


SARAH


The Star


















(c) 1997  Extar International, Ltd.  All rights reserved.  Single copies for personal, non-commercial use may be downloaded or printed.  Any other uses must have prior permission from Extar International.   <extar@hotmail.com>

SARAH
The Star



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 guard rail 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, and could only manage 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 which gripped me, I groaned and tried to move.  A smooth, cool hand stroked to my forehead, and a familiar, loved voice said, "Don't move, Dad.  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, dad," came Sarah's voice.  "You're in the hospital.  You've been hurt 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, dad. . . ."  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 soon 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 man 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 red, 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 split ends, and tendrils going everywhere.  Generally a mess.  Something was more important than appearance, so it must have been important, indeed.  Still, she was 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, when 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 wife 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 had 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 had finished his explanation, untied me, and answered all my questions, including that I could leave in another couple of days, Sarah and I just looked at each other, then fell into each other's arms and wept.

It had happened so fast, I still didn't remember much about the accident-except the rental truck which appeared out of nowhere and ran me right through the guard rail.  Sarah said the police had some ideas but hadn't gotten anywhere finding out who was responsible.  

Three days later, whole but with my lower left leg still 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 man 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 said 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 have 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 old 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'd 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, comfortable, cozy in fact, 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 parents 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 to Stanford, Sandy followed me there on a basketball scholarship.  We were married 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 which resulted in her tubes and one ovary being completely ruined.  Sarah would be our only child.
Having a wife and child, though a distraction, proved a stabilizing force during the remainder of my college experience.  My 'social life' was much more structured, 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?)

Growing up, Sarah was a very 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'd 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, 28 feet long and 91/2 feet in the beam, with twin diesels.  The cockpit isn't too 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 had 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, although 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 from the park carried out to us faintly.  Finally I asked, "Honey, why have your dates been such 'downers'?  Are you having problems with the guys 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 'BSer'.  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 guys 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 old 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 father 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 mom, and you both encouraged me to make friends-especially to learn to get along with boys."
Yes, we had.  And she surely kept the boys happy.  They were all coming 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 man 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 hurt 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 old man' thoughts.
Cutting into my confusion, Sarah said, "I think it's time I started 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 had 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 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, and her panties 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 so 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 breast and hip.  Her breasts 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 sucked 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 young man <sigh>, I've subscribed to the slogan, 'I'm as good a man 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, drawing 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 men 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 breasts 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 sucking 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 thought I'd gone to heaven.  I've never felt like that.  And to think that the man I've always loved took me there!  I feel soooo good, I have to cry." 
My heart soared with that.  And, though I'd definitely call what we'd been doing 'making love', we still hadn't completed our joining.  That would only happen when I'd penetrated her.
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 boys 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?  Mike, you know there's lots of ways to keep a boy happy without fucking.  Hands, mouth, occasionally ass, even tits once.  My pussy was saved for the man I love.  Any who didn't like it, I told them I wasn't on the pill and didn't want to get pregnant.  That usually solved things, especially since I didn't send them home with blue balls.  
"So, lover, what do I do?"
When I just stared, Sarah giggled and said, "Close your mouth, 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 hole, 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, then moving more 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 breasts, and sucked 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 sucked 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.
Since her breathing was OK, I wasn't too concerned, and just held her there on top of me, her tight little pussy clamped down on my rapidly softening cock.  She was giving me enough little 'aftershock' grabs with her vagina 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'll tell her about what being in love with an old man means tomorrow.  For tonight, I just want 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 cheating her out of the companionship of a man 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 old 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 pussy 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.  Wow!  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 stretch of river though, where we were the only thing on the water for miles, and the highway 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 breasts 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 pussy milking every drop from me.  Twice in a morning!  New record for an old man like me.

~~  * * * *  ~~

After a bit, the sun got too hot, so we went to the main control station in the salon, where it's air conditioned.  I ran the boat while Sarah took a shower, then we switched.  We were just 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 cheating you, my darling?  Cheating 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 married 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 married properly, though."

