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Message-ID: <29371asstr$984528605@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "The Star" <extar@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Sarah RP, REV (MF, inc, cons, rom)
Date: Tue, 13 Mar 2001 19:10:05 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


Here's the next one.
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<1st attachment, "Sarah RP, REV (MF, inc, cons, rom).txt" begin>

					SARAH
					By The Star

(c) 1997, 2001  Extar International, Ltd. All rights reserved. Single copies 
for personal, non-commercial use may be downloaded or printed. Any other 
uses, including reposting, or posting on an archive site, must have prior 
permission from Extar International. Comments always welcome.  
<extar@hotmail.com>




Isn't it odd, how terror can strike in the middle of a wonderful, sunny day?

We were coming home from church, that Sunday in June. Heading for our home 
in the foothills of the Rockies, outside Golden, Colorado. As I recall, 
Sandy was commenting, in her wry way, about the soprano solo inflicted on us 
by the worst singer (but biggest ego) in our church choir. Rounding a sharp 
curve, on the cliff-side road, we were suddenly forced through the guardrail 
by a large van--a Ryder or U-haul, I can't remember which.

One moment serenely chatting--the next, rolling end-over-end, down a steep 
bank towards the tiny stream below.


There was darkness and pain. I tried to move and could not. I tried to cry 
out--but the best I could manage was a small moan.

My mouth was so dry, it was painful. Everywhere was pain. As I tried again 
to move, the pain rolled over me . . . carrying me with it . . . somewhere.


Later, a blurred image of movement and voices. And a bright light shining in 
each eye.


Fighting awake from the nightmare that gripped me, I groaned and tried to 
move. A smooth, cool hand stroked my forehead and a familiar, loved voice 
said, "Don't move, Daddy.  It's OK. I'm here."

Sarah?

_Where am I?  What is going on?  Why can't I move?  *Why do I hurt!?*_
_*WHERE IS SANDY?*_


When I woke next, the pain was manageable. Slowly opening my eyes in a dim 
room, I recognized the sterile 'warmth' of a hospital room. My eyes slowly 
tracked around the ceiling. Since that wasn't very informative, I tried to 
see what else I could discover. When my head moved, it felt like a drill had 
just tried to penetrate my skull from the rear. An involuntary moan escaped 
my lips.
Through the pain, I heard a rustle of movement in the room, then felt a hand 
grasp mine as another hand reached the call button by my pillow.

"Sandy?" I tried to ask. Just a croak came out.

"Relax, daddy," came Sarah's voice. "You're in the hospital. You've been 
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, daddy...." As her voice faded with my 
consciousness, I thought I felt a tear strike my cheek....


*HUNGRY!* Steak and eggs, with hash browns and a large jug of coffee...!
This time when I woke, my eyes opened normally and the pain was background 
noise. Looking around the room, I saw that it was kept dim by the opaque 
shades at the windows, but that the day outside was probably pretty sunny. 
Sarah was asleep on the other bed in the room.

When I tried to move my hands, I found that they were lightly bound to the 
railings of the bed. The reason was obvious--there were tubes in both arms.
Licking my lips, I tried to speak. At first, a croak was all I could manage. 
I swallowed, licked my lips and tried again. "Sarah?" I whispered.  Again.  
"Sarah!"  With all the force I could muster behind it, it came out a quiet, 
raspy whisper. But she heard.

Rolling toward me, she got to her feet and pressed the call button at once.
"What does a 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 incredibly beautiful and I loved her so much it hurt. The only woman 
in my life, besides Sandy.

"Looks like you've been here a while, honey," I remarked.

"Most of three weeks, daddy," she said, quietly.

"Where's Sandy?" I asked.

This started a fresh flood of tears.

"She's gone, daddy," Sarah sobbed.

With mounting anxiety I asked, "What do you mean, 'gone'?"

"Momma died in the wreck, daddy. She's gone."

I lurched against my restraints and wailed inconsolably. _*Sandy*! My love. 
My life. My partner. My helper and other--truly 'better'--half. How could 
she be *gone*?  Why wasn't *I* dead, instead? *Oh, SANDY!  Why wasn't it 
ME*?_


As I was starting to calm down, the doctor appeared. He wanted to give me a 
sedative, but I refused it. He was going to do it anyway, until I got angry 
and reminded him that it was MY body, not his, damnit! and as long as I was 
capable of deciding, the decisions about what would happen to it were mine!

"Wouldn't you be upset if you learned your 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 deployed, but that hadn't protected her on the third roll. They 
thought she'd died then. She hadn't lain there, in the car, in pain and fear 
anyway.

When the doctor finished his explanation, untied me and answered all my 
questions, including that I could leave in a couple of days, Sarah and I 
just looked at each other, then fell into each other's arms and wept.


It happened so fast, I still didn't remember much about the accident--except 
the rental truck that appeared out of nowhere and ran me right through the 
guardrail. Sarah said the police had some ideas but hadn't made any progress 
towards finding out who was responsible.


Three days later, whole but with my lower left leg in a 'walking cast', 
Sarah took me home.

I couldn't stand it. After the first night, I insisted that Sarah check us 
into a motel. Everywhere I looked, all I could see was Sandy. _I just 
couldn't handle it._ It's really disgusting for a grown 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 insisted she'd come along. When I expressed the 
thought that maybe it was stupid for her to abandon her job; she said she'd 
done that as soon as she heard I was hurt. The only 'family' either of us 
has anyway, is the other--we love each other very much. So, why not?  She 
said she'd be miserable if I left her and moved so far away.

While I arranged with a realtor to sell the house, Sarah arranged with a 
moving company to pack and ship everything.

As soon as the cast was off, we hit the road.


After the Rockies, we decided we wanted water. We wanted a view and we 
wanted to be able to have a boat nearby. We started looking in the Seattle 
area, but couldn't find what we wanted. The ocean shore in Oregon and 
Washington is spectacular, but VERY wet! So we thought we'd try Portland, 
since Puget Sound seemed too wet and too crowded, too.

A bit north of Portland, we found our home in a lovely 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 heard about Sandy.)

Meanwhile, Sarah was making a _home_ for us. As soon as the moving van 
arrived and was unpacked, she set off to get new furniture, draperies and 
everything else a home needs, to fill in the blank spots. Money wasn't a 
problem, as the house in Golden had sold-home prices there are generally 
higher than in Oregon-and we had Sandy's life insurance money, too. Besides, 
I do well enough and am able to charge really outrageous rates for my time.

In a remarkably short time, Sarah had our house warm, cozy and feeling like 
home!


					~~ * * * * ~~


Maybe this would be a good time to tell you a bit about us. I'm Mike. Sandy 
and I had been high school sweethearts. I could never see why she chose me, 
though I've always been thankful. Somehow, she seemed to know we were 'a 
couple' long before I did. We'd 'hit it off' and were soon inseparable. As 
icing on the cake, my 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, Sandy followed me to Stanford 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 that resulted in her 
tubes and one ovary being completely ruined... Sarah would be our only 
child.

Having a wife and baby, though a distraction, proved a stabilizing force 
during the remainder of my college experience. My 'social life' was limited, 
though my love life couldn't have been better. I had time and plenty of 
motivation to hit the books hard.

I didn't graduate _cum laude_, like Sandy, but my grades were plenty good 
enough when I went back for an MBA after my three years in the Marines. (We 
all did that, then. Remember the draft?)


Sarah was an easy child to raise. She has a sweet spirit, tries to please, 
but quietly goes her own way. Basically, she raised herself--and probably 
did a better job of it than I could have.

In appearance, she's almost a photograph of Sandy. In fact, pictures of the 
two of them as children are often hard to tell apart, unless there's a date 
on them, or other people can be recognized to place date and time. Grown up, 
the main difference is Sarah's a honey blonde, rather than Sandy's platinum. 
For sports, Sarah is more into individual events like golf and tennis, than 
team activities.

Although she dated, Sarah has never had a real 'boyfriend'. She's had 
several who would like to have been and she's always kept them coming back 
for more, but somehow she never met one who could turn her away from her own 
goals and directions. After college, she moved back home.

When we moved to Oregon, there was no one left behind for either of us.


					~~  * * * *  ~~


We spent a little time on the weekends hanging around the marinas near our 
home. By the 4th of July, we'd pretty much decided we wanted our own boat. 
(The insurance company had just paid off the car, which was totaled in the 
wreck.) And we didn't want just any boat, we wanted something we could 
cruise on, even live aboard for a few days at a time, yet would be 
'trailerable'--barely.

That long weekend, we spent our time looking at boats and yachts. We finally 
found just what we wanted. It's a hard-top cruiser, 30 feet long and 9 1/2 
feet in the beam, with twin diesels. The cockpit isn't very big, but has 
plenty of room for two to fish. The main salon is spacious, with a nice 
galley and room to entertain in comfort. There is a wonderful stateroom, 
with a comfortable double berth in the bow. And the fly-bridge is very nice, 
since it takes up the whole roof of the salon--with not only seats for the 
helm and a passenger, but a lounge for other passengers.

A trailer came with it. Perfect! (Of course, I'd need a heavy pickup or van 
to tow this rig, but being able to move it to Puget Sound without running in 
the ocean was worth it.)


					~~  * * * *  ~~


Meanwhile, my life settled down. I was back to work, conferring with clients 
by phone, FAX and modem; occasionally visiting them.

Sarah was very domestic. She puttered about the house, trying to get 
everything just the way she thought I wanted it. (She didn't understand that 
I didn't care, as long as she was happy.)  She prepared our meals and did 
the cleaning and shopping.

And, though she was scrupulous about staying out of my sight and hearing 
when I was working, she was always there when I wasn't.

I won't say I didn't enjoy the attention--but I became concerned. It didn't 
seem that she was doing anything about getting a job, or finding friends of 
her own. When I asked her about it, she just laughed, threw her arms around 
my neck and gave me a big kiss. "Daddy, I just love you for thinking of me!  
But I'm perfectly happy, just as things are. I'm OK. Don't worry about me!"

This was all fine, but she needed some friends her own age. I finally 
persuaded her to start dating; but when she did, she'd come home 'down.' 
After the fourth or fifth time she came home early, with a long face, I 
resolved to have a 'long talk' with her. The opportunity came soon, on Labor 
Day weekend.

We'd agreed to take the boat, which we'd unanimously decided to christen 
_Sandy_, up the river at least to Wishram and farther, if we had time. We 
made Stevenson just at dusk and anchored off the park there.

After a simple dinner-she cooked, I washed up--I poured white wine for both 
of us and asked her to join me on the bridge lounge. It was a wonderful late 
summer evening; very warm, with just enough breeze to keep the mosquitoes 
home. I was in shorts and Sarah in shorts and halter.

Sitting on the lounge, Sarah snuggled against me, placing my arm around her, 
hand on her flat, athlete's tummy, as was our custom.

For a time, we sipped our wine slowly and soaked in the tranquillity of the 
river and the beauty of the upper Columbia Gorge. Music from a radio in the 
park carried out to us faintly. Finally I asked, "Honey, why have your dates 
been such 'downers'? Are you having problems with the 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 'BS-er'. You know better."

Turning in my arm, looking intently at me in the soft glow of the shore 
lights, she quietly said, "Aren't you happy?  Aren't we doing OK?  I'm OK. 
Shall we leave it at that?"

"You're not telling me everything, honey. There's more. What is it?"

"Do you REALLY want to know, dad?  Are you *SURE*?" she asked.

"Yeah, I do. I am. If it concerns you, I need to know."  There was no 
question in my mind about this.

"OK. But remember, you asked for it. . . .

"The reason," she said, very deliberately, "I don't have fun with those guys 
is that I won't do anything with them. I can't even kiss them good night. 
They don't take it very well when I want to come right home after the dinner 
or movie."

