Chapter Seven: Arlington, Virginia, June 2, 1987

Lightly caressing the image of her dear husband's face, Amanda set her wedding photograph on the family room bookcase. While her sons couldn't recognize the event as a marriage ceremony, the memento from her secret wedding was a poignant declaration that the couple pictured together truly loved each other.

Polishing the silver frame had become a sacred ritual since Lee vanished from her life. Two months had passed without hearing the soothing timbre of his mellow voice or seeing his wide dimpled grin and sparkling hazel eyes. There'd been no sheltering embrace of his powerful arms, and no sweet surrender to his intoxicating kisses. The endless wait for his return meant excruciating loneliness in their Q-Bureau office and total isolation in their marriage bed, or, more correctly, beds—wherever they'd enjoyed stolen moments as Mr. and Mrs. Stetson.

Hearing the ring of the doorbell, Amanda stiffened at the interruption. How many times had her hopes risen only to tumble again when she opened the door to yet another disappointment? The very effort of greeting people had become a burden when Lee repeatedly failed to materialize on her front step or back patio. Even worse, she feared the day would come when she opened the door to Mr. Melrose, only to be informed of her husband's demise.

"I'll get it," Dotty called as she swiftly came downstairs. Thankfully, she was tuned into her daughter's melancholy and gladly accepted the role of buffer between Amanda and the relentless parade of visitors to their front door.

The mingling of feminine voices caught her attention. Mother was allowing someone to breach the threshold. Tucking a few stray tendrils of hair behind her ears and forcing a welcoming smile, Amanda prepared to greet the intruder. Maybe, on this gloomy Saturday, a little socializing would lift her sagging spirit.

"Darling," her mother said as she led the way down the two steps. "You have a visitor from the State Department."

"Hello, ah, Mrs. King. I hope you remember me."

"Oh my gosh." When the diplomatic envoy gracefully entered the family room, troubling memories of an enamored Lee and his sweet girlfriend flooded Amanda's mind. With brunette hair pulled back in a bun and smart business attire concealing a lithe frame, there was no doubt to the identity of her guest. "Les-lie," she stammered. Shaking off her discomfiture, Amanda stepped forward to proffer a polite handshake. "How nice to see you again."

"It's lovely to see you, too," Leslie responded as her eyes scanned the disarray of videogames and sports gear scattered around the boys' domain. Finally allowing her gaze to settle on Amanda, she seemed a bit taken aback by her pink and purple "Hot Mama" t-shirt and threadbare blue jeans.

Amanda cringed under the scrutiny. Leave it to Lee's former girlfriend to show up when the household was in the midst of spring cleaning. Curtains from the French doors were piled in one chair, and the carpet was rolled up like a log in the middle of the floor.

"Your home, family, and demanding career must keep you very busy," Leslie said with a hint of envy. "How old are your children?"

"Phillip is fourteen and Jamie's twelve." Crossing her arms over her chest, Amanda tried to hide the tacky t-shirt. Certainly the well-traveled, Ivy League educated, diplomatic translator had little experience with suburbia's casual dress code. "Please excuse my outfit. My boys gave me the shirt for Mother's Day, two years ago. I never wear it in public."

"What thoughtful children," Leslie replied with an unconvincing smile.

"Yes, they are," Dotty defended. "Amanda's sons even nominated her for a 'mother-of-the year' contest. She would have won, too, if the bug exterminator hadn't shown up when one of the judges surprised us with a home inspection."

"My mother tends to exaggerate the dubious accomplishments of her only child," Amanda said with a wry grin. "Actually, I was just an 'also ran' contestant." Grabbing the feather duster from the coffee table, she handed it to her beaming parent. "Mother, if you don't mind, Miss O'Connor and I need to have a little chat."

"Of course, darling." Pulling the vacuum cleaner behind her, Dotty headed for the kitchen. "I'll make some coffee."

"Thank you, Mother." Motioning her guest toward a wing back chair, Amanda's imagination conjured up a myriad of reasons for the visit. Had Leslie seen Lee? She was, after all, working for the Department of State. Maybe Leslie had once again befriended him. Gosh, was there more to it than friendship? Or, no, maybe Lee was hurt or missing or dead. Dear God, her frantic mind screamed. Please let my husband be alive. Lowering herself to the sofa, Amanda braced for answers. "Well, what brings you to Arlington?"

The slight tremor of Leslie's hands betrayed the seriousness of her surprise appearance. "Lee sent me."