In The Dalles, we pulled in to the municipal landing, tied up, locked up, and went ashore.  Sarah attracted her share of lustful stares from the men on the street.  A tall, stacked blonde 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 which 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 which was just healing.
Hand in hand, we strolled around, looking in a couple of shops, stopping for a few groceries which we didn't really need, but Sarah thought might be nice.  Back at the moorage, we decided to just stay the night.  We inquired, and 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 the boat 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 it, coming to a dead stop just before the stern touched the planking.  I'd 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 was starting 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, if she could, in about two hours on the boat.
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 man 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 just kissed her eyes, then her lips, tenderly, 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 old news and out of the papers.  Then we left right away.  I never even looked at 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 guys goofed, when I told them you'd never had anything to do with anything like that."
"But Sarah . . . I did. . . ." I said.  ". . . 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 crooked 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 local news stations.  I'm a big star!  A half minute on two different local 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.  Mom 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.  You silly man!  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, love.  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 girl, 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 love.
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 old 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 Old 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 which 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 set out the fly bridge lounge into a double bed.  Our only light was the reflection from 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 any 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'd meant to-the noise woke Sarah.
This lovely, tousled blonde 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.
In the salon, Sarah started breakfast.  Since we'd both had an energetic day and night, she decided we needed more calories than our usual toast and coffee.  This morning, the first of our marriage, 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, unabashed.

After we'd cleaned up from breakfast, 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 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.  Wow!  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.
I'd intended to help my daughter straighten out some problems, when we left.  I came home with a wife who loved me as much as I loved her.  

Section Three

As soon as we got home, Sarah started doing 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 problem with it. 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 having not returned from the long weekend yet.
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 would 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 see."  I teased.  "Just as rapidly as possible, love.  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 mom and I talked about this-having babies-your babies-just a few months ago?"  My look of utter incomprehension made her giggle.  "Yeah.  Mom 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.  Mom 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 satisfaction of all the members of her family, herself definitely included.
"Thank you, dear, for telling me that.  It's like your mom 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 groaning, thrilled, 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.

~~  *  *  *  *  *  ~~

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 we wouldn't fit.  Then she spotted 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 which 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 which particularly impressed her.  She made a point of getting references to professional people, too.  "Who is the best family 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 which was on the top of her list.  I confess I wasn't too impressed.  The building was lovely, but the congregation was small, the sermon was 'social gospel', and I was the youngest man 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 about this, since we'd never been the 'country club' type-usually having just a quiet family evening on Fridays, except Sarah, who dated until she graduated from college.  Occasionally we'd go to a friend's for dinner, or have someone over.  Even more rarely, we'd go out for dinner and dancing.  And that was me and Sandy.  Sarah was nervous that she wouldn't dress right, or behave properly.
I just grinned at her, told her to put on any nice summer dress-the one she'd been married 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 truly 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 old 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 had come 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-and when Bill's practice was able to support them.  Gloria had 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 farm 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, just because he loved boats.
And the youngest couple was Mark and Melodie McGuire, a very nice, though serious, young couple just getting established.  Mark was a dentist, and Melodie was another school teacher.  They had gotten to know 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 wife had died in an accident, and Sarah, a long-time neighbor, had helped me with 'arrangements' and so on.  One thing had led to another-she'd had a crush on me since she was a little girl, it seems-and we'd found I loved her, too.  Married recently, we'd 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 at all 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 hurt, 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 family 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 had a 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 combo started playing, for dancing.  They played 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 a bit later.  
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, too.
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.  Great fun!
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 be taking charge where she knew I didn't have any objection.  She knows Sandy made most of the social decisions-unless it was for 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 a lot of 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 and headed for home.  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, and just curled up to my chest, her marvelous breasts 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 panting, "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 old coot like me."
" 'Old Coot', indeed!  You're pretty awesome as a lover, you know?  Tonight has been such a special evening, meeting so many new friends, then making babies with my handsome daddy-why, what girl wouldn't try for seconds if she thought there was a chance?
"You know, 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, as 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 mother 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.  But you, most of all.  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 I smelled 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 older 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 girls 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 a hard 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 girls stow it all.  Can I help you pack your towels, suits, sunscreen 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 girls changed into swim suits.  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 sweat shirt.  (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 girls 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 married before.  His wife 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 for love of 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 off-beat desires.  Neither of them were 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 living in southern California, going downhill fast.
They'd never had any children-Mike's wife 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 parents, and was trusted by girls and parents 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, all together, and had finally obtained a partial college 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 had divorced his wife while she 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 which, obviously, no longer had a woman caring for it.  So she asked, and kept asking, until she had the whole story 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 just 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 talk, by this point, was all centered on, "Could we make it as man 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, but she didn't sleep around, either.  After baring their hearts and souls to each other, they decided, together, that, yes, they could make it.  That day, Mike bought an engagement ring.  He was sitting next to her parents when she graduated two months later. A week after that, they were married 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 wife 'by acclimation', 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 pleasantly 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 . . . .  [In fact, 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 girl 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 take in.  And we could tell she was thrilled to have another intergenerational couple, with values so closely in tune with theirs, that they could become friends with.  We were too.
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 for our visit.
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 in Sarah that a lot of couples in the community didn't get along well with them.  Either they were too old, and considered Tammi superfluous; or the guys 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 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 which separated our homes.  It wasn't 'nothing.'  And we appreciated it!