"And what's the problem, dear? You used to have fun on your dates and left 
everybody happy, as I recall."

"The problem, darling daddy, is that they aren't _you_," she said, watching 
me intently.

When my brain caught up with what my ears had heard, my hand involuntarily 
clutched her tummy, causing her to gasp and giggle. My eyebrow went up, in 
question. She caught it and answered, "Yes. I've chosen my man. I went out 
with those 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 all came back for 
more, even though she never had a 'steady' that I could recall. I remember 
Sandy and I talking about it and hoping she was diligent in using birth 
control. She _had_ to have been screwing them to keep so many so happy.

"So I dated and was 'popular' and learned how to please a man. But always, 
there was only one 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 start calling 
you 'Mike', don't you?"

For some reason, that broke through, for me. And it broke me up, too. I 
started chuckling. Then laughing. That turned into a guffaw and belly-laugh. 
This went on for some time. I saw that I was ending my grieving and Sandy 
and I were parting happy, with this.

Catching the humor of her remark, Sarah chuckled, too, but she was starting 
to look at me with alarm when I finally began to calm down.

"It's OK, honey." I said. "Sure, call me 'Mike,' if you're more comfortable 
with that.... I really _like_ the way you call me 'daddy', though." I ended 
on a wistful note.

"But I can't call you 'daddy' if I'm your wife, can I?" she asked, in a 
practical though playful tone.

Sandbagged again. "Huh?" I responded, alertly.

Scooting over, so she was sitting in my lap, an arm around my neck, Sarah 
looked me in the eye and asked, "Is there some other woman you'd rather 
have?"
What had started with the laugh completed itself in my heart. "Put that way 
. . . no, honey. There is no other woman I'd rather have."

With a sigh, she relaxed against me, in my arms. Just like she had many 
times before. Except this was not my little girl. Now, she was my _woman._

Caught up in the wonder of it all, I held her near, then kissed her 
tenderly. When her kiss turned from tender love to beginning passion, she 
broke it off, rose and pulled me to my feet. "Bed time, I think," she said, 
leading me to the ladder.

As soon as she was inside the salon, her halter disappeared, shorts 
following. Her 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 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've _never_ felt like that. I thought I'd gone 
to heaven. And to think that the man I've always loved took me there! I feel 
soooo _good_, I _have_ to cry."

My heart soared. And, though I'd definitely call what we'd been doing 
'making love', we still hadn't completed our joining.

After we'd cuddled and caressed and loved each other, Sarah started 
intensifying the action. Her caresses became more demanding and her kisses 
more passionate. Soon I was ready and so was she. "How do you want to do 
this?" she asked.

"For the first time, why don't you get on top? That way, you can be in 
control. It might be best for you."

"OK, what do I do?"

"Huh?"  I was really brilliant that night.

"What do I do?"

"But I thought you...?" I said. "All those 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? Daddy, you know 
there's lots of ways to keep a guy happy without fucking. Hands, mouth, 
occasionally ass. My pussy was saved for the man I love. Any who didn't like 
it, I told them I didn't want to get pregnant. If that didn't solve things, 
I'd demand to be taken home. I can handle the 'situations'--and never went 
out with anybody who might try to push me around..." A big grin.

"So, lover, what do I do?"

When I just stared, Sarah giggled and said, "Close your mouth, daddy dear 
and tell me what you want me to do. _Please?_"

Steering her to a kneeling position astride my hips, I moved the head of my 
cock up and down her slit, to make sure everything was lubricated. It sure 
was. Then I suggested that she put the end into her opening and sit on 
it--slowly.
Feeling me penetrate her for the first time, her face was again lit by that 
big grin. A tiny frown of concentration and bite on her lower lip as her 
maidenhead was torn, then the grin was back when she realized she was fully 
impaled on the cock she'd long dreamed of possessing.

I just watched in wonder and awe. Her spectacular beauty and her joy in that 
moment almost made _me_ cry for joy. For a few minutes, she just enjoyed the 
feeling of being filled, shifting slightly, to experience all the new 
sensations her body was sending her. Then she looked at my face, recognized 
the joy there matching her own and leaned forward to kiss me 
deeply--_possessively_.

Placing her hands by my shoulders, she began rocking, moving up and down; 
sliding almost off me, then back down to maximum penetration. Soon the tempo 
increased and I started to meet her thrusts. When she speeded up even more, 
I grasped one of those marvelous 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.

Once I was satisfied that her breathing was OK, I wasn't too concerned, and 
just held her there on top of me, her tight little 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'd tell her about what being 
in love with an old man means tomorrow. For tonight, I just wanted to share 
her joy.



					*Section Two*


In the morning I awoke feeling more rested, more at peace, than at any time 
since the accident. Memories of the night before cascaded into my waking 
awareness. I examined them and my feelings about them. Was I unhappy or 
upset that I'd taken my only daughter's virginity?  Not in the least. Did I 
feel guilty about anything we'd done? I did not. Was I having difficulty 
with Sarah's stated intention to be my wife-hmm?  That one needed some 
thought.
My only reservation, when I thought it through, was that I might be 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.

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 Interstate was a good two miles away. Sarah skinned 
off her suit and yanked mine down, too. Then she climbed on my lap and 
plugged in. I thought she'd be sore, but she grinned and said she was making 
up for lost time. Sitting on me that way, her nipples were just at the right 
level for me to nibble them. They looked so tasty, I couldn't resist... Not 
that I tried to. Those lovely 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 this old man.


					~~  * * * *  ~~


After a bit, the sun got too hot, so we went to the main helm in the salon, 
where it's air-conditioned. I ran the boat while Sarah took a shower, then 
we switched. We were both too hot and sweaty and wanted to be comfortable.

Cruising up the river, I talked to her about my concerns that I was cheating 
her.  She *laughed*._ "You're so serious about it, Mike. Don't you think 
I've considered all of this?  I've been thinking about nothing else for 
years, remember?  _I love you!_  That's all that matters. After I've had 
four or six of your babies, maybe we'll start worrying about wearing you 
out. Am I 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."


We pulled in to the municipal landing, in The Dalles, tied up, locked up and 
went ashore. Sarah attracted her share of lustful stares from the 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 that Sarah thought was absolutely 
perfect. So I bought them and had them sized on the spot. Then I put the 
engagement ring on her hand.

As soon as we were out of the store, she asked, "Why not give me the other 
one to put on, too?"

"Because I'm not quite ready yet," I answered with a smug 'I know something 
you don't.' smile.

That earned me a--deserved--elbow in the ribs and earned her a yelp from me 
as it connected with a rib that was just healing.

Hand in hand, we strolled around, looking in a couple of shops, stopping for 
a few groceries that we didn't really need. Back at the moorage, we decided 
to just stay the night. The commercial moorage next door had water and power 
hookups and accepted overnighters. It would give us a chance to dump the 
holding tank, too. I sent Sarah to make the arrangements, while I got 
_Sandy_ ready to move. When I saw her wave, I cast off and slowly moved the 
big boat back into the river, around a short weir and into the entrance to 
the marina. Watching for Sarah, I finally spotted her near the gangway to 
the shore, motioning me into a slip. The breeze was light and the current in 
the marina negligible and I was able to run the boat right in, coming to a 
dead stop just before the stern touched the planking. I already had the 
fenders over, so all that was needed was to tie up and plug into the shore 
power and water.

We had plenty of water, but I was glad to have regular power without having 
to run the generator.

While Sarah started dinner, I told her I had a quick errand to run. Up at 
the marina office, I found a phone and a very nice lady who was happy to 
tell me anything I wanted to know about the town and its people. I explained 
what I was looking for and she was happy to tell me who to call. That went 
better than I had any right to expect and so I asked our hostess to join us 
on the boat, in about three hours.

Back aboard _Sandy_, I told Sarah we'd be having company at 7:30 and needed 
to dress nice for the occasion. She gave me a bit of a face--expecting to be 
getting ready for bed about then--but went along with me. Dressing after 
dinner, I put on slacks and a white shirt, so Sarah got out the only dress 
she'd brought-a lovely summer frock with a floral print which complemented 
her coloring wonderfully.

"Should I put out wine for your guests?" she asked.

"They're _our_ guests. Put the wine in to chill, but don't put it out until 
later," I suggested.

Promptly at 7:30, we heard people boarding through the transom hatch. I 
ushered them into the salon and introduced them to Sarah. "Love, this is 
Pastor Fuller, from Grace Church, Mrs. Fuller and Mrs. Glenn, our hostess 
here at the marina. Pastor Fuller has agreed to perform the wedding ceremony 
for us, even though he understands we don't have a license. I told him how 
much we love each other and are determined to be together. And that we would 
be blessed if we could do it right, acknowledging our commitment to each 
other in front of God and witnesses."

The look on her face made it all worth while. Sarah was stunned! She was so 
surprised, shocked, joyful, thrilled that I'd do that for her, impressed 
that I could find someone to perform the ceremony _sub rosa_--it was almost 
too much. In a moment, she closed her mouth, jumped up and gave me a _big_ 
hug, grabbed my hand and said, "Where do you want me to stand?"

I guess she wanted this.

Pastor Fuller read the wedding service from the Common Book of Prayer. Sarah 
didn't even hesitate about the 'obey' part. When it was done, she gave me a 
kiss full of promise, commitment and wonder. I was thrilled and covered with 
goosebumps.

We offered our new friends a glass of wine, which they all took, but then 
made their excuses. Mrs. Glenn, as she left, said, "You dears are all paid 
up. And I am honored to be included in such a special occasion. You don't 
need to check out. Just leave the hose and cord coiled on the dock when you 
go. Good night." And she disappeared.


*Now* Sarah had the other ring on. She positively glowed. Hands behind my 
neck, leaning back to gaze at me, she said, "Darling, you make me feel so 
special. I've loved you so much, so long. Now I know I was right, all along. 
I'd never dreamed about my wedding, because I couldn't imagine marrying a 
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 tenderly kissed her eyes, then her lips, and held her.


Finally, pulling away, she seated me on the sofa and handed me a fresh glass 
of wine. With her own refill, she joined me. "We've plenty of time for bed. 
I want to share some 'grown up' time with you--now that I'm _really_ your 
wife," as her free hand gently caressed my jaw.

"We've never discussed the accident. The police never found out who ran you 
off the road. But did you know they had some suspicions about who it was?" 
Sarah said.

"No. I never knew any of the details. By the time I got out of the hospital, 
it was old news and out of the papers. Then we left right away. I never even 
looked at the back issues of the papers for the time I was in the coma."

"Well, in a nutshell, they think you were victims of an assassination-and a 
case of mistaken identity."

"Huh?"

"Yeah. The cops told me they think you were mistaken for someone who had 
messed up some deal a big drug guy was doing and they were taking revenge. 
Except they figured the bad guys goofed, when I told them you never had 
anything to do with anything like that."

"But Sarah . . . I did. . . ." I thought a moment.  ". . . A year ago, I was 
hired to check out a company for a client. He was thinking of making a big 
investment in it. I found out that the company was mostly financed by money 
from very questionable sources. Then 'straight' investment money would come 
in and replace the questionable cash. They were using it to 'launder' 
criminal profits. I couldn't prove that, but I told my client he shouldn't 
go near them with a full suit of armor.

"Soon after that, the IRS got wind of the scam and swooped down on them. I 
didn't have anything to do with that, but my client might have. Anyway, 
_somebody_ lost a lot of money because of it--I'd guess over half a billion 
dollars."

"Billion?" she asked, incredulous. "As in, with a 'B'?"

"Yeah, I think about half that. Serious money, at any rate. . . . Which 
police agency did you talk to?"