Amanda closed her eyes to the revelation. "You've seen Lee?"

"Yes, in Moscow. I was sent to the United States Embassy as a translator. He was working there undercover as a laborer and using the name of Viktor Ivankov."

"You know about . . ."

"Yes, I guessed at his profession, but he provided no details of his espionage career."

Amanda nodded, afraid to interrupt and worried about the information not yet revealed. "Is he all right?"

"Yes. I mean, I hope he's okay. The last time I saw Lee, he was on the run from the KGB."

Her heart sank at the news. "Then you don't know for sure?"

"No, but I am certain Lee's in deep trouble. Apparently he's stationed in Moscow on a more or less permanent basis. He doesn't expect to be sent back to Washington unless a senior national security official can intervene on his behalf. Lee hopes you can warn your section chief who, in turn, may persuade top bureaucrats to review his assignment."

"Oh, Lord." Amanda's heart thumped wildly in her chest. Just as she feared, Dr. Smyth wanted her husband gone for good. If he was ever coming home again, it would be up to her to convince Mr. Melrose of Lee's predicament and hope to God he'd take Scarecrow's banishment all the way to the President of the United States.

For a long beat, Leslie dropped her gaze, apparently hesitant about further disclosure. "I have a confession to make," she said softly. "Maybe you don't want to hear it, but I was taught to own up to my mistakes and make amends."

Leary but determined to know the truth, Amanda patted the sofa cushion and beckoned for the diplomatic translator to move closer. "Oh, no, here it comes," she murmured, preparing for a bombshell involving her husband.

Taking the offered seat, Leslie leaned toward Amanda as if they were co-conspirators. "Lee wasn't very forthcoming about his circumstances," she continued. "In retrospect, I believe I unwittingly crossed the line."

"Oh?" Glancing toward the kitchen, Amanda caught her mother's eye. Dorothea West's curiosity was on high alert, and she'd given up all pretense of food preparation in her effort to catch every word of the conversation.

Prolonging the suspense, Leslie enfolded her delicate hands in her lap and quietly cleared her throat. "When I approached Lee at the embassy, we agreed to meet secretly at a Russian teahouse. While there, we were interrupted by the sudden appearance of the KGB. I naively interfered with his escape attempt and ended up being yanked along on a desperate run for my life."

"I can well imagine your alarm," Amanda said, remembering her early terrifying encounters with the dashing spy.

"Well, as you certainly realize, Lee would never leave a damsel in distress. Before the night was over, we took refuge in an abandoned factory hotel. The tiny attic guest room lacked even the barest of amenities and privacy, but at least we could shower and sleep."

"How convenient" Amanda repeated, swallowing the derogatory remark that stuck in her throat.

With a meek nod, Leslie shuddered. "Normally, I'm not the forward type, but, despite the terror, the whole evening was a titillating rush of one death defying feat after another. I suppose you recognize that flirting with death awakens all the senses, especially when a handsome spy protects your body with his own."

"Yes," Amanda said, the word sounding raspy to her own ears. Outwardly calm, but inwardly distraught, she bravely maintained a neutral demeanor. "I understand that people cling closer when confronted with their own mortality."

"Too close, I'm afraid." Shame clouded Leslie's eyes as she unburdened her guilty conscience. "I was frightened and in desperate need of comfort. Since I had a romantic history with Lee, I ignored the second bed and crawled under the covers with him . . . ."

"Coffee's ready," Dotty interjected as if refreshments could halt the revelation and protect her daughter from more emotional turmoil.

Amanda held up a hand, signaling for her mother to wait. "I think I get the picture," she said curtly, remembering Francine's recitation on the sexual ethics of spies. "You don't have to finish the story."

"Oh, but I do," Leslie said, a bright crimson spreading over her cheeks. "When I woke him up, Lee rejected my physical advances and told me the truth about marrying his partner." Embarrassed, she allowed an awkward moment to pass. "I should have guessed Lee and his so-called 'secretary' were a couple. The chemistry between you two was obvious on the day I met you at his apartment. I feel so foolish now."

"It's not your fault." Relieved by the admission, Amanda found the will to breathe again. "A year and a half ago, neither one of us was ready to admit our true feelings for each other. I didn't think we'd ever own up to our mutual attraction. After all, what would a confirmed bachelor spy want with a suburban mom, meddling neighbors, sibling rivalry, and . . ."

"And a mother-in-law," Dotty supplied from the kitchen.