~~  *  *  *  *  *  ~~

Monday morning, Norm Johnson called.  He was in Portland, and wondered if he could come see us.  Sure.  He'd be welcome, and 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 guys can do that better than I.  All I did was find some anomalies which 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 natural targets of theirs.  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 guys 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.  We lost a wife and mother.  What have you lost?  Don't you dare put us in any more danger or risk!"
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 on us-we'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 which 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, since he needed serious marketing help, and I'd have had to involve Sarah, anyway.  And the client and his wife 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 Sarah and me, 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 at once that it was the only way he could accomplish what he needed, without defaulting on his obligations.
When his wife 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.
Stopping at the office to pay the quarterly moorage fee, Marie, the marina manager, said someone had been asking for me, a couple of weeks before.  She didn't know who, 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 assurances from you people about our anonymity are worth!" and slammed the phone in his ear.
We 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.  Asked if she should call the fire department, I asked her not to-just let the authorities handle it.
Back home, I called Bill, asking him to drop everything and come see us-bringing his partner if he could.  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 get Sarah!
Bill and his partner, Tom, who is a bit older 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 me and Sarah.  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 which 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, Inspector Generals, 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-hit men-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 wife and him-and they stay the night with us?  He ruined their 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 these people who we respected taking the threat to us that seriously, shook us more than we realized.  For example, 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 wife, 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 on the second.  "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 on a bill which 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."
"But, senator, you can and must maintain your integrity.  If the federal government, by laziness, sloppiness, greed, fear, bribery, 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 increased violence against peaceful citizens, 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.  And here are Mike and Sarah's 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.  OK.  You're right.  I sometimes get so tied up in the politics of everything, I forget the practical, 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 next 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 my integrity."
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 wife 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 our house for 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 guys watched football, drank beer, and nibbled on Tammi's snacks.  (The girl just can't stand it if people don't have a snack if they want one.)  The girls 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 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 a good cook in her own right.
After dinner, 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, too, aren't you?"
Sarah turned bright red, and didn't say a word-she couldn't.  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 question.  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 want to get to be better friends with you.  We don't really care what your backgrounds are, as long as you're faithful and true friends to us.  And 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 listened and digested what I'd said.  Finally, it cleared, and she said brightly, "OK.  If that's what you want.  But I want the truth sometime when we're all old and gray!"  Mike and I laughed long at that.  She'd meant it seriously, but we were both already grayer than we'd like to be.  "Oh, knock it off, you old 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 daddy.  And when he got divorced after I became an adult, it let me fulfill a childhood fantasy.  The poor man didn't have a chance.  I'd have seduced 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, love!  Want to take a boat ride?"  The response was immediate and enthusiastic.  In half an hour we were stowing provisions and laundry on Sandy-I'd checked everywhere I could for explosives or anything else which 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 cares and 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 fly 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 our way 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 the shore, by a rock ledge, and we ran our lines to trees ashore.  We were completely hidden 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 which 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 too frightened if I started carrying weapons?" I asked Sarah.
"Never thought you'd ask," she said, catching me by surprise.  "Your pistol is in the box by the main helm.  Your carbine is under the lounge on the fly bridge.  My pistol is in the bread box.  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 father of my babies!"
Grinning back, I gave her a big hug.  "That's my girl!" I said.

We'd achieved 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 messages which might have been about us.  Somebody was looking for something, that much 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'd 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 girl on!