"Colorado State Police mostly, and a guy from the sheriff's office-and some 
fed.  I think I have his card, at home somewhere."

"We'll see when we get home. I think I need to talk to him," I mused, out 
loud.  "Did anyone else seem interested in us?"

"Oh yes!  I was interviewed by a couple of the Denver news stations.  I'm a 
big star!  A half minute on two different news broadcasts.  And later, a guy 
who said he was a writer for one of the national newsmagazines called for an 
interview.  I didn't have time, with you in the hospital and mom's funeral 
arrangements and all, but he was very insistent. I hung up on him once. He 
called again and I finally met him briefly at the hospital. Really, I don't 
know anything and convinced everybody you don't, either."

That was good news. And I told her she'd done well. Then I kissed her, 
emphatically, to convince her. She had, too. It was wrenching to learn that 
I had, by giving a client my honest best, indirectly caused Sandy's death 
and almost my own. (Because I knew, instinctively, that the police theory 
was correct. I had been a target for revenge. I needed to warn the client!)

Sarah's next remark chilled me. "You remember that nice Mr. Chernikov?  He 
died just after your accident. In his airplane. 'Pilot error,' they said."

Chernikov was the client.

I felt a chill pass over me.

"Honey," I asked, "does anybody know where we went when we left Colorado?"

"I suppose the moving company. And the realtor-he had to know how to reach 
us with offers on the house."

"Yeah. He did. So we're traceable. . . . I think I need to talk to that fed 
as soon as you can find his card again. Do you remember what agency he was 
with?  FBI?  DEA?  ATF?"

"No, I really didn't pay that much attention. 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!  I _told_ you: _I made my choice years ago._  I 
feel more fulfilled, now that my dreams have all come true, than I ever have 
in my life.  Don't _ever_ feel sorry for me, darling, for choosing you!  
I've always wanted to be right where I am, right now!"

With that, my mouth was attacked by the hungry, sucking, licking, demanding 
mouth of my beautiful wife.

Convinced, I let it drop. We sat in silence for a time. Enjoying the comfort 
of the other. Enjoying the knowledge that our love was true and deep.  We 
could trust each other.  With everything.  With our lives.

After a time, Sarah asked, "Mike?  Can we leave here?  I think I'd rather be 
anchored off some deserted beach tonight, even if we have to run the 
generator."

"Sure, honey.  Anything you want.  Tonight especially!" I said.  "Just give 
me a minute to change into shorts."

"I'll warm up the engines while you do," she said and I heard the rumble of 
the diesels starting, then settling into warm-up speed, as I hurried below 
to change out of my wedding clothes.

Back on deck, I disconnected the power and water, then singled up the lines, 
casting off until only one line held the stern to the dock. "Ready to go?" I 
called softly up to the fly bridge.

"As soon as you give the word," she replied, turning on the running lights.

"Go," I called, slipping the last line off the cleat and throwing it to the 
dock. As soon as we were clear of the slip, I stowed the fenders, then made 
my way up to the fly bridge, to let Sarah change out of her dress.

In the light of the instruments, I saw that she had already done that. Since 
it was pitch dark, with moonrise an hour away, she'd taken the simple 
expedient of removing every stitch of clothing and was standing naked at the 
helm, calmly moving the boat out of the marina and into the downstream 
channel.

I'd always loved her.  I'd loved the little 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 commitment.

Seeing her marvelous body, in the glow of the navigation instruments, 
awakened a lust I hadn't felt for a long time--indeed, I'd thought I was too 
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 that was just what Sarah wanted: A 
deserted beach on the riverbank, well off the channel and across the river 
from the highway. I dropped both hooks and made sure they were both set 
well. Done with the engines, we shut it down.

Since it was a warm evening, neither of us wanted to sleep below. I dragged 
some bedding topside and we folded the fly bridge lounge into a double bed. 
Our only light was the reflection from the anchor light at the masthead and 
moonlight reflected from the river.

We first sat, cuddling, sipping wine and enjoying the night, the river and 
the feel of the other's naked body. I'm sure we talked, between kisses, but 
I can't remember a word of the conversation. Finally Sarah took my half-full 
wine glass and set it on the console, beside hers.

"I heard something about screaming tonight," she said. "I think I'm ready 
for some of that."

Before long, she did.  Golly she was lovely in the moonlight!


					~~ * * * * * ~~


Direct sunlight in my eyes woke me sooner than I'd have liked.  The 
dashboard clock said it was 6:05. Yech!  I'd really have liked another 
couple of hours' sleep.

Knowing I had no choice, I got up, carefully to not wake Sarah, and dropped 
down the ladder. The morning bladder pressure would have prevented more 
sleep, anyway. The river was just beyond the transom, so I opened the hatch 
and jumped in. (I needed a bath, too and the river gave me a place to take 
care of both needs at once.) The water was a little colder than I expected 
and I sputtered more loudly than I meant to--the noise woke Sarah.

A lovely, tousled 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.

Sarah started breakfast. Since we'd had an energetic day and night, she 
decided we needed more calories than our usual toast and coffee. This 
morning, her first as my wife, I got OJ, coffee, then the full ranch 
breakfast of bacon, eggs, hash browns and toast. We both got in a lot of 
good-humored groping, too.  I was offered pancakes, but passed.

"I'm overweight now, girl.  Don't make me a blimp!" I protested.

"Just trying to keep your energy up," she replied, unrepentant.


After we'd cleaned up and stowed the bedding from topside, I started the 
engines and we began our leisurely trip home.  It was as nice a honeymoon as 
any couple could wish. We were cruising the Columbia, through the Gorge--one 
of the scenic wonders of the world--in our own luxurious yacht.  We had to 
run the boat ourselves and make our own meals, but that was no hardship 
since we both enjoyed the tasks involved.  For lunch, we had a picnic on a 
grassy beach somewhere upstream from The Dalles.  And that night, we stayed 
in a marina at Hood River, because I wanted to treat my love to a fancy 
dinner at the romantic old Columbia Gorge Hotel.

Making love that night, Sarah tried to show her appreciation for the special 
attention.  I made her bite a pillow--didn't want someone calling the police 
when she screamed.  As it turned out, I was almost screaming, myself.
She's incandescent when she comes!


It was an easy run home, the next day.  We secured the boat, put the 
groceries and laundry in the car, then headed home.

When we left, I'd intended to help my daughter straighten out some problems. 
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 on the dirty laundry, while I put the 
perishables in the refrigerator. Then, while I went to my office to check 
the mail and phone messages, Sarah moved into the master bedroom. She hadn't 
consulted me, but I had no complaint. It was--naturally and 
necessarily--where she belonged.

When I emerged an hour later, she was done and had found the card from the 
fed.  He was a Special Agent Norm Johnson of the Drug Enforcement 
Administration, Denver office.  I tried to call him at once, but he was 
out--half of the staff of his office was still out on the long weekend.

Because we only had the one car, which we'd driven from Colorado, Sarah 
asked if maybe we should get a pickup for her to drive, which could also tow 
the boat if we wanted to go to Puget Sound next summer. We really did need 
another vehicle, so I looked at the ads and took her to a couple of places. 
She ended up with a van instead, saying it was more practical in Oregon's 
wet climate and would tow the boat with ease. (We'd made sure of that!)

As soon as we had it safely in the garage, alongside my 3-year-old Chrysler, 
we grinned at each other, pleased with ourselves. "Is there anything _else_ 
you just can't live without, love?" I asked, facetiously.

"Well, as a matter of fact . . ."

Surprised, I asked, "Well?  What?"

"I'd really like . . ."

"Come on!  Spit it out."

"I really want to get pregnant and have babies as soon as you can arrange 
it," she said, with a happy grin.

"Oh. That... Always after my body," I teased. "Just as quickly as we can, 
honey. I can't think of anything I want more, either. Especially if they are 
all mellow kids like you."

"No guarantees on that. Just that they'll all be part you and part me and 
part mom, too," she said. A shadow passed across her face. Then, "Did you 
know that 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 fulfillment 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 moaning in ecstasy, as I pumped into her hungry womb.


The DEA agent, Norm Johnson, returned my call from Denver, the next morning. 
  After hearing a short summary of my information, he asked if he could come 
to see me.  I told him to come ahead.

That was dumb.


					~~  *  *  *  *  *  ~~


Sarah wanted us to get involved in the community. After all, we owned a home 
and were going to raise children here. For starters, she made a list of the 
churches in the area, but crossed off those from denominations she felt 
wouldn't fit our needs and beliefs. Then she located the rest on her map and 
drove by each one. If the church looked like the people who attended it 
didn't care about it much, she crossed it off, too. If she liked the outside 
appearance, she tried the door and looked around inside, if it was open. For 
all those that passed that test, she wrote down the times of the services. 
We'd visit the most interesting and choose one to attend.

Next, she found out where the country club was and visited there, to check 
it out. There was also a private golf club, which had tennis courts and a 
nice clubhouse--but membership was by invitation only. She got membership 
information about both, with dues and fees. She started asking around town 
about both places and about a couple of the churches that particularly 
impressed her. She made a point of getting references to professional 
people, too. "Who is the best 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 that was on the top of her 
list. I confess I wasn't impressed. The building was lovely, but the 
congregation was small, the sermon was 'social gospel' and I was the 
youngest 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, since we'd never been the 
'country club type'--usually having just quiet family evenings on the 
weekends.  Occasionally we'd go to a friend's for dinner, or have someone 
over.  Sarah was nervous that she wouldn't dress right, or behave properly.

I grinned at her, told her to put on any nice summer dress--the one she'd 
been 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 outrageously gorgeous woman! I guess my thoughts 
showed. Reassured, especially when I complemented her profusely on her 
appearance, Sarah decided she _could_ do this.

Arriving at the club, we found that our party consisted of three other 
couples. One pair was Sarah's age, the other two older, but not as 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 came from our 
neighbors, Bill and Gloria Knight. Bill was a lawyer and Gloria had taught 
school, but quit after the birth of their second child--when Bill's practice 
was able to support them. Gloria called Sarah with the dinner invitation 
after Bill told her about his interview by their new neighbor.

John and Marcia Magruder were a couple of 'live wires'. They did the 'John! 
Marsha!' thing to perfection. We found it was a running gag with them and 
their friends. John owned a couple of businesses in the area. The main one 
being a large 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_, because he loved boats.

The youngest couple was Mark and Melodie McGuire, a very nice, very serious 
young couple just getting established. Mark was a dentist and Melodie was 
another teacher. They met the others through Gloria, who taught at the same 
school.

All three couples were attractive, nice people. They weren't 'swingers'. And 
none of them was a drunk--although we found that Melodie got a little tipsy 
after about two drinks and could be very funny in that state.

Of course, they wanted to know all about us, so we told them what became our 
'official' story. My first wife had died in an accident and Sarah, a 
long-time neighbor, helped me with 'arrangements' and so on. One thing led 
to another--she had a crush on me since she was a little girl, it seems--and 
we found I loved her, too.

"When I found out Mike was going to move away, I wouldn't let him leave me 
behind," Sarah interjected.

Married recently, we moved out here because I felt my business could do 
better on the coast. California or Seattle would have been a bit better for 
business, but we wanted to live in Oregon. So here we were.

It was a good story. Mostly true. It would be hard to trip us up on it.
Of course, they wanted to know what I did and I was happy to tell them all 
about the world of high level consultants. 'Hired gun', I call myself.

Sarah, the excellent salesperson, didn't have any trouble selling herself as 
a friend and good person--and as a woman totally in love with her husband. 
She talked about the job she had cheerfully abandoned when I was 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 band started playing dance 
music. It was mostly 'slow dancing' music, with just enough swing and soft 
rock to keep it interesting. Nice, but not so loud it prevented 
conversations at the tables. John suggested we dance a little (He and Marcia 
love to dance) and continue our discussion after.