Leslie smiled at the family banter. "Even in October of 1985, you and Lee were obviously in love. When I heard your argument in the hallway, I realized you were already bickering like an old married couple."

Finally the tension dissipated, and Amanda relaxed, feeling reborn as the truth unraveled. "I need to apologize for all our secrecy," she said, fully cognizant of Leslie's dilemma. "Unfortunately our mystery relationship denied you closure in your life with Lee."

"True, we never officially broke up," Leslie concurred. "However, that doesn't excuse me from throwing myself at your husband. Rest assured, Lee is completely loyal to his country and his wife. His last instructions to me were very explicit. His exact words were, "Tell Amanda I love her, and I promise to find a way home."

Speechless, Amanda clasped her hands over her heart as her mother rushed to her side.

"On that positive note," a delighted Dotty said, "let's celebrate with coffee and some good 'ole American apple pie'."


Agency: June 4, 1987

William Melrose and Amanda King watched from the section chief's office window as Dr. Austin Smyth stormed through the bullpen with a cigarette holder clenched in his teeth.

Billy shot Amanda a cautionary frown. "Well, the old man didn't waste any time getting here."

"No, sir." Quickly, she moved to the sofa and braced for the fallout. Mr. Melrose stood sentry in front of his desk, his body so rigid that it appeared chiseled from stone.

Barging through the door, the Agency director polluted the air with a cloud of smoke. "Ah, King is here, too," he said with menacing glee. "I can settle the whistle blower snafu with only one lecture. Field section should know by now that I abhor people who sabotage my authority, so I assure you both there will be a hefty price to pay."

Billy held his ground as Dr. Smyth loomed over him like an imposing Roman pillar left standing in ancient ruins.

"Et tu, Brute?" the old man accused. "Your betrayal stabbed me to the core."

With anger simmering just below the surface, Billy jutted out his jaw in defiance. "By keeping me out of the loop, I couldn't trust you. Therefore when I received word of your actions, I immediately sent the details through the national security pipeline. With the KGB's discovery of Scarecrow, the life of our best agent was at stake. I knew you didn't give a rat's ass what happened to Stetson. He's a loyal patriot, man; Lee would swallow cyanide before he'd hand over one secret to the Soviets."

"As well he should," Smyth replied. "I sent Scarecrow on an important mission, one he was uniquely qualified to fill until he started playing 'patty cake' with a State Department translator."

Billy bristled with contempt. "Miss O'Connor spoke on Lee's behalf as a friend–nothing more. Even she saw the assignment could bury him in the Soviet Union. Your vendetta against Scarecrow handicapped my department and placed Lee Stetson at unreasonable risk. You, Dr. Smyth, had no right to go over my head."

Smyth stood like a rock, allowing nothing to soften his hard-nosed resistance. "Don't forget, Melrose, you contradicted my actions with the Stemwinder case. I informed you then that more flagrant disobedience would have serious consequences. Now you've undercut my command again by taking the case all the way to the president's desk with nary a peep of warning to me."

"Sir, if you'll excuse me for interrupting," Amanda said, ready to shoulder some of the blame.

"I will not excuse you, Mrs. King," he said with blistering outrage. "Espionage isn't child's play. You, 'Miss Everything Nice', pamper your spy associate like an indulgent mother. Or should I say a 'love-sick teenager'? I haven't figured out your emotional attachment to Scarecrow, but I surmised you couldn't let him leave the country without some motherly instructions and maybe a little 'hanky-panky' in the bargain."

Shocked by the uncouth insult, Amanda suppressed a scathing retort.

"Hold it, Austin," Billy protested as he leaned forward and crowded the director's space. "Your assessment of Amanda is totally inappropriate. Mrs. King is a model of propriety and an outstanding partner to Lee Stetson."

"Melrose, you're overly attached to your agents. Unlike your biased defense of the teacher's pet, my judgement remains objective." Glaring at his section chief, Dr. Smyth exhaled smoke from his mouth like a fiery dragon.

The room was deathly still while the threesome guarded their thoughts and emotions. Finally Billy spoke. "Before we digress further from our pressing agenda, let's return to the matter of saving Stetson's life."

"By all means, state your rationale again before I pronounce your sentence," Dr. Smyth replied as he dropped cigarette ashes into the coffee cup sitting on Melrose's desk.

Poker-faced, Billy valiantly kept his cool. "The broader intelligence community agrees with my decision to recall Scarecrow. Stetson was chosen for the Agency's D.C. hub for valid reasons. Except for occasional assignments overseas, his expertise and seniority are greatly needed right here in our nation's capital."

