how much we
loved each other. "Don't you love me, daddy?" Michelle asked. It was
Sarah's turn to giggle. I'd really stepped in it.
"Of course I do, honey. After your mother, there is no one I love
more."
"Why don't you make my thing feel real good, too, then?" the urchin
asked, with the perfect logic of a precocious two-year-old.
"You're still too small, honey. Your body isn't grown up enough to do
that. And what we do is just for grown-up people who are married."
"When I grow up, will you marry me, daddy? Just like you did mommy?"
she wanted to know.
I turned and Sarah's giggle turned into a full-blown belly-laugh.
Michelle turned and frowned at her mother. "Well, you were daddy's and he you. Why can't he marry me, too?" she asked, exasperated
with her parents.
We didn't know just what she really knew, what she thought and what was
misunderstanding. I told them I had to visit the head and left Sarah to
run the boat and figure things out with our daughter. Even if she were enough to engage in sex and as lovely as her mother--which it looked like
she would be--there was no way I would be the one to initiate her into the
mysteries of sex between a and a woman. I wanted, more than anything
for her, that she find a who would be her life-mate, like I was with
her and grandmother before her.
My relationship with Sarah was a result of unusual circumstances--and
Sarah is an unusual girl.
Michelle is my deeply loved daughter.
When Michelle was taking her nap, Sarah told me all about it. She'd
heard Sarah moan, "Oh, daddy. Make a baby in your little girl.' once when
we were in 'fantasy mode' and drew the right conclusions for the wrong
reasons. Once she'd gotten that out of her, Sarah had explained that what
she heard was her playing 'make believe.' We are really a and
a daddy and a little girl; not a daddy and two little girls.
Sarah had gone on to remind her about our rules: What we do in
private, between ourselves, stays between ourselves. When anyone else is
around, we always dress and close the bathroom door and so on. We were not
angry with her for peeking on us. Although we were disappointed with the
'sneaky' nature of it, we recognized her normal curiosity.
In addition, Sarah had explained to the precocious little that
making love was a wonderful thing, to be shared by a and a woman who
really love each other. But it was not something kids should do--even when
their bodies got big enough to do it. That would spoil things. It was
most wonderful with the one person she would choose to live her life with,
when she was grown up enough to choose... And daddy was already spoken
for.
Michelle had, Sarah thought, understood and accepted it all. Especially
when Sarah promised to tell her all about making love, as she got enough to understand the things Sarah had to tell her. "Maybe it's not
fair, little Mikey, but this really is one of those things you'll
understand a lot better when you get older. You can always ask questions
and I'll try to answer them, even if you might be too to understand
the answer," she'd promised.
We were up on the fly bridge and the talk had made us both horny. Since
there were no other boats anywhere in sight, we shucked our clothes and
Sarah climbed on. Sliding up into her, those marvelous gliding up
and down against my chest and face, was as good as it gets!
"Oh. OH! I can't ever get enough of that!" when I tried to inhale her
left nipple. Biting gently on its twin set her bucking and clamping on me
convulsively... Have I said that I get enormously turned on when I turn
this on?
When she calmed down, she said, "You rat! I was determined to get you
off with me. my nipples is cheating!" I didn't pay any attention.
I know she enjoys any orgasm she gets.
"If you paid a little attention to your partner, instead of cumming all
the time, maybe you could get me off," I said--teasing--otherwise an unfair
comment. "Ooooh! You just _think_ there aren't any teeth in there!" she
grinned, clamping down on me. Kissing me deeply, her clamped and
released as she started moving up and down. (I'd long before brought the
boat to dead slow.) In moments, I felt myself ready to blow, as my cock
expanded. No doubt she felt it, too, since her movements and breathing got
erratic. When I latched onto a nipple, to give it a suction job, she went
over the edge again. Moaning, her body started twitching and convulsing
around me. Keeping it up, I felt myself throbbing, then spurting deep into
her. By then, my love was screaming in ecstasy, as she wailed out her
climax.
Then she collapsed against me and I heard, *_"Mooommmyyy!_ Daaaaddddyy!*
What's the matter?!" from a frightened little girl.
I just called, "Everything is just wonderful, honey. Nobody's at
all. Why don't you come up here with us? You can finish your nap on the
lounge if you want."
In seconds, a little body joined ours in a loving embrace. If
she noticed that Sarah was still plugged in, she didn't say anything about
it, but curled up in her little blanket and went back to sleep--happy to be
near us. Since I hadn't completely 'wilted', Sarah gave me a sly grin and
started 'milking' on my cock again. Normally, I'm doing very well if I can
get it up twice in a 24-hour period. This time, I was so turned on by the
time, the place, our sleeping just behind us, that I stiffened
right up. Of course, Sarah didn't dare scream again, so I took an unfair
advantage and started really working on her nipples. She started writhing,
then bucking again, while biting her lip and finally grabbing a life jacket
and biting down on the collar, to muffle her scream.
When I heard, "Why are you biting that, mommy?" I snorted and laughed
right through my orgasm. So did Sarah. Something about 'best laid plans'
and all that.
"Come here, honey," Sarah said to Michelle. When the little came
beside us, I picked her up and held her, right between us. "We love you,
Michelle. And when you have a little or sister, we'll love him,
too. We hope you grow up loving us and him just as much as we do."
We did. And Michelle did, too. But that's another story.
~~ END ~~
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