It doesn't take much convincing to get me to put my arms around Sarah, so we 
joined them. Suddenly it dawned on me that I hadn't danced with Sarah since 
her cousin Anna's wedding, when she was in high school. I also discovered 
I'd want to do a lot more of this. Sarah is a dream, dancing. She fit so 
perfectly against me. In heels, she's only an inch shorter than my six feet, 
so her cheek went against mine; and her hand around my neck, playing with my 
ear was a real treat. Of course, I enjoy being pressed up against those 
curves. She's a good dancer.

We danced a couple of tunes with each other, then switched off and danced 
with the others in our party. I was with Melodie, when the band started 
playing some swing tunes. She was really fun. She'd only done swing once 
before, so I had to help her get the hang of it. But once she got into it, 
she really got going. What a gas!

Back at the table, the others announced that Bill and Gloria would pick us 
up and bring us to church Sunday, then we'd all go out for brunch--the club 
had a great buffet on Sundays. Sarah immediately agreed for both of us. It 
pleased me, that she was confident enough to take charge where she knew I 
wouldn't have any objection. She knows Sandy made most of the social 
decisions--unless it was business--and just expected that she would, too. 
Besides, I trust her social instincts better than my own.

Sarah wanted their opinion about the other country club she'd looked at. 
They were unanimous that it was a fine place, too. They just liked this one 
a little better. Bill liked the layout of the golf course better, Marcia 
liked the food and the service better. (Turns out, a lot of folks belong to 
both, if they can afford it. I don't play much golf and am mediocre at best 
at tennis. But Sarah excels at both. This club offered a good golf course 
and very good tennis courts--even two indoor courts. The price was OK, so in 
a couple of weeks, Sarah arranged with Gloria for us to be invited to join.)

Our evening continued with more dancing and conversation. We were profuse in 
our thanks when we finally broke it up. Sarah was as favorably impressed as 
I and was very pleased with herself for getting us invited. I told her I was 
proud to have been with her and slyly reminded her of her 'butterflies' 
before we left home.

That earned me a whack on the arm--deserved.


In bed, Sarah was incredible. When I'd come once and she twice, she wanted 
to go again. I didn't think I could and it was late, after all. Using a 
'little girl' voice, she said, "But daddy!  You promised you wouldn't stop 
until you got me pregnant. I want my daddy's baby growing in my little tummy 
just like my friend Janie. You don't want my friends to think my daddy 
doesn't love me, do you?" Even though this fantasy contained a lot of our 
reality, her words got me hard as a rock for one more try at getting her 
knocked up.

That time, she climbed on top, plugged me in, and curled up to my chest, her 
marvelous 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 gasping, 
"Sorry honey. I can't hold out long enough to get you off."

Into her fantasy, she replied, panting too, "It's OK daddy. Come in me. Make 
a baby in your baby girl, daddy. Come. Come. Come in me, daddy!" And she 
convulsed in climax just as I finished pumping my load into her.

When we'd caught our breath and cleaned each other up, we cuddled like two 
puppies. "Whew, honey! You sure do know how to get what you want from a guy. 
Twice in an hour is pretty spectacular for an old coot like me."

" 'Old Coot', indeed! You're pretty awesome as a lover, you know? Tonight 
has been such a special evening, meeting new friends, then making babies 
with my handsome daddy--what girl wouldn't try for seconds if she thought 
there was a chance?

"It's funny, Mike... I was reading where most women only achieve orgasm 
every third time or so. Do you know, we've never made love where I didn't 
come at least two or three times?  That's not because I'm so hot, like you 
try to flatter me. It's because you're an extraordinary lover, lover."

"Well, the only thing I can say to that is that I have excellent 
inspiration," I told her. "All I know about it is what your 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. Most of all, you. I love you, you know."

After a big, sloppy kiss for punctuation, I mirrored her thought, "Love you, 
too, honey..."


					~~  *  *  *  *  *  ~~


My next thought was, _'I hope I'll be able to get it up again in the 
morning?',_ when I noticed the smell of fresh coffee and it _was_ morning. I 
probably could get it up, but Sarah had let me sleep in and we needed to get 
moving--we were going with another couple on the boat.

We'd rented a covered moorage, so _Sandy_ was protected from direct sunlight 
and rain. But she still needed maintenance and regular cleaning. After our 
long, wonderful weekend aboard, we'd made time one afternoon to give her a 
thorough going-over. She looked good as new, inside and out!

Bill and Gloria had introduced us to Mike and Tammi, with the comment that 
we had a lot in common. Mike--having two 'Mikes' around was sure to create a 
bit of confusion--is a CPA, about my age. Fortunately he was not the type of 
accountant who is a 'belt _and_ suspenders' guy. Tammi is just a bit 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 the 
day, but neither of us has ever seen the other drunk. (My last occasion, I 
think, was when I was still in the Marines.)

I had just started the engines, to warm them up, when our guests arrived, 
carrying two big coolers. Hurrying down from the fly bridge, I took one from 
Tammi and asked, "Have we invited the entire First Marine Division to help 
eat all this?"

Tammi laughed, delighted and Mike chuckled. "Tammi has a thing about not 
letting anyone be hungry--ever. If I didn't have this really weird 
metabolism, I'd be a walrus by now." With a wink, "Tammi pushes food, but 
somehow eats little of it herself, which is how she manages to stay so 
slim."

"OK. We'll just put these on the table and let the girls stow it all. Can I 
help you pack your towels, suits and all that aboard?"

"No, thanks. One trip and I'll have it all."

While Mike got the rest of their things, I stowed the fenders and spring 
lines, leaving only the stern tied to the dock. As soon as he stepped 
through the transom hatch, Sarah uncleated us and we were free on the river. 
The twin diesels took us smoothly up to the mouth of the Willamette, which 
we entered, having in mind a picnic in the middle of the city.

Once we were underway, the girls changed into swimsuits. I already knew 
Sarah was spectacular in her bikini, but Tammi turned out to be a delight to 
the eyes, too. I was wearing my normal cut-offs and a sweatshirt. (It can 
get breezy on the fly bridge while we're underway, and the morning was still 
cool.) Mike wore a windbreaker. After giving us a short skin show, the 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 
out of love for her, Mike tried, but just couldn't get into that scene. And 
she felt he was 'holding her back in her growth' by not participating and 
not approving of her increasingly offbeat desires. Neither of them was 
willing to change, so he divorced her, giving her a car and some money and 
requesting that she find a home in another state. Last he heard, she was in 
California, not doing well...

They never had any children--Mike's 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, 
altogether, 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 divorced his wife while Tammi was a senior. She hadn't known, since he 
didn't talk about his problems, that he was even having marital trouble. 
When she went to see him during Easter break, she found him home alone, in a 
house that, obviously, no longer had a woman caring for it. So she asked and 
kept asking, until she had the whole 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 ended, Mike took the time to drive to her campus (most 
of a day to drive there), rented a motel room and called her. They met at 
the student union and had a long conversation, which continued in a 
restaurant that night. Mike took her back to her sorority house before 
midnight and agreed to meet at breakfast. The whole thing was surreal, in 
today's permissive climate. Except for handclasps and hugs as friends, they 
hadn't even kissed. There was none of the 'lover' body language between 
them. Yet their discussion, by this point, was, "Can we make it as 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, though she didn't sleep around. After baring their 
hearts and souls to each other, they decided, that, yes, they could make it. 
That day, Mike bought an engagement ring. He was sitting next to her 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 acclamation', since she had loved her 
almost as much as I had.

It was a delightful morning, cruising slowly up the river, through the heart 
of the city, yet in our own space. Tammi kept putting snacks in front of 
us--all of them wonderful. By 11:00, we'd arrived at a river park upstream 
from the downtown area. Dropping the hook, we decided to swim and play 
before lunch. There were a couple of smaller boats there, but the place 
wasn't crowded. The water was refreshingly cool and we had a great time, 
with a lot of laughter. We _like_ these people!

When we were pleasantly tired from swimming, we climbed back aboard Sandy 
and enjoyed lunch. Sarah and I only nibbled, because of all the snacks we'd 
consumed. Tammi had really laid on a spread, though. Had we known... [We 
soon worked out an agreement with Tammi that she wouldn't contribute to the 
expansion of our waistlines and we'd eat what she gave us. Thus, at least 
around us, she stopped being a 'pusher' of food. Boy, can that 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 warm up to. And we could tell she was thrilled to have another 
inter-generational couple, with values so closely in tune with theirs, that 
they could become friends with.

When we approached the marina, there was a flurry of putting out the 
fenders, getting the food back into the coolers and so on. By the time we 
arrived at our slip, all I had to do was back it in and tie it up. No 
problem. I could do that. With warm hugs all around, Mike and Tammi toted 
everything back to their car and left. Then Sarah told me we were going to 
their house for dinner.

Groaning that I only needed a light snack just before bed, after eating 
Tammi's food all day, I tried to get out of it. Sarah was unmoved. "Tough. I 
like these people and I think we need to get to know them. And I think, 
really, they need us, even more. So we're going. And you'd better be alert 
and enthusiastic, if you know what's good for you."

Knowing when I'm licked, I closed up the boat and got us home without any 
further argument. We showered together--always fun--and dressed casually.
The evening was a continuation of the day. Good food, great company and 
conversation. We met Mike and Tammi's son, Kevin, and Tammi's mother, Susan. 
And we got a clear impression that this delightful couple, somehow, had real 
difficulty finding friends. They seemed almost desperate to have us like 
them.

Later, Tammi confided to Sarah that a lot of couples in the community didn't 
get along well with them. Either they were too 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 of 
them to make such an effort to integrate a new couple into the community.

When Bill said it was nothing, we pointed out that we had barely met the 
couples in the two houses that separated our homes. It wasn't 'nothing.'  
And we appreciated it!


					~~  *  *  *  *  *  ~~


Monday morning, Norm Johnson of DEA called. He was in Portland and wondered 
if he could come see us?

Sure. I gave him directions.

Could he bring a guy from the FBI with him and a guy from his Portland 
office?
Sure. We'd see them all.

When they arrived, we seated everyone in the den and Sarah bustled around 
making sure they all had coffee and the right amounts of cream and sugar and 
so on...

Norm started right in. "When you were in a coma, I talked with Sarah and 
came away convinced your 'accident' was a case of mistaken identity. Then 
when you called, I had to re-think the program. It sure seems that you were, 
in fact, the target...

"When you told me you'd done a job for Chernikov, I was convinced."

The FBI guy chimed in, "We've worked on his crash with the NTSB and ATF 
people. We think his plane had a small bomb on it, which caused it to go out 
of control. We've never understood the _WHY_ of it. Now we know."

Watching Sarah, I could see that she was becoming quietly terrified. I 
wasn't very happy, myself.

"A *BIG* concern I have," I started, "is that whoever was responsible for 
all this may come after me again. All we want to do is live what's left of 
our lives in peace. In fact, I can't put any names to any of this. You guys 
can do that better than I. All I did was find some anomalies that set off 
alarms in my head. I told the client, Chernikov, to stay away. Did he make 
waves and bring all this on us?"

"Seems like," the Portland DEA guy said. "He took what you'd told him to an 
acquaintance at IRS. That led to their raid. How that led back to Chernikov, 
I don't know. . . ."

The FBI took it up, "I do. One of the IRS people involved in the 'office' 
part of the operation has a drug problem, we're pretty sure. We've been 
watching her for months. I think we'll haul her in--we can catch her in a 
'buy' pretty easily. Of course, they knew your name, since you'd made 
inquiries about their front company. Getting the link between you and 
Chernikov would be pretty easy."