"He's an international spy, Melrose," the Agency director countered. "He's supposed to be my pawn to move wherever I see fit." Outwardly perturbed, Dr. Smyth began to pace the confines of the office. Suddenly turning on his heel he offered a sinister grin and began to spout from his mental cache of nursery rhymes.

"Ring Around the Rosy

Pocket Full of Posies,

"Ashes, Ashes,"

We All Fall Down"

Billy and Amanda exchanged incredulous looks.

Smyth ignored their disdain. "Rather gruesome poetry, I'd say when you consider the source. Certainly you're familiar with the Great Plague in London during the sixteen hundreds. Did you know the symptoms of the disease included a rosy rash in the shape of a ring? Pockets were filled with sweet smelling herbs called posies to ward off bad smells. The 'ashes' refer to the cremation of the deceased! Mrs. King, I imagine you sang the death lyrics to your two boys when they could barely walk and talk."

Amanda cringed, wondering why the director of an intelligence agency behaved like a deranged Mother Goose.

"Austin, what exactly is your point?" Melrose asked with escalating impatience.

"Tsk, tsk, children. Must I spell it out? Like the rhyme, we're all 'falling down'. It took the Great Fire of London to kill off the rats that carried the plague. Likewise, the Cold War calls for extreme measures. We won't defeat communism by wishing it away. Some people have to step into the fray and that means utilizing our best agent. Understood, kiddies?"

"No sir," Amanda said with bitter resentment.

Billy shook his head in blatant disapproval. "Condemning Lee to a suicide mission will solve nothing."

With his back rigid and eyes blazing, Smyth unloaded his fury. "I've had enough of your impudence. Starting Monday, I'm suspending both of you for two weeks without pay. Next time you're tempted to blow the whistle, you'll think twice before undermining my authority." With a mock salute, Smyth flung the door wide and scurried out of sight.

Mr. Melrose blew out a breath while Amanda sat mute. Taking the nearest chair, Billy gathered his thoughts. "Don't worry, our director won't be suspending us."

"Sir, Dr. Smyth was pretty clear."

"I feel it's best to let him blow off steam, but he'll soon realize he can't discipline us in this case. By the time he gets back to his office, the letter signed by the president will be sitting on his desk. In essence, he'll be told that Leslie O'Connor and the two of us have been pardoned for any breech of protocol."

Amanda smiled. "What about Dr. Smyth; could he be fired?"

"I doubt it, but let's hope his latest screw-up has been a lesson Austin Smyth won't soon forget."

"And what about Lee?"

"Dr. Smyth will be forced to reveal his contact, and the person will be instructed to get Scarecrow out of the country as soon as possible. If Lee's been captured alive, we'll try to make a trade, but let's hope he's still a free man."

"Amen, to that, sir."


Moscow – June 19, 1987

Lee Stetson could hear the plane before he saw it. Russian Aeroflots were incredibly loud, and even one rattletrap flying overhead could shake the walls of the terminal. With the area shrouded by rain and fog, the flight was already an hour late. If the nasty weather continued unabated, the airport may cancel all arrivals and departures.

'Dammit', his nerves were so on edge, he could barely stand still. Pacing, Lee craved a cigarette, but resisted the temptation. If he had the slightest chance of fleeing the Soviet Union tonight, he wanted to kick the habit and put the whole protracted assignment behind him.

God, he'd be lucky if the KGB didn't grab him before he flew out of Moscow for Stockholm, Sweden. For weeks, he'd laid low and, thanks to his contact, changed his appearance and his identity. Now sporting gray hair, a mustache, wire-rim eyeglasses, and a tweed sports coat, he was playing the cover of a distinguished University professor without ever having to teach a class.

His cover and his fluent Russian had given him access to the university crowd. Just in the last week, he'd rubbed shoulders with brilliant faculty members at a symposium. Relying on his finely honed listening skills, Lee gleaned facts he'd never known before-facts about technological advances in surveillance and insights into how the Soviets masterminded a plot that fooled the most admired nation on earth.

At least now he had the chance to return home with dignity. Along with the information he'd collected as an embassy electrician, he possessed substantial evidence to show for his efforts. Thanks to Leslie's message to the home front and the initiative of Amanda, Dr. Austin Smyth couldn't accuse him of dereliction of duty when he returned to Washington.