~~  *  *  *  *  *  ~~

After a light breakfast, we decided to drop over to Rainier, just to stretch our legs a bit.  It's a neat little old 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're not at all a protector of the people, are you?  Tell you how it's going to be.  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.  And I'll sign charges against you, myself, with your sheriff, who happens to be a man 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 else, 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.
Within five minutes, Tom's car came skidding into the moorage parking lot.  He popped open a door and hollered, "Hop in!"  As soon 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.  All three 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 agent from Portland.  
"The request to locate you came from him.  I can only assume he is trying to locate 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 somebody in his organization is frightened.  Now they've messed it up more, because too many people know the score.  What were those four people inside the feds worth to them?  A 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 horseshit, 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 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 my wife, 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 sister 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 two 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 Columbia City?-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.  So, in this case, I'll just tell them what I want done, and have them do it. For 'rent-a-cops' they're 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 shirt 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 TV, 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 stories 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 family or his personal foibles or even immoralities.
"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 wife 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 just as I was getting ready to suck 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 building.  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 our 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 man 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.  Since the agencies involved in placing us in our predicament were all part of the Department of Justice, Frank, being Treasury, could stay impartial.  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 of 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 even 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 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.  Your 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 hurt 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 given the details on what had been happening since we talked with the senator.  After his private, but pointed talk with the A.G., the A.G. had held a long conversation with the Justice Department's Inspector General.  A dozen men 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 men 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 enormous 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 day, the message being sent to the drug trafficers would be 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 a man you've just met enough to follow me blindly?"
Sarah looked at me.  I looked at Sarah.  Communication passed.  Slowly, we both nodded.  We'd trust Frank on this.  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 national publicity would create in their lives added to the burden our incompetent government agencies have already heaped on them!
"Bill, 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's 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, that 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 men 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 who was 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 man 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 at heart.  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' for everybody here, until we can clean up the 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, will you?" 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 tomorrow."
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 'hit men' 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.
A corner of the room held a special FAX machine which 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, 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 enormous 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 to 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 waned 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-and even in Oregon. Guiterrez' organization itself was hurt badly, if not fatally. Guiterrez had not been caught, though he was now a fugitive, and was expected to be caught soon, 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, wanting 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 gone well, and 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 had arrested him.  He wasn't talking, but Norm felt they had enough on him to charge him as an accessory to attempted murder, along with a good number of other crimes. He'd be in the slammer for a while!
The efforts in San Francisco, and other parts of California had gone really well, 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, with a grin, Frank told us about the trap he'd set with Sandy.
Seems he'd had a couple of Portland police detectives, one 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, 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 up.  When the runabout caught up, one of the three guys in it called through a bull horn for them to stop.  All three waved pistols at them, as they did.  The coastie cut the power sharply, 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 guys 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 had 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 folks to give our house a thorough check before we settled back in.
We were glad of that 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, sweetheart?  Should we leave here, 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, darling.  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 log truck.  Or I could be stricken with some disease.  Love me today, darling.  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 will 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 picture looked like a cousin I hadn't seen since I was a kid.  And another looked a lot like my dad, who died 40 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 hit men 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 couple of 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.
Sure enough.  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 hit men 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 quarter 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 obey anything she was told-as long as she understood why.  An unusual 2-year-old!  (And a lot like her mother had been.)  So we thought she'd be reasonably safe, living on Sarah. We wanted to cruise the San Juan Islands, since neither of us ever had, and we'd seen 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.  She wanted to swim, and walk, and snorkle, and play with Michelle, and all those things before she started to swell up.
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, and a radar 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 delight to have along.  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 of an evening.
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 spying 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 hurt 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 red, and Sarah's giggle turned into a full-blown belly-laugh.  Michelle turned and frowned at her mother.  "Well, you were daddy's girl, and he married 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 old 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 man and a woman.  I wanted, more than anything for her, that she find a man who would be her life-mate, like I was with her mother, 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 parents playing 'make believe.'  We are really a mommy and a daddy and a little girl; not a daddy and two little girls.
Sarah had gone on to remind her about our family 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 not happy with the 'sneaky' nature of it, we recognized her normal curiosity.
Further, Sarah had explained to the precocious little girl that making love was a wonderful thing, to be shared by a man 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 old 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 young 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 breasts 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 girl on?  
When she calmed down, she said, "You rat!  I was determined to get you off with me.  Sucking my nipples is cheating!"  I didn't pay any attention.  I know she enjoys any orgasm she gets, if I give it to her.
"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 vagina 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!  Daddy!  Are you hurt?  What's the matter?!" from a frightened little girl.
I just called, "Everything is just wonderful, honey.  Nobody's hurt 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 family 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 daughter sleeping just behind us, that I hardened 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 girl came beside us, I picked her up and held her, right between us.  "We love you, Michelle.  And when you have a little brother 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  ~~

(c) 1997  Extar International, Ltd.  All rights reserved.  Single copies for personal, non-commercial use may be downloaded or printed.  Any other uses must have prior permission from Extar International.  <extar@hotmail.com>
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