"So," I asked, "how much danger are we in?"

Glancing at the others, Norm answered, "No way to tell, really. It could be 
a one-time thing. You did your thing. They did theirs. They've drawn blood 
and might be satisfied. On the other hand, they might take a notion that 
they aren't 'safe', or 'avenged', or some drug-driven thing, until you're 
dead. We just don't know."

"One thing I know," I said, with emphasis, "is that, even with a tap on my 
phones, they wouldn't find anything threatening here. But we all know that, 
with the money and resources they have, they can find out anything they want 
about what _you're_ doing. Your agencies are their natural targets. I've 
told you what I know and what I found out for Chernikov. That's all I know. 
You've been able to tie up some loose ends as a result. Wonderful. But all 
I've said was reported in the papers earlier--except my link to 
Chernikov--which the bad 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. I lost my wife. What have you lost? Don't you 
_dare_ put us in any more danger!"

Norm said, "Calm down, Mike!  We don't put anyone in danger."

"Not deliberately," I replied. "But can any of you give me an iron-clad, 
blanket promise that there is no one in any of your agencies, with access to 
data bases or correspondence, who is not also paid by drug dealers? Of 
course you can't! So don't try to BS us, Norm! We've cooperated. We've done 
our part as citizens. Now all we're asking is that our government protectors 
take common-sense precautions to prevent doing us harm as a result. Don't 
refer to us by name. The three of you know who we are. We're not a threat to 
anyone. Whoever this is has had his revenge--I've suffered a great and 
tragic loss. Now let us live in peace. Please?!"

The three agents agreed that the continuing investigation would be on 
Chernikov's tips on the drug-funded company and that we wouldn't be 
mentioned.

Too bad they didn't keep their word.


					*Section Four*


A week later, I took on a new project that required me to spend a couple of 
weeks in Phoenix. It didn't take much arm-twisting to decide we'd both go. 
Gloria agreed to keep an eye on our house and we were off.

Phoenix was fun, since neither of us had been there before and we could 
learn about it together. The client was glad to see both of us, because he 
needed serious marketing help and I would need to involve Sarah, anyway. The 
client and his 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 us and a pleasant 
surprise to know that we could--we were able to tell the client that we 
could handle the project for him; that it would take a large percentage of 
our time for most of a year; and that he would end up with a new factory and 
a trained shop, management and sales team. He gulped, once--and his wife, 
twice--at the rate we quoted him to do the work. But he also saw that it was 
the only way he could accomplish what he needed, without defaulting on his 
obligations.

When his 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.

When I stopped at the office to pay the quarterly moorage fee, Marie, the 
marina manager, said someone had been asking for me, a weeks or so before. 
She didn't know who the guy was, and we shrugged and went on our way.

Before I start the engines, I always engage the blowers for several minutes 
first, to blow fumes out of the bilges and engine compartment. This time, 
the blowers didn't turn on.

Muttering under my breath, I went down to the cockpit and raised the hatch 
over the engine compartment. When I saw what was there, I gave thanks for 
divine protection! Whoever had wired the explosives to the engines had 
managed to short out the blower fans in the process--probably somebody more 
used to cars than boats.

In the salon, my face white, I ordered Sarah up to the marina office. She's 
not used to me taking that tone with her--at least not since she was little. 
About to make an issue of it, she saw my face and moved out. I hit the 
emergency power disconnect and followed her off the dock.

 From a pay phone there at the marina, I called Norm Johnson, person to 
person. Furious, I drove my way through underlings who wanted to 'screen' 
the call. I refused to give my name, just stating that it was an emergency 
and demanding, when someone wanted to shift me to someone else, "Are you 
refusing to put me through to him? What is *your* name?" Finally Norm came 
on the line.

"Don't say my name! Do you recognize my voice? Do you know who this is?" He 
did. Then I suggested, very strongly, that he get one of his agents and a 
bomb specialist, out to _Sandy_ post-haste. I ended by saying, very nastily, 
"Now I know how much promises from you people about protecting our identity 
are worth!" and slammed the phone in his ear.

I asked Marie to keep people away from the pier our slip was on, as much as 
she could, saying our boat was real dangerous and we'd called for 
appropriate help to deal with it. Should she call the fire department? I 
asked her not to--I'd already called the authorities. Just let them handle 
it.

Back home, I called Bill, asking him to drop everything and come see 
us--bringing his partner. Yes, I was shaken. These people had tried before, 
killing Sandy and just barely failing to get me too. I was determined they 
wouldn't kill Sarah!

Bill and his partner, Tom, who is a bit 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 Sarah and me. I asked 
Bill to draft new wills for us immediately--a chore I'd neglected. And I 
asked for suggestions.

Tom suggested that we make depositions about everything that had happened, 
including the names of the agents involved, the dates of our meetings and 
our specific requests, and their agreement regarding our anonymity. Bill 
concurred and Sarah and I agreed. There being no time to waste, they called 
one of their secretaries, who was a notary, and she came to the house to 
record, transcribe and notarize our depositions.

Bill also mentioned that he was acquainted with the junior senator from 
Oregon. Though not a close friend, he felt the senator owed him a couple of 
favors--BIG favors. The reason he brought it up was that the Senator was at 
a resort on the coast, addressing a party conference that weekend and Bill 
felt he could get an appointment with him. "Don't know how much protection 
it would give you, Mike," he said, candidly. "But personal senatorial 
interest can't hurt. At the least, it will get departmental Internal 
Affairs, Inspectors General, whatever they call them, finding out who 
spilled the beans and who to. Perhaps it will become more hassle than it's 
worth to go after you."

By the time we were finished with the depositions, Bill had arranged an 
appointment in his Portland office with the senator. And the DEA agent from 
Portland arrived on our doorstep. Inviting him in, we seated him at the 
kitchen table and introduced Bill and Tom. Tom took charge. "Well. Did you 
people find anything beyond evidence of your monumentally criminal 
stupidity?"

The agent agreed that it was not good, but denied any knowledge of how the 
leak could have occurred. The bomb specialist from the FBI identified the 
setup as one used by a small group of gangland assassins from the midwest. 
Definitely a paid 'hit'.

Tom demanded to know what the agent and his organization were going to do to 
keep us from harm. The agent denied that DEA was responsible in any way and 
said that beyond--someday, 'pie in the sky'--catching the bad guy, there was 
nothing they could do. Tom told him, speaking very slowly and clearly, that 
as of that moment, he and his agency were on notice that we held them 
responsible and would continue to hold them responsible, should anything 
further happen to me or to Sarah.

When he had scuttled out, tail between his legs, Tom remarked that he was 
morally sure that the leak had been from the DEA's Portland office. Maybe 
even from the agent who had just left.

Meanwhile, Bill wasn't comfortable with us being alone. So he did a 
wonderful thing. He called Mike and Tammi and asked if their son could spend 
the night with his wife and him--and they stay overnight with us?  He ruined 
his Friday night plans, for the peace of mind of a couple he'd just met. 
Pretty unusual for a lawyer, I'd say.

Sarah and I were trying to stay cool and collected. But seeing that these 
people who we respected were taking the threat to us that seriously shook us 
more than we realized. Going to the kitchen to start thinking about dinner 
for four or more of us, Sarah found she couldn't cope. She stood, holding 
the counter, shaking. Tammi arrived and swept into the food preparation, as 
is her way.

We were seriously frightened.


					~~  *  *  *  *  *  ~~


The next day, although a Saturday, Bill and Tom both went with us to meet 
the Senator. A real politician, he went through the 'getting to know you' 
routine with practiced ease. But then he looked at Bill and asked why this 
meeting was so urgent and important. Bill and Tom led him through it, while 
Sarah and I nodded and held hands.

Finally the senator said, "Let me recap: Mike and Sarah came to Oregon to 
get a new start, after an attempt on his life which killed his 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. "You mentioned a third thing?"
"Yes," Bill continued. "We'd like your assurance that, should anything 
sudden, violent, or unexpected happen to any of us, you will not let it rest 
until justice has been done."

Near anger, the senator said, "Bill, that's a hell of a thing to ask! 
'Specially from a politician. What if, to get passage of a bill that brings 
millions to Oregon, I'm required to ease off my pressure on, say, the FBI? 
My loyalty is to Oregon. I can't limit myself to the interests of merely a 
few of my constituents."

Tom answered, sadly, but with growing conviction, "Senator, you had a 
reputation for integrity. If the federal government, by laziness, 
sloppiness, greed, fear, corruption, or whatever, is putting your 
constituents in danger, or allowing them to be put in danger, you must act! 
Isn't the primary purpose of government to keep the peace? Here we have 
government activities actually leading directly to violence against peaceful 
citizens, _solely because they did their duty as citizens!_ Can you allow 
that to happen in your state? When it is in your power to do something about 
it? Before this meeting, you were ignorant of the situation. Now you're not. 
Here are Mike and Sarah's sworn depositions about all that has happened to 
them. You'll do whatever you will about this. But you can't say you don't 
know anything about it."

Bill and Tom rose from their seats, Sarah and I following, getting ready to 
leave. The senator said, in a tired voice, "Just a minute, Bill... Tom. OK. 
You're right. I sometimes get so tied up in 'politics', I forget the human 
aspects. I'll do as you ask. I'll even do better. I'll get the names of 
agents who are trusted at the highest levels and have them come to see you. 
You'll get their names by FAX within the week. Work with them and we'll try 
to get the threat neutralized if not removed." With a wry smile, he added, 
"And in return, I expect solid support from everyone in this room, as long 
as I maintain that integrity you spoke of."

Shaking his hand, I said, "It's a deal, senator." Sarah followed. Bill and 
Tom, beaming, pounded his back--I guess they were better friends than I had 
thought. I added, "Once the boat's safe, if you and your 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 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 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 Sarah her freedom, without kids to care 
for.

After the game, Bill and Gloria walked home. Mike and Tammi stayed for 
dinner--Sarah insisted they stay, then Tammi ended up doing most of the 
cooking. But Sarah says she's learning a lot from Tammi and Sarah was 
already a good cook.
We were all sitting in the living room, chatting over glasses of wine, when 
Tammi looked at her Mike, then at Sarah; "Sarah, you're Mike's daughter, 
aren't you?"

Sarah turned bright red and didn't say a word--completely tongue-tied by 
Tammi's question. Tammi continued, "I didn't mean to embarrass you, or put 
you on the spot. Just some of the little things add up that way. I'm not 
against you. I think it's cool. It's obvious you love each other. So?"

I looked at Mike. He looked at me. We both shrugged. "Tammi," I said. "Don't 
ask for an answer to that. If neither of us answers that, you can't say you 
know anything for sure, OK? Be satisfied that we love each other: Very 
deeply and in every way, including wanting to make babies together--several 
and as soon as we can. We like you and Mike a lot and don't really care what 
your backgrounds are, as long as you're faithful and true friends to us. 
We'll be the same to you, but ask that you don't pry into things that 
happened before we came here. OK?"

Tammi's mobile face changed expression several times while she digested 
that. Finally, it cleared and she said brightly, "OK. If that's what you 
want. But I want the truth sometime when we're all old and gray!" Mike and I 
laughed long at that. She meant it seriously, but we were both already 
grayer than we'd like to be. "Oh, knock it off, you 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 
dad. 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 fucked him on 
the courthouse lawn if that had been what it took. I just got some vibes 
that you were in a similar state with your Mike, Sarah."

Before Sarah could answer, Mike said, "Leave it, Tammi," in a no-nonsense 
tone.


					~~  *  *  *  *  *  ~~


Monday morning Norm Johnson called, saying he was reliably told we could 
safely use the boat. And that he would be out to see us the next day. I told 
him to come on Wednesday.