"Come on, come on," he murmured, impatient with the flight delay and worried about being discovered while on the cusp of escaping the Soviet Union.

Suddenly, double doors opened, and a blast of rain blew into the terminal along with Soviet soldiers and their leashed dogs. Walking up and down the passengers' waiting area, the canines sniffed every bag in sight. Meticulous guards demanded official papers from everyone and pulled some people aside.

Now he was really in a tight spot. In his rush to reach the airport, he'd hastily thrown his university notes into his travel bag. The only thing that separated his evidence from discovery were the pages of an old "People Magazine" that enclosed his conference records.

As a soldier held out his hand, Lee wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead and handed over his bag. Stay cool, he reminded himself. Don't blow it now.

A message came over the intercom. "Flight 634 to Stockholm is now boarding,"

Lee caught the eye of the soldier and pointed toward the gate. Disregarding the urgency, the would-be captor yanked the "People Magazine" from his flight bag and began to thumb through the pages. Always prepared with items to bribe guards, Lee took a chance. "Keep it," he said, casually retrieving the notes that slipped from the bottom of the publication. With a slight of hand, he slid them inside his trench coat's inner pocket.

The soldier nodded and rolled up the magazine. Then letting Lee pass, he hurried on to the next person.

Boarding was only the first hurdle. Arriving unscathed at Stockholm was a vastly different matter. Even if the airline had a daredevil pilot willing to take off in rough weather, Aeroflot's safety record was the nightmare of every nervous flier. The planes leaked air like a sieve. The trick to delivering passengers alive to their destinations depended on pressurizing the cabin by pumping air in faster than it could leak out.

Lee knew full well that during the Cold War years, many travelers spent their final moments strapped into an Aeroflot seat. Far too often, the airline's planes fell from the sky. Lee could only hope he wouldn't be another unfortunate fatality.


Arlington, Virginia - June 21, 1987

"Mom, I can't find my sleeping bag," Phillip called in his best irritating adolescent whine.

"Look in the top of the hall closet, sweetheart." Distributing an armload of clean laundry on the boys' beds, Amanda methodically prepared them for the King family's wilderness adventure.

Ambivalent about the trip, she'd put off making a decision on whether or not to accompany her children. The family could certainly benefit from her camping and rafting skills, but, with no sign of Lee, she didn't want to leave Arlington. After two and half months of separation, she ached to welcome her husband back, if indeed he could make it home at all. Even though the Agency had received a coded message verifying his flight from Moscow two days ago, his whereabouts had dropped off the radar.

Dotty appeared in the doorway. "Darling, Let me help the boys get organized. You haven't begun to pack for yourself."

"Mother, I still haven't agreed to go."

Crossing her arms, Dotty's rigid stance confirmed her exasperation. "Amanda, you can't mope around the house waiting for Lee to come home. Since your boss already approved your time off, you need to go. This isn't the dark ages; someone will notify you when he's found."

"Please, Mother, just give me some breathing room," she said with clear annoyance. Tight as a drum, her frayed nerves were ready to snap. Sinking to Phillip's bed, Amanda buried her face in her hands, trying to breathe deeply and regain control of her temper.

"I'm sorry," Dotty said as she sat next to her daughter and rubbed her back. "I do understand your dilemma, but I think a change of scenery would do you a world of good. You said yourself, Lee could be laying low for a few more days. And since there's been no announcement about a plane crash, you have every reason to stay positive."

Patting her mother's hand, Amanda pretended to appreciate the hopeful outlook. "True, his plane was probably forced to land due to inclement weather. However, Lee may still be in Soviet territory. We just don't know anything for sure, and the waiting has become unbearable."

"Remember the old saying, 'a watched pot never boils.' Time will pass quickly if you're occupied with your family."

"Please go," a sullen voice called from the hall.

Amanda cringed as she spied her youngest hovering in the doorway. Good Lord, when did Jamie start listening to their conversation? Holding out her hand in a gesture of inclusion, she tried to make amends as he ventured closer. "Sweetheart, I do want to go with you, but circumstances at work may conflict with going out-of-town."

"Mom, I know you'd prefer to wait around for Lee," Jamie said as his face contorted with frustration. "That proves you like him better than us." With a look of betrayal, the boy bolted from the room, slamming the door with enough force to rattle a baseball trophy from its perch on the desk.

Picking up the pieces of Phillip's coveted award, Amanda surrendered to her family's demands. "Well, I guess that settles it, Mother. I'm going with the boys."


TBC