Then I hollered at Sarah, "Hey, babe! Want to take a boat ride?" The 
response was immediate and enthusiastic. In half an hour we were stowing 
provisions and bedding on _Sandy_--I checked everywhere I could for 
explosives or anything else that didn't belong on her.

We decided to stay on the water at least until Tuesday night. And if we 
didn't get back until Wednesday morning, oh, well! While I was navigating 
out to the channel, Sarah called Gloria on our new cell phone, asking that 
she keep an eye on the house for us.


We had no destination. Our objective was escape, on the water, from the fear 
of the attack on us. Downstream a ways were several small islands where we 
could tie up out of the channel and walk, picnic, swim, or just be safely 
away from it all. We were coming to really love our boat and the freedom it 
gave us.

After we'd been underway a while, Sarah went below, returning with 
sandwiches and beer for us both. It was a bright fall day and, though the 
air was brisk, we both preferred to be on the bridge, rather than at the 
helm in the salon.
An hour later, we came to the island we wanted. Easing up the side away from 
the channel, Sarah spotted a cove. With the depth finder running full blast, 
I eased _Sandy_ into it, then turned around. Though small, only about three 
boat-lengths across, the cove was deeper than I'd expected. I was able to 
back right up to a rock ledge, and we ran our lines to trees ashore. We were 
completely 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 that I'd seen before...when we were on the Willamette 
last week! What was it doing way down here? It was much too small for 
overnighters like us. As the light started to fail, it turned, picked up 
speed and headed back up-river towards Longview.

When I couldn't see it any more, I walked back down to _Sandy_. "Would you 
be frightened if I started carrying weapons?" I asked Sarah.

"Thought you'd never ask," she said, catching me by surprise. "Your pistol 
is in the chart box by the main helm. Your carbine is under the lounge on 
the fly bridge. My pistol is in the breadbox. And the shotgun is under the 
cockpit seat." Then she gave me a big grin. "What did you expect?  You 
taught me to shoot when I was 10 and to handle heavy rifles when I was 12. 
Somebody is after us. I'm not going to let anything happen to the father of 
my babies!"

Grinning back, I gave her a big hug. "That's my girl!" I said.


We'd arrived at our anchorage well before dark. And since we were so 
secluded, we saw no need to advertise our location with an anchor light. We 
were tied up to the shore, anyway. I did listen to the radio while Sarah put 
our dinner together. There was nothing on the marine radio, but the CB 
yielded a couple of cryptic conversations that might have been about us. 
_Somebody_ was looking for _something_, that was certain.

For the first time, I locked _Sandy_ up, with us on board.

In spite of our tension, Sarah and I made wonderful love that night. I was 
still doing my best, every time, to make sure she got off and to impregnate 
her if I could. She claimed, later, that it was that night that did it. I 
don't know how she could tell. I know I was doing some pretty heavy panting 
and pushing when I felt her contract around me and try to milk me dry. I 
sure did all I could to cooperate!

We both slept well and woke refreshed and ready to go again, which we did in 
the cockpit on a couple of blankets we'd brought out there, so we could 
drink our coffee outdoors, wrapped up against the chill. When I started 
playing with her nipples, Sarah just climbed on my lap and plugged me in. 
She was screaming her passion before the coffee had a chance to get cold.

I *really* enjoy turning that 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 don't 
put much effort into being a protector of the people, do you? You have a 
choice, deputy. You can get in your patrol car and drive to your station and 
report in person to the sergeant whose name you gave me. Or, you can make 
your call about Mike's location. If you do that, I will personally see you 
arrested on a federal warrant for impeding an investigation before the day 
is over. And I'll sign charges against you, myself, with your sheriff, who 
happens to be a 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, where she won't be in danger. See you shortly."

Tom was really knocking himself out for us. Of course, trial lawyers tend to 
be a bit aggressive. Some of them are even worse than surgeons. (To my 
shock, after everything was over and I asked him what I owed him, he just 
said, "Do what you do best for somebody who really needs it sometime. That's 
my fee." And he wouldn't discuss it further. He'd decided we were strangers 
in town and we were in trouble and deserved help. He decided he'd be the one 
to give that help as much as he could. Bill told me later that the way we 
befriended Mike and Tammy really impressed Tom.)

Within five minutes, Tom's car came skidding into the moorage parking lot. 
He popped open a door and hollered, "Hop in!" As soon as we were inside the 
car, he gunned it. Leaving us to sort out seat belts and so on as we 
traveled.


					*Section Five*


"What's happening, Tom?" I demanded.

"Are you armed?" Tom asked, a _non sequiter_, I thought.

"Yeah, both of us. Why?"

"You need to be. Things have heated up. In a nutshell, the drug money 
operation you helped bust up--even though you didn't know you were doing it, 
I understand--was real important to a big cocaine distributor out of San 
Francisco.

"Our senator had a pointed conversation with the Attorney General when he 
got back to Washington. Two of the agencies involved come under the Justice 
Department umbrella. When the internal investigators--who I believe really 
are squeaky clean, by the way--started digging into it, they found, in 
addition to the clerk in IRS who we already knew about, three people in the 
DEA and one in the FBI who were passing information to the druggies. One of 
them is the DEA agency chief here in Portland.

"The request to locate you came from him. I can only assume he is trying to 
find you on orders of the drug people, since Norm won't get into town until 
tomorrow morning and doesn't care where you are until tomorrow afternoon, 
when he wants to see you."

"Wow!" Sarah said. "What have we done to them? Haven't they had enough 
revenge? How much blood is enough?"

Tom answered, "Sarah, you can't understand people like this. They often act, 
literally, as if they were God. Coming after you is _really_ stupid, on 
their part. You don't know who they are and weren't doing anything to harm 
them. Providing the link between your accident and your client's death was 
no big deal. Somebody would have made the connection sooner or later. It's 
just that, apparently in a fit of rage, this guy had ordered Mike taken out. 
He wasn't. He's unhappy, so some people in his organization are frightened. 
Now they've messed it up more, because too many people know the score. What 
were those four people inside the government worth to them? A helluva lot 
more than you two. But they burned them, playing their silly, egotistic, god 
game!"

Tom defends a number of criminal cases. But we found he really hates drugs 
and those who deal in them.

"Tom, where are we going?" Sarah asked, noticing for the first time that we 
were going away from our town.

"Portland. Where did you think?" he said.

"Why, I expected to go home."

"Now, don't you be stupid, girl," Tom replied, tartly. "There's no 
indication they'll disturb your house, as long as you're not in it. But no 
sense in you being someplace expected, until we can get a few things 
straight."

"What do you mean by that, Tom?" I asked.

"Well, tomorrow morning, the four of us (Bill, too) are going to have a 
little chat with the U.S. Attorney. We're going to have a representative 
from the Secret Service there too--a guy who used to head up the 
Presidential detail; now he's in charge here in Portland. We're going to 
make the government make it right with you two, for this latest SNAFU. And 
we're not going to accept any bureaucratic bullshit, either. After lunch, 
we'll invite this Norm Johnson to the party, to find out what his agency is 
doing about the guy in San Francisco."

"All we want to hear, Tom, is that these people are off our backs. Losing 
Sandy was awful enough. Now being told we have to live in constant fear of 
people we've never heard of is just too much!"

"I couldn't agree more, Mike. That's what we're trying to accomplish. 
Tonight, you will be guests of the Secret Service, as a favor to me from the 
guy I told you about. I can't do any better than that. Tomorrow we'll have 
the meetings I told you about. Then we'll see. We will solve this, Mike. Be 
sure of it."


By then we were in Portland and Tom took us to a lovely house in the hills, 
where we were met by a gracious lady about my age. "Come in, dears. You too, 
Tom. You can stop for a drink, I'm sure. Come on in. Frank will be with us 
in a minute. I'm Mary. You must be Mike and Sarah. Tom's told Frank all 
about you. I've been so anxious to meet you. To hear Tom, you're the most 
fascinating couple he's ever met. You've simply captivated him. . . . ." and 
on and on; Mary didn't stop talking until we were in a comfortable sitting 
room with drinks in our hands and her husband, Frank, appeared.

I rose and shook his hand. "You're Frank, I gather. I'm Mike. This is Sarah. 
Thank you so much for looking after us, though we think we'd have been OK at 
home."

Frank gave me a small tight smile, then took Sarah's hand, with a more 
genuine smile of appreciation. Turning back to me he said, "Don't kid 
yourself. You're in serious danger until we get this thing resolved. And I 
don't know how fast our 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 three 
major federal agencies have been selling information to drug interests. Yep. 
That will make headlines.

"And you two are the ones who got the ball rolling. If you'd been killed in 
that 'accident', like you were _supposed_ to be Mike, none of this would 
have happened. So they 'blame' you. We all know you didn't really do 
anything. And in fact, just want to get on with your life. But that's the 
way it is.

"Now. I just happen to know a little bit about personal security..." he said 
with a straight face. This guy was one of the world's leading experts on 
protecting people from assassins. "And I have some ideas for you two. 
Tonight you'll stay here. I'll be with you all day tomorrow and I've asked a 
couple of my people to help out. Normally out here we chase counterfeiters 
and such, but some of us like to keep in practice, so to speak.

"Mike, could I have your keys?  We'll pick up your car--it's at the marina 
in ST. Helens?--and check it and your house out, thoroughly. With your 
permission, there's a private security firm I'd like to bring in to wire the 
place and take care of things until you can go back home. I'm not allowed to 
recommend people..." He stopped and grinned. "So in this case I'll just tell 
them what I want done and have them do it. For 'rent-a-cops' they're pretty 
good. OK?"

Sarah's eyes were like saucers. She just nodded. So did I, as I dug out my 
keys from my pocket.

"Mary?" Frank asked, "how much time do we have before dinner?"

"About an hour, dear," she answered.

"Then I just have time to get you a few things. I've a couple of calls to 
make. If you'll write down what you need and your sizes, I'll FAX it to my 
office and one of our people will get everything and bring it here--you 
know, underwear, toothbrush, whatever you need to be comfortable in the 
meetings tomorrow. No need to be 'dressy'."

So while Frank went back into his den and his phone and Tom said 'good 
night' and left, Sarah and I decided what we would wear tomorrow. We wanted 
to look nice; respectable. She ordered slacks and a sweater, I wanted a nice 
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 immorality.
"I say this because there are a couple of things I need to say to you. And 
you need to know that I won't reveal anything about you to anyone else.

"I know that your 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 as I was 
sucking a nipple. I did get an interesting pillow!


In the morning, we were awakened by Mary's knock on the door and her voice 
asking us to get up, please, so we could have breakfast before we had to go 
downtown to the federal courthouse. So it was up, shave and dress, 
breakfast, and off to meet the U.S. Attorney. Frank drove us himself, 
remarking he had to be with us all day, anyway.

On arrival, we learned that Bill and Tom were expected momentarily. Then we 
were all ushered into a comfortable small conference room where Sarah and I 
were introduced to the U.S. Attorney, a big hearty 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. Frank nodded, 
modestly, at this.
Next, we were told that a large raid on the San Francisco headquarters of 
the drug lord who was after us was to be mounted that afternoon, along with 
the arrest of all of his known associates and detailed searches of his 
businesses, homes and so on. They hoped to capture and arrest him, too, but 
weren't sure if they could, given the number of bolt holes he maintained in 
all his regular locations.

Almost surely, he would be tipped off and hard to catch, at best.


					~~  *  *  *  *  *  ~~


Sarah and I looked at each other. "Who is this guy?" I demanded. "He's been 
doing his best to kill us and we've not been told who we're up against!" The 
name we were given, Angelo Guiterrez, didn't mean a thing to us.

"He's native U.S. citizen, fourth or fifth generation, of Spanish/Mexican 
heritage. His great-great-grandparents used to own a nice chunk of 
California, but lost most of it when Mexico lost the territory. Clever and 
ruthless, he's put together the primary narcotics distribution ring on the 
west coast. He's strictly a wholesaler, selling to customers like the L.A. 
gangs. He buys a lot of Oregon marijuana, too, for distribution."

I looked at Bill and Tom. "Do I have any legal weapons against this guy? Can 
I sue him for assault on me and wrongful death for Sandy, for example?"

Sadly, Bill shook his head. "This is one of those cases, Mike, where we know 
who did it, but have absolutely no way of proving it. All we'd accomplish, 
I'm afraid, is to stir up the hornet's nest even more."

"Well, then, how can we get at him?  All we've seen from the government is 
bungling. If they can't take care of him, what can we do that will?" Sarah 
asked. She was plain mad, clear through. "We're not talking about somebody 
who screwed us out of some money, or something. We're talking about somebody 
we don't even know, who wants us _*dead*_--and has the ability to make it 
happen! There must be _something_ we can do."

"For today," the U.S. Attorney said, "let's wait and see how it goes down. 
Our senator quietly lit a pretty good-sized fire under a lot of people. The 
A.G. himself told me I'll be given the same progress reports he's getting 
and at the same time. Right here, we'll be able to keep a close watch on 
what's happening in today's sweep. And the 'affiliates' here in Portland 
will be picked up, too. You'll be able to see all the reports as they are 
sent in and follow the action pretty well. By the end of the day, we'll have 
a lot better idea of how badly we've 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 briefed on the 
details on what had been happening since we talked with the senator. After 
his private, but pointed talk with the Attorney General, the A.G. had held a 
long conversation with the Justice Department's Inspector General. A dozen 
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 
couple of days, the message he wanted sent to the drug trafficers was that 
if they went after innocent bystanders, they'd be hounded out of existence!

This raised another issue Sarah and I had to confront: If we appeared on 
national news as husband and wife, a lot of people who knew us in Colorado 
would say different--also on national news, if not in the tabloids.

Suddenly we found ourselves faced with a problem we hadn't foreseen--and 
almost as critical to our future as getting out of the line of fire from 
Guiterrez and his people. We had to stay out of sight.


We huddled with Frank. "OK, Frank: How do we keep our names and faces out of 
the news? We can't have that! You know why."

"Settle down, Sarah. Mike, you, too!" Frank said in an authoritative tone. 
"It won't be easy, but I think I have a scheme to get this done. Will you 
trust me on this?"

Sarah looked at me. I looked at Sarah. Communication passed. Slowly, we both 
nodded. We'd trust Frank. Then the thought came to me, _'And why not? You're 
already trusting your lives to him!'_

Frank then took the floor. "Mike and Sarah are determined that their names 
and faces not appear anywhere in this," he announced. "They don't want any 
publicity from this affair! They feel that, from just doing their duty as 
citizens and reporting a simple fact that they knew to the appropriate 
authorities, our government, through a sloppy, corrupt, uncaring 
bureaucracy, has put them into mortal danger. They want it to end. They 
_absolutely do not_ want the intrusions publicity would create in their 
lives added to the burden our incompetent government agencies have already 
heaped on them!

"Tom, I'm giving you your case, if you should ever--God forbid!--need it.
"This couple has been severely wronged by their own government, which they, 
as citizens, should be able to turn to for safety! They demand that no 
further wrong be done to them and that everyone's best efforts be made to 
undo the existing damage.

"Sarah, is that right? Did I say what you feel?" Frank concluded.

"Very well, Frank. Thank you."

I added, "Me, too, Frank. You summarized just what I feel and haven't been 
able to put into words. Thanks."

Then Frank surprised us. "I'm afraid that, even if we kick the snake in its 
head in San Francisco this afternoon, the assassins he set loose up here 
will continue to try to complete their contract. I'd like to set up a couple 
of traps for them, yet today. Probably nothing will come of it, but I'd like 
to see if we can't take care of this part of the puzzle quickly. I'm sure 
Mike and Sarah want to get back to their own home, in safety, soon."

Everyone agreed in principle with that. I expressed a reservation. "You 
don't intend to set us up as targets, do you?"

With a small smile, Frank said, "No, but I'd like to use your boat in part 
of it, if I may?"

Sarah, ever the practical female, asked, "Will the government be responsible 
for any damage?"

Everybody, tense, needed the relief: We all laughed. Frank responded, "I'll 
requisition it. Then if anything happens, we'll have to fix it." Sarah was 
satisfied.

"You'll have to find out from John Magruder where she's stashed," I told 
Frank.

Again he gave that tight smile. "I already know. I just wanted your 
permission. We won't need keys. I have in mind putting a few of my people on 
her and heading up river at speed. I think, done right, it will flush out 
some of the people after you. Later this afternoon or evening, I'll have 
another little trap to spring. I expect we can get a pretty good haul today, 
if we're lucky."

Laughing, Sarah said, "OK, Frank. I'm impressed. There's a spare set of keys 
on a nail inside the cupboard under the sink. If they use them, your people 
won't have to mess up the wiring."

We all laughed again and Frank stepped outside to speak to his assistant who 
was standing by in the waiting room and pass on his instructions.


					~~  *  *  *  *  *  ~~


Then, all we could do was wait. Busy 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 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. 
Norm's problem, he was just beginning to see, was that he was thinking like 
a bureaucrat and not like a law enforcement professional--a cop.

"OK!" he said. "I see three problems. First, I've got another mole in the 
Portland office--if not more than one. So I can't trust anybody here. I'll 
have to set 'canary traps', until we can clean up the Portland operation. 
Second, in spite of the problems I've just talked about, I've got to capture 
the people working for Guiterrez, using agents I can't trust. Third, I've 
got to get the word into the drug network that Mike is not a threat to them 
and any further attacks on him will just bring down more heat than it's 
worth.

"I know how to do the first and the last. I'll need a bit of thought on the 
second. But I'm confident that it has a solution."

With, "OK, Norm. Go do your thing. But keep me personally informed," the 
U.S. Attorney dismissed him.

Norm got out in a hurry. He had to re-organize a series of raids, while 
keeping most of his staff in the dark.


~~  *  *  *  *  *  ~~


We went back to waiting. Coffee and cookies were brought in. The first local 
raid was conducted--results would be sent when received. Bob and Tom asked 
Gary, "As attorneys of record for this couple, we want to know what the 
government proposes to do for them. Obviously, just wringing hands, like 
Norm, only leaves them a very short, terrified life with a violent end."

"Frank offered Mike the witness protection program," Gary replied. "He 
didn't like that option at all, but would take it as a last resort, if that 
is the only choice. It may come to that. Of course, that is out if their 
pictures and names hit the tabloids.

"Beyond that, I can reinforce what Norm said. We'll do everything possible 
to find and eliminate everybody who has been bought by drug money. I can and 
will order encoding of the files, so that names can only be obtained from a 
few trusted people. That will protect against random searches by some 
crooked clerk.

"Norm had a very good idea, too. I'll follow through on it through my office 
and the other U.S. Attorneys around the country...."

"What's that?" Tom asked. He'd been remarkably quiet up to that point.

"We'll get the word out on the street and through the grapevine that, while 
we'll nail any drug-related crime we can, we'll be the hounds of hell if 
innocent bystanders are targeted, like these two were. And I can start by 
making things so hot for Guiterrez, he'll leave the country, if we don't 
catch and jail him first."

With that, he pressed a button on his desk. "Show you what I mean."

When his secretary came in, he said, "Got your pad? OK. I want an immediate 
arrest warrant for Angelo Guiterrez, of San Francisco, for conspiracy to 
murder Michael and Sandy Solderholm. When you type it up, I'll sign it. Then 
get it up to Judge Browne, for his signature and FAX it to San Francisco. 
Tell the judge I'll tell him all about it Monday."

Ten minutes later, when she brought the warrant in for signature, he said, 
"Ask Cindy to step in, would you?"

A moment later, the door was opened by a lovely woman in her late thirties, 
wearing a business suit. She was introduced as Cindy Nelson, a senior trial 
deputy. The whole situation was explained to Cindy, including the fact that 
we demanded zero publicity and that it was an important demand--though not 
the reason for it. Cindy was told what steps had been taken and what we 
anticipated. After today, the case was hers.

She was warned, strongly, that there were few she could trust outside this 
room and that our names were not to appear in any notes, computer records, 
or even in conversations. If she needed us, she could call Tom and ask to 
meet his clients. If no name was specified, Tom would know she meant us and 
would arrange it.

While Cindy was being briefed, Frank slipped back into the room. He was 
introduced to Cindy and brought up to date on what we'd been doing. He told 
us what he'd been doing to set up traps for the killers sent after us. (I 
won't give them the dignity of being called assassins, again.)  He hoped 
they could capture one or more of them, but had made the traps pretty 
lethal. His first order of business was that no one get away. Sarah approved 
heartily and I agreed.

Our group had moved into Gary's office. A corner of the room held a special 
FAX machine that used an encryption system developed by NSA. The machine 
started whining and spitting out pages, which we read and passed around as 
they were received. They were reports of the various raids in San Francisco, 
Portland, Seattle, San Diego and elsewhere on Guiterrez' holdings. Many of 
them netted substantial hauls of drugs, cash, weapons and thugs--who were 
promptly jailed. So far, Guiterrez had not been seen.

The phone rang. The A.G. was on the line, personally. He was sending us a 
FAX in a couple of minutes. Would we please burn it as soon as it had been 
read? We would. He hung up and the FAX spit out another sheet.

A certain congressman from New Jersey was asked to contact a certain 
businessman from his district. He was asked to explain to the businessman 
that neither of them were in any way thought to be involved (Yeah. Sure.) in 
criminal activity. But it was hoped that they could use their contacts to 
pass a message. Guiterrez' unreasoning vendetta against Mike and Sandy 
Soderholm, which had already cost Mrs. Soderholm her life, had brought down 
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 where it needed to go. And that if 
the feds didn't get Guiterrez, he'd be found in an alley with a bullet in 
his brain, with his people left to fend for themselves--and cut off from 
their 'suppliers'.

As the afternoon faded into evening, the messages slowed. It had been a good 
day for the DEA, in terms of publicity and amounts of drugs and cash seized. 
They would create a temporary shortage in the coke and grass supply in 
California, Arizona, Nevada--and even in Oregon. Guiterrez' organization 
itself was hurt badly, if not fatally. Guiterrez had not been caught, though 
he was now a fugitive and his capture would be sooner rather than later, if 
he was still in the country.

Finally, Frank suggested he needed to call home. We'd be spending another 
night there. And maybe we should all go out to dinner? After all, it was 
almost 9 P.M.


Everyone begged off, to go to their own homes. Frank had Mary meet us at a 
nice, neighborhood restaurant, where we had an excellent, quiet meal and 
unwound from the stresses of the day.

Exhausted from tension, we joined that night in a quick, violent celebration 
of being alive and together, before we collapsed into sleep.


*Section Six*


Frank joined us at breakfast, looking sharp and alert as ever. Disgusting! 
While we ate, he filled us in on events.

Norm had quietly gotten help from the phone company and put taps on all the 
lines in the DEA office. He had his other pigeon cold. A middle-aged 
secretary, recently divorced, had sold out. She was presently in solitary 
confinement in the county jail, as a federal prisoner. Her initial 
interrogation had been productive--completely broken, she was expected to 
spill everything she knew.
Most of the raids in the Portland area had gone well, although only two 
yielded anything of significance. A lot of petty crooks had been rounded 
up--most being held on outstanding warrants for probation violation, etc. At 
any rate, they were all being held, for now.

Norm had a tip on the supervisor of the Portland DEA office and a team 
arrested him. He wasn't talking, but Norm felt they had enough on him to 
charge him for conspiracy to commit murder, along with a number of other 
crimes. He'd be in the slammer for a while! (Former cops, especially 
'narks', usually don't last very long in prison. Norm took some satisfaction 
in this.)

The efforts in San Francisco and other parts of California had been very 
successful, except that Guiterrez had not been caught. With the warrant from 
Portland, he would be on 'Most Wanted' lists within a week. He couldn't get 
far.

Having brought us up to speed on the 'peripheral' stuff, Frank grinned and 
told us about the trap he'd set with _Sandy_.

Seems he had a couple of Portland police detectives, one a lady with hair 
similar to Sarah's, on the fly bridge, pretending to be us. Inside were two 
Coast Guardsmen and three Secret Service agents. One of the 'Coasties' 
actually ran the boat from the main helm in the salon.

Running upstream in the Columbia, they spotted the runabout I'd described 
just as they passed Kelly Point, at the mouth of the Willamette. They added 
power, but not enough that the runabout couldn't catch them. When it did, 
one of the three guys in it called through a bullhorn for _Sandy_ to stop. 
All three waved pistols. The Coastie cut the power abruptly and the agents 
in the cabin boiled out into the cockpit and the forward deck. Suddenly the 
runabout was alongside and a half-dozen machine guns and shotguns were 
pointed at them. One of the druggies tried his luck with his pistol. The 
lady in the fly bridge blew his brains out with a carbine. Needless to say, 
the other two tough 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 asked for a 
lawyer and wouldn't be questioned until he got one. But he wouldn't get a 
lawyer for at least another day--let him stew!--and he'd also be kept from 
much sleep and continually watched.

Frank wouldn't give us the details of his other trap, except to say that it 
involved another police 'couple' masquerading as us, going into a restaurant 
near our home. They picked up a guy trying to wire our car and another 
staked out with a sniper rifle. Because they thought this was local 
'talent', they'd shipped them off to a federal jail in Seattle, to keep them 
off balance and remove them from their home turf. All these prisoners were 
being kept isolated. They would not be allowed any phone calls. If they 
asked for a lawyer, one would be supplied. But their communications would be 
restricted.

 From preliminary interrogation reports, Frank felt he'd bagged them all and 
that, for now, we were safe. Frank was pretty proud of himself. His little 
traps had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. With a grin, he said _Sandy_ 
had suffered a black streak on the starboard side, where the rail of the 
runabout had rubbed her. But the coasties assured him they would get it off 
with a little rubbing compound. And they asked that we be told _Sandy_ 
needed a wax job soon. (Cocky wise guys... I loved them!) Their point, of 
course, was that no harm had been done to our wonderful boat.


~~  *  *  *  *  *  ~~


Our car was downtown at the Federal Building. Frank would have one of his 
people drive us home in it, followed by another car. He wanted his people to 
give our house a thorough check before we settled back in.

We were glad because they found that, in spite of the security system, both 
of my phone lines had been tapped and there were listening devices in 
several rooms--all of which were removed. There were no booby traps or 
lethal devices.
After thanking everybody profusely, we looked around, as if seeing the place 
for the first time. I wandered into my study, to check for urgent messages. 
When I came back out, Sarah was standing in the window, staring at the 
river, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Coming behind her, I put my arms around her, holding her against me. "What 
do you think, honey?  Should we leave and find some new place, where we can 
really start over again?"

She just leaned into me, affirming her need to be held. Then, turning in my 
arms, she held me, too. She said, "No. Wherever we go, we take ourselves 
with us. We take our problems with us. I love it here. I want our children 
to be born here and to know the beauty of this place, the freedom of the 
river, our wonderful friends, just as we've known it. Tomorrow you could be 
run over by a truck. Or I could be stricken with some disease. Love me 
today, darling Mike. What does the bible say, 'Sufficient unto the day the 
evil thereof...'? Let tomorrow's evil come tomorrow. Just let's love each 
other today!"

I quietly held her, kissing away the tears, which fell slowly from her eyes. 
"Honey, I've got to do a little work today, just to let everyone know I'm 
still working on their projects. But... would you be interested in a little 
trip up the river tomorrow?"

More tears, a strong hug and a sloppy, wet kiss were answer enough. If she 
wasn't pregnant yet, we'd sure work on it tomorrow!


~~  *  *  *  *  *  ~~


Right after lunch, Tom called and said he was FAXing over the list of 
trustworthy people the senator had sent him. The reason was, one of them 
would be stopping to see us shortly. We should be prudent, but could 
probably trust this person.

In a half-hour, a car pulled up in front and a youngish lady got out. When I 
answered the door, she identified herself as a Secret Service agent, showing 
us her photo ID and saying that she understood we were friends of Frank's. 
"Good acquaintances, maybe. And we owe him a lot. I don't know that 'friend' 
would be appropriate," I answered.

"I know what you mean. Frank can be a crusty SOB at times," the agent 
laughed. Clearly, she and Frank _were_ friends. "You know, the federal 
government can't provide bodyguard service, except to Presidents and those 
mandated by law. But you're a bit of a special case. So there will be some 
extra security on you two. You still have to be very careful. It's not like 
we can have you under observation all the time, or anything like that. We 
will do all we can. And we'll check out your house, cars and boat regularly 
for a while.

"Now, we're going to do some elementary police work. I want the two of you 
to look at some mug shot books, to see if you recognize any of the 
faces...."

_Really_ boring! Most were obvious police booking photos and didn't show the 
subjects at their best, to be charitable. One picture looked like a cousin I 
hadn't seen since I was a kid. And another looked a lot like my dad, who 
died 30 years ago!

Sarah, however, struck gold. I guess her eye is sharper than mine. Within 
five minutes, she exclaimed, "I've seen him!" Working hard to remember 
where, she said, finally, "He was in a boat, that day we had the picnic. 
Remember, Mike?" I couldn't place him, though I had placed the boat, which 
led to Frank's trap. Ten minutes later, she turned another of the boat's 
occupants. They were both suspected hired killers from the St. Louis area. 
Her real coup, though, came an hour later, when she was getting as bored as 
I was.

"Oh! I know him! He's that nice, but very persistent reporter from 
_Newsweek!_"
Well, he wasn't. He was Guiterrez' chief lieutenant, from San Francisco. The 
first two she'd tumbled were already in custody. Now they'd be held without 
bail. The other gave us the first direct link between us and Guiterrez' 
organization. We felt the U.S. Attorney would like to know about it.

Gary was interested and had us relay all the information to Cindy, who he 
directed to issue a warrant for the lieutenant, just like the one for 
Guiterrez.


~~  *  *  *  *  *  ~~


We weren't aware of it at the time, but the noose was really tightening 
around Guiterrez and his mob. Other very large drug organizations, both 
within and outside the country were aware that he had really pissed off the 
A.G. While in normal times, they might have been amused by that, in this 
case, the results were so devastating to the organization, the message was 
received loud and clear:  "Don't mess with innocents. It's not polite... And 
you'll lose your heads."

So contracts were let on Guiterrez and his top henchmen, on a 'dead only' 
basis. For a few days, certain parts of San Francisco, Los Angeles, 
Sacramento, San Diego and Los Vegas were extremely dangerous places. Every 
hood with a gun was trolling to see if he could spot and 'off' one of the 
guys on the list. With federal advice, local police turned to saturation 
patrols of the affected areas, just to protect the citizens.

To no one's surprise, about a week later, Guiterrez was found floating in 
San Diego harbor. Two of his top people had been found a day earlier in a 
bloody cold-water apartment, apparently having shot each other. Forensic 
experts said that wasn't possible. But they also said the crime scene was 
such that they had no clues as to who might have actually killed them.

And the day after Guiterrez' body was found, the New Jersey congressman 
found a discreet occasion to whisper into the A.G.'s ear that his message 
had been delivered and was understood. And, to underscore the message, 
though he said he had no idea what it meant, he was supposed to say, "The 
guy from Colorado can sleep well." Or was that, "rest easy?"


~~  *  *  *  *  *  ~~


The would-be assassins Frank's people had picked up eventually ended up in 
various prisons, for other crimes. Once the FBI had good names, prints, 
pictures and bullet samples from their weapons, there were several unsolved 
murders they could be tried--_and convicted_--for, without getting us 
involved.

Frank and Mary remain friends, though we don't see nearly as much of them as 
we'd like to. Frank is a very quiet, personal man... and a very busy one. I 
was once told by another consultant, who would know, that Frank could make a 
million dollars a year as a private consultant, or working for one of the 
big firms. But he lives modestly on his government pay and loves what he 
does.

Our other new friends have remained true. We've enjoyed the fellowship we 
have with them. And we're thankful to Bill for introducing us to such 
compatible people, so early on in our new home.


*Epilogue*


On a warm Friday in late June, we launched _Sandy_ from Everett, Washington. 
This would be our first extended boat trip with our daughter, Michelle. 
She'd learned to swim and was a pretty mellow kid, who made an effort to do 
anything she was told--as long as she understood why. An unusual 2-year-old! 
(And a lot like her mother had been.) So we thought she'd be reasonably 
safe, living on
_Sandy_. We wanted to cruise the San Juan Islands, since neither of us ever 
had and we'd seen pictures and heard glowing reports about their beauty.

Perhaps it would have been warmer a month later, but Sarah was pregnant 
again, to our great delight, and she wanted to take the trip early enough 
that it wouldn't limit what she could do. (AND while she still looked 
fantastic in her bikini!) She wanted to swim and walk and snorkle and play 
with Michelle and all those things before she started to swell.

Over the winter, I'd had the engines in _Sandy_ overhauled. They didn't 
really need it, but I wanted everything perfect. Then we'd had her 
completely cleaned. New carpeting in the stateroom and salon. New 
upholstery. New mattresses. New stove in the galley and a new refrigerator, 
which would run on battery, generator, shore power or propane. Last, I had a 
cabin heater installed, to keep us comfortable, even if we took her out in 
snow or sleet.

The electronics were all upgraded, too, with radar and GPS added.

_Sandy's_ hull was solid and her top was in great shape. We liked her and 
were comfortable aboard. We didn't want anything bigger, or newer, when we 
could make her better than anything on the market with some face-lifting and 
modernization.


Soon, we were free in the cool water of Puget Sound. This was a cruise we'd 
wanted for a long time. Michelle was a constant delight. Although she'd 
always been good on the boat, we'd debated bringing her along on this trip, 
thinking she'd get bored and need to get rid of excess energy the 
confinement of a boat can bring to a youngster. But she was enthralled by 
every new vista, just as we were. And she ran and swam off the energy of 
youth when we anchored in one of the hundreds of secluded coves at noon and 
in the evenings.

Often, if no other boats were in sight and it was warm enough, we'd shuck 
all our clothes. Michelle, too. On our third day out, I was running my hand 
down Sarah's flank, when Michelle asked if we were going to climb on each 
other. Sarah was shocked and I chuckled. Seems the intelligent, inquisitive 
little imp was satisfying her curiosity by 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 disappointed with the 
'sneaky' nature of it, we recognized her normal curiosity.

In addition, 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 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!_ Daaaaddddyy!*  
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 stiffened right up. Of 
course, Sarah didn't dare scream again, so I took an unfair advantage and 
started really working on her nipples. She started writhing, then bucking 
again, while biting her lip and finally grabbing a life jacket and biting 
down on the collar, to muffle her scream.

When I heard, "Why are you biting that, mommy?" I snorted and laughed right 
through my orgasm. So did Sarah. Something about 'best laid plans' and all 
that.

"Come here, honey," Sarah said to Michelle. When the little 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 ~